v1.0

May 2007

The Awakening

Jude Deveraux

Hank Montgomery Crossed

the Summerhouse and

Stood Very Close to Her.

He Could Smell Her Fragrance.

Without thinking, he reached out to touch the hair at her temple.

"Don't go," he whispered. "Stay here with me."

Amanda swallowed hard. No man had ever looked at her this way or

spoken to her this way. It was frightening, yet she couldn't move away.

"How long is your hair?" he whispered.

"Long?" she asked stupidly. "To my waist. It is difficult to keep neat."

"I'd like to see it not neat. I'd like to see it long and full and thick."

Amanda was feeling quite strange, light-headed and limp-limbed. "Dr.

Montgomery, I don't think…" she began but trailed off as she took a step

back and he stepped forward.

"What are your shoulders like, Amanda? As white and smooth as the

skin of your cheek?" He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Those eyes of yours could eat a man alive," he said, his voice pouring over

her like something hot and thick and creamy. "And lips. Lips made to be

kissed. Lips made to whisper love words. Lips made to kiss a man's skin."

Oh my, she thought, but no words came out. Oh my…

contents

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to

non-historical figures are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously . Any

resemblance of such non-historical incidents, places or figures to actual ev ents or locales or persons,

liv ing or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a div ision of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Av enue of the Americas, New Y ork, NY

10020

Copy right © 1988 by Dev eraux Inc.

All rights reserv ed, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form

whatsoev er.

ISBN: 0-67 1-7 437 8-3

First Pocket Books printing June 1988

Cov er photo by Bill Charles Photography

Inside cov er art by Lisa Falkenstern

Printed in the U.S.A.

Chapter One

^ »

Kingman, California

July, 1913

A gentle breeze stirred the grasses on the flat, rich farmland of the fifteen

hundred acres of the Caulden Ranch. The leaves on the fruit and nut trees

moved; there were peaches, figs, walnuts and almonds. Cornstalks dried in

the scorching heat. As usual, it hadn't rained a drop in two months now

and everyone in the Kingman area was hoping the rains would hold off

another few weeks until the hops were in.

The hops, the major crop of the Caulden Ranch, were close to peak

ripeness, hanging off fifteen-foot-tall poles, beginning to turn yellow and

bursting with their wet succulence. In another few weeks the pickers

would arrive and the hop vines would be torn from their strings and taken

to the kilns to dry.

It was very early morning, with the many permanent farm workers just

beginning to rise and start about their chores. Already, the day was hot

and most of the workers would be in the fields, long flat acres with no

relief from the sun. Some luckier workers would be spending the day in

the shaded hop fields, the vines overhead forming a canopy of shelter from

the blazing sun.

Through the middle of the ranch ran a well-used dirt road with other

roads branching off it, all roads leading past enormous barns, barracks for

the workers and the huge, chimneyed hop kilns.

In the middle of the ranch, facing north, stood the big Caulden house,

constructed of local red brick, with a painted white verandah around two

sides, balconies protruding from the second story. Tall palm trees and an

old magnolia sheltered the house from the sun and kept the darkened

interior cool.

Inside, in the west bedroom on the second floor, Amanda Caulden was

still sleeping, her thick chestnut hair pulled back into a respectable braid.

Her sedate, characterless nightgown was buttoned to her chin, the cuffs

carefully covering her wrists. She lay on her back, the sheet folded

perfectly across her breasts, her hands clasped across her rib cage. The

bedclothes were only barely disturbed, the bed looked as if it had just been

turned down—yet a twenty-two-year-old woman had spent the night here.

The room was as tidy as the bed. Apart from the young woman lying so

utterly still, there were very few signs of life. There was the bed, expensive

and of good quality—as was the woman—and two chairs, a table here and

there, a closet door, curtains on the three windows. There were no lace

doilies on the tables, no prizes won by a male admirer at a fair, no satin

dancing slipper hastily kicked under the bed. There was no powder on the

dresser, no hairpins left out. Inside the drawers and the closet, everything

was perfectly neat. There were no dresses shoved to the back that had

been bought on the spur of the moment then never worn. There were

eighteen books in a case under one window, all leather bound, all of great

intellectual importance. There were no novels about some pretty young

thing's seduction by some handsome young thing.

Up the back stairs, bustling, straightening her impeccably neat blue

dress, came Mrs. Gunston. She straightened her spine and calmed herself

outside Amanda's door before giving one quick, sharp knock then opening

the door.

"Good morning," she said in a loud, commanding tone that actually

meant, Get out of that bed immediately, I don't have time to waste

pampering you. She rushed across the room to thrust aside the curtains as

if they were her enemy. She was a big woman: big-boned, big-faced,

big-footed, hands like gardening plows.

Amanda woke as neatly as she slept. One second she was asleep, the

next she was awake, the next she was standing quietly by the bed looking

at Mrs. Gunston.

Mrs. Gunston frowned, as she always did, at the slender delicacy of

Amanda. It was amazing to think that these two people were of the same

species, for, just as Mrs. Gunston was heavy and thick, Amanda was tall,

slim and fragile-looking. But Mrs. Gunston only felt a kind of exasperation

in Amanda's femininity because she equated her delicacy with weakness.

"Here's your schedule," Mrs. Gunston said, slapping a piece of paper on

the table under the west window, "and you are to wear the"—she checked

another piece of paper she'd taken from one of her numerous pockets—

"the vieux rose dress with the lace yoke. Do you know which one it is?"

"Yes," Amanda answered softly. "I know."

"Good," Mrs. Gunston said curtly, as if this were a big accomplishment

for Amanda. "Breakfast is promptly at eight and Mr. Driscoll will be

waiting for you." With that, she left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Amanda yawned and stretched—then cut off

both halfway and looked about guiltily as if expecting someone to have

seen her. Neither her father nor her fiancé, Taylor Driscoll, approved of

yawns.

But Amanda didn't have much time to contemplate whether or not a

yawn and stretch would merit disapproval, for she had no time to waste.

With unconsciously graceful movements, she hurried across the room to

look at her schedule. Every night Taylor made out a new schedule of

courses for her, for Taylor was not only to be her husband, he was also her

teacher. Her father had hired him years ago when Amanda was only

fourteen, saying that Taylor's instructions were to make Amanda into a

lady. At twenty, when Taylor deemed her educated enough to be called a

"gentlewoman," he asked her father for permission to marry her as soon as

he had further educated her enough to be his wife.

Amanda's father, J. Harker Caulden, had been delighted and had

accepted promptly for his daughter. No one had found it necessary to ask

Amanda so important a question. One evening at dinner Taylor had

interrupted a stimulating conversation on the influence of baroque art on

the world today to tell her they were to be married. At first she had not

known what to say. J. Harker had said, with a touch of disgust, that she

was now engaged to Taylor. Taylor had smiled and said, "If you agree to

the marriage, that is."

J. Harker had been horrified at the idea of giving a woman a choice. "Of

course she wants to!" he'd bellowed.

Amanda, her cheeks pink, had held her hands tightly together and

looked at her lap. "Yes," she'd managed to whisper.

To marry Taylor! she'd thought all through the rest of dinner. To

marry this tall, handsome man who knew everything, who had been her

teacher and her guide since she was an adolescent! It was a dream she'd

never allowed to cross her mind. After dinner she'd pleaded a headache

and gone to her room. She had not heard her father's angry mutterings of,

"Just like her mother," for Grace Caulden spent most of her life reclining

alone in her little sitting room at the back of the top floor.

Amanda had not been able to sleep that night and so had done poorly

on a test on the French policies of Charles I that Taylor had given her the

next day. Justifiably so, he had berated her rather fiercely and Amanda

had vowed to make herself worthy of the great honor of being his wife. She

would work and study and learn all that she could and someday she might

be worthy of him. Of course, she'd never know half as much about life and

the world as he did, but then a woman didn't need to know as much as a

man. All she wanted to do was please Taylor and be the best wife she could

be.

She picked up her schedule. Once again, a little shiver of gratitude went

through her as she saw the list written in Taylor's own neat, even, small

handwriting. Every evening he took time out from his busy schedule of

learning how to run the ranch that would someday be his to write out her

curriculum. She began to memorize today's schedule.

7:15 a.m. Rise and dress

8:00 a.m. Breakfast: one three-minute egg, one piece of toast,

coffee with half milk. We will discuss President Wilson's

tariff revisions.

8:42 a.m. Study for examination on French irregular verbs.

Complete essay on Puritan ethics.

11:06 a.m. Gymnastic exercises with Mrs. Gunston

11:32 a.m. Bathe

12:04 a.m. Review for examination on identification of birds of

the finch family

1:00 p.m. Luncheon: steamed chicken, fresh fruit, lemonade. We

will discuss the symbolism in Gray's "Elegy in a Country

Churchyard."

2:12 p.m. Examination on French irregular verbs

2:34 p.m. Watercolors if examination score is 96 or better. If not

—study!

3:11 p.m. Rest

4:37 p.m. Sewing with Mrs. Gunston. Practice in cut work.

5:39 p.m. Dress for dinner. Wear the pink Jeanne Hallet dress—do

not forget the rose belt.

6:30 p.m. Dinner: two steamed vegetables, broiled fish, skimmed

milk. Discussions will include late-nineteenth-century

literary masterpieces.

7:38 p.m. Reading aloud in the parlor; tonight's passage is from

Thoreau's Walden. (Be prepared to discuss that region's

flora and fauna.)

9:10 p.m. Prepare for bed (including breathing exercises)

10:00 p.m. Bed

At last, dressed in the elegant dress Taylor had chosen for her, both

chosen from her closet and chosen from her dressmaker, Amanda left her

room to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She glanced quickly at

one of the clocks Taylor had insisted upon being distributed throughout

the house and saw that she was exactly on schedule. The morning time in

the bathroom was four minutes—Taylor had timed her, then subtracted a

minute for efficiency's sake. She checked her hair in the mirror to make

sure there were no stray strands escaping. Taylor believed that unkempt

hair was the sign of a wanton woman.

She left the bathroom, saw she was a full forty-five seconds overtime

and began to hurry down the stairs.

"Amanda!"

It was Taylor's voice, low, deep, and full of disapproval. He was standing

in a shadow at the foot of the stairs, his pocket watch in his hand, a scowl

bringing his dark brows together. Immediately, Amanda slowed her pace,

hoping her wildly beating heart couldn't be heard.

"Were you running, Amanda?" he inquired in the same tone one would

ask, Were you trying to cut off the cat's tail? It was a mixture of horror

and disbelief.

Amanda had never thought of lying to Taylor. "I was hurrying, yes," she

said softly. "I apologize."

"Good." He put his watch back in the vest pocket of the dark suit he

wore. Taylor was always immaculate, with never a wrinkle or dust spot to

be seen on his person. He could ride in the back of an open auto along

dusty roads and come out as clean as when he stepped into the car. No

matter how hot it grew, Taylor never perspired. He also never bent. His

back was straight and rigid, his shoulders back as far as any soldier's. He

was tall, very thin (which he said showed that he had control over one of

the primitive aspects of man—hunger) and handsome in a dark, almost

forbidding way. Sometimes Amanda thought Taylor looked a bit like a

photograph of a handsome man that had come to life.

Taylor turned to Amanda and inspected her. He made sure every hair

was pulled back, that her dress was perfectly ironed, that her stocking

seams were straight, her shoes polished. He saw that she stood up very

straight—no slumping in the woman he was to marry—and frowned briefly

at her breasts. When she stood with her shoulders back like that she

looked too… too feminine.

He turned on his heel and went toward the dining room, and Amanda

breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. She had passed inspection and, what

is more, he had not been angry with her for rushing down the stairs in her

hoyden manner that he hated so much.

Courteously, Taylor held her chair out for her in the dining room, then

took the place at the head of the table. As always, her mother took

breakfast in her sitting room while her father ate earlier. Sometimes

Amanda thought her father didn't want to eat with her and Taylor, that

perhaps their enlightened discussions bothered him. After all, J. Harker

had quit school in the eighth grade to support his family and that was why

he was so insistent that his daughter be educated and that she marry an

educated man.

The maid placed Amanda's egg before her, her single piece of dry toast

to one side, and Amanda knew she was to start the conversation. Taylor

liked to know that she had memorized the schedule he had so laboriously

prepared.

"I believe free wool was one of the major issues of President Wilson's

tariff reform, that is, the removal of a duty on imported raw wool."

Taylor didn't speak but he nodded, so she knew she was right. It was so

difficult remembering all the topics of current events.

"And the duty on manufactured woolen goods has been reduced to

thirty-five percent. This, of course, puts a burden on American farmers

who sell wool, but on the other hand American manufacturers can buy

wool from anywhere in the world."

Taylor nodded. "And the sugar?"

"The tax on imported sugar protects the Louisiana cane growers and

the Western beet farmers."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You know nothing else about the sugar

tariff?"

Frantically, she searched her memory. "Oh yes, the sugar tariff will be

lifted in three years. The Western beet farmers say—"

They both looked up as J. Harker burst into the room. He was a short,

squat, angry-looking man, a man who, a long time ago, had found out that

the only way to get anything was to take it. He had brought himself up

from nothing to owning the largest hop ranch in the world. He had fought

every step of the way—even when there was no need for fighting, he had

fought—and every punch he had taken had made him angrier.

"Look at this," Harker said, holding out a letter toward Taylor. There

were no preliminary courtesies of, good morning, nor even any

acknowledgment of his daughter, merely the handing of the letter to

Taylor, whom he, quite simply, thought was the smartest man on earth.

Taylor's illustrious family—albeit a penniless one—his education, his

manners, his ease in society, were things that awed J. Harker.

Carefully blotting the corners of his lips, Taylor took the letter and read

it.

"Well?" J. Harker demanded in his blunt way.

Taylor carefully folded the letter and took his time answering. The letter

was from the governor of California, stating that he was afraid there

might be labor trouble this year with the migrant workers who came to

pick the hops. The ULW, the United Laborers of the World, were talking of

coming to Kingman and seeing if they could get the laborers to strike

against the hop growers and, since the Caulden ranch would be the first to

be picked, the governor suspected the trouble would start there.

Taylor ignored J. Harker's glaring and continued to give the matter

some thought. This year hop prices were at rock bottom and the Caulden

ranch was going to have to cut corners to make ends meet, and these cut

corners would, no doubt, cause problems with those crazy labor leaders.

But those men could be handled. Didn't J. Harker contribute enough to

the various causes in Kingman to be able to ask for a little protection from

the sheriff and his deputies? Yes, the labor leaders could be dealt with.

It was the second part of the governor's letter that bothered Taylor—and

what was no doubt enraging J. Harker. The governor wanted to send some

college professor, some man he'd just appointed Executive Secretary of

Immigration and Migrant Labor, to Kingman to see if the professor could

prevent any trouble. It would be all right, Taylor thought, if this man were

stupid, but, somehow, Taylor doubted that he was. A Ph.D. in economics

from Heidelberg University in Germany. No doubt this man had spent the

last forty years of his life studying labor problems and had never been two

miles off a college campus. No doubt he was all for the laborer and had

never given a thought to the problems of the ranch owner, never

considered the amount of money it cost to grow hops, just expected the

"rich" owner to pay exorbitant wages to the "starving" pickers.

Taylor looked up at J. Harker. "Invite the man to come here," he said.

"Here? To Kingman?" J. Harker's face was getting red. He hated the

concept of the government telling him how to run his ranch. It was his

land, wasn't it? And the pickers were free people, weren't they? If they

didn't like what was going on, they could leave, yet the governor seemed to

believe he had a right to tell J. Harker how to run his own ranch.

"No," Taylor said, "I mean, invite him here to this house." Before

Harker could protest, Taylor continued. "Think about it. He's a poor

college professor, makes perhaps twenty-five hundred, three thousand a

year. I wonder if he's ever seen a ranch like this or visited a house like this.

Bring him here now, weeks before the pickers arrive, and let him see that

we aren't monsters, let him see—" He broke off to turn his gaze on

Amanda, who had put her hand out for the jam jar. "No," he said simply,

and Amanda withdrew her hand guiltily.

"A college professor?" J. Harker said. "Who'll take care of the old guy?

With the hops about ripe, I can't spare a minute and I need you to—"

"Amanda," Taylor said, making Amanda start.

She'd been only halfheartedly listening to the conversation since it

didn't pertain to her and now Taylor had caught her daydreaming.

"Amanda will entertain him," Taylor said. "She can discuss several

different aspects of economics with him and, if she doesn't know enough,

he can teach her. She can also show him Kingman. You can do that, can't

you, Amanda?"

Both Taylor and her father were staring at her with the intensity of

hungry hawks watching a rabbit running across an open field. These were

the two people she most wanted to please, but she knew she wasn't very

good with strangers. She didn't meet too many people—rarely was meeting

someone put on her schedule—and when she did, she didn't have much to

say to them. People didn't seem to want to discuss what had made the

Nile flood. They liked to talk of dances (something she'd never attended)

and clothes (Taylor chose her clothes) and moving pictures (she'd never

seen one) and baseball (never seen a game but she knew all the rules; she'd

made 98 on that exam) and cars (she rarely went anywhere and then only

with Taylor and a chauffeur, so she knew little about automobiles). No,

she wasn't good with strangers.

"Amanda?" Taylor said louder.

"Yes, I will try," she said sincerely. Perhaps a college professor would be

easier to talk to than other people.

"Good," Taylor said and seemed disappointed in her hesitancy. He

glanced at the tall clock at the end of the dining room. "You are three

minutes off schedule. Now go and study."

She rose immediately. "Yes, Taylor." She glanced at her father. "Good

morning," she murmured before leaving the room.

Alone in her room, she sat down at her little desk, opened a drawer and

took out her notes on French irregular verbs. At ten a.m. she worked on

her essay on Puritan ethics. Twice she miswrote a word and had to start

over again. Taylor insisted that each of her papers be in perfect form, with

no errors.

At eleven a.m. Mrs. Gunston was waiting for her in a basement room.

Amanda wore a blue serge gymnastic dress that reached only to mid-calf.

Taylor had said this dress was necessary but he had designed a modest,

long dress to be worn over it while Amanda walked down the back stairs—

not the front stairs where she might be seen—to the basement.

For thirty minutes, Mrs. Gunston put Amanda through a rigorous

program using heavy Indian clubs and weighted pulleys attached to the

wall.

At 11:30, faint with hunger and fatigue, Amanda was allowed seventeen

minutes in a tub full of cool water (Taylor said hot water aged a person's

skin). According to her usual schedules, then she had to dress, study for

tomorrow's exam and be at luncheon at one sharp.

But today was different.

When Mrs. Gunston appeared in Amanda's room at 12:45 with a tray of

food, Amanda was immediately concerned.

"What has happened to Mr. Driscoll?" she asked, fearing that only

death could make Taylor upset the schedule.

"He is with your father," Mrs. Gunston said, "and he has given you a

new schedule."

With her eyes wide in wonder, Amanda took the new schedule.

From 1:17 to 6:12 read the following: Veblen's Instinct of

Workmanship Hoxie's Scientific Management Royce's

Philosophy of Loyalty Montgomery's Labor and Social

Problems

6:00 p.m. Dress for dinner. Wear the blue chiffon with the pearls.

6:30 p.m. Dinner: two steamed vegetables, broiled fish, skimmed

milk, a one-inch piece of chocolate cake.

7:30 p.m. Discuss what you have read

9:30 p.m. Prepare for bed

10:00 p.m. Bed

Amanda looked up at Mrs. Gunston. "Chocolate cake?" she whispered.

A maid walked in, set the four books on a table and left the room. Mrs.

Gunston picked up one of them. "This man, this Dr. Montgomery, he

wrote this one and he's coming here. You're to know something to talk to

him about, so you better stop dreaming of cake and get to work." She

turned away with an officious bustle and left the room.

Amanda sat absolutely rigid on a hard little chair and began to read the

book by Dr. Henry Raine Montgomery first. At first it seemed such an odd

book that she didn't understand it. It was all about how the strikes of

laborers were actually caused by the owners of the mines and factories and

ranches.

Amanda hadn't thought much about the men who worked in the fields.

Sometimes she'd look up from her book and see them, far away, looking

like toys, moving about under the blistering sun, but she'd always looked

down at her book again and never given them another thought.

She read all afternoon, making her way through two of the books on the

list, and by dinner time she felt confident she could discuss labor

management with Taylor.

She was unprepared for his anger. It seemed she'd read the books

incorrectly. She was to read the books from the management's point of

view.

"Have I taught you nothing?" Taylor had said to her in a cold voice.

She was sent to her room without the chocolate cake and she was to

write a long essay on why the books of Montgomery and the others were

wrong.

At midnight Amanda was still writing and she was coming to greatly

dislike the name of Dr. Montgomery. He had turned her calm household

upside down, made Taylor angry at her, cost her many hours extra work,

and worst of all, cost her a slice of chocolate cake. If this was what his

book did, what in the world was the man going to do?

She smiled in weariness and told herself she was too fanciful. Dr.

Montgomery was merely a poor, old college professor who knew nothing

about the economics of the real world, only the economics of a paper

world. She imagined a gray-haired man bent over a desk, a dusty pile of

books around him, and she wondered if he'd ever seen a moving-picture

show. Perhaps the two of them could go into Kingman and… She stopped

that thought. Taylor said moving pictures were mind-deadening and

people who went to them were lower-class buffoons, so of course this

college professor wouldn't want to do something so unworthwhile.

She turned back to her essay and continued to write about how wrong

Dr. Montgomery's book was.

Chapter Two

« ^ »

It was the sixth day of the Los Angeles to Phoenix Harriman Derby and

the two men in the Stutz were growing weary. What time there was for

rest had been used for repairing the stripped-down racer. This morning

they had hit mud, and the red racer—and the men—were now covered in

dried, caked earth, only their lips clean, licked clean, and their eyes under

their goggles not covered.

It had been a grueling race, with the path of the race unmarked and the

citizens of the towns on the course not warned of the approaching

speeding cars. The towns that were forewarned were worse, because the

people stood in the middle of the road awaiting the approach of the cars.

They had never seen autos that could do sixty miles an hour and had no

understanding of how fast that was. Many drivers had been given the

choice of hitting a tree and dying, or hitting the spectators and taking

them along. Most chose the tree.

Sometimes spectators were angry at the drivers or at autos in general

and threw rocks at the drivers. Sometimes they tried to slap the driver on

the back in congratulations. However they did it, spectators caused

drivers to lose their lives.

Hank Montgomery, the driver of the Stutz, was cautious as he slowed

down to forty to enter the little cowtown on the Arizona border. Next to

him, his mechanic, Joe Fisher, leaned forward and strained to see what

was ahead. Nothing seemed to be moving, and then, just as they passed

the first building on the edge of town, they saw the reason for the empty

street. To their left, slammed into a building, was Barney Parker's Metz.

The dust hadn't settled from the wreck, and Barney lolled against the seat

looking more dead than alive.

Hank downshifted and started to slow the Stutz when Joe yelled and

pointed. An angry-looking group of citizens, clubs, sticks and rocks in

hand, not to mention a few rifles and shotguns, were approaching Barney's

car, but when they heard Hank's motor, they began to turn toward Hank's

Stutz.

"Get out of here!" Joe shouted.

There were angry, armed people in front and in back of Hank and

buildings on both sides. He could slam the car into gear, floor the

accelerator and plow into the people, or he could—

Hank did some of the fastest thinking he'd ever done, and some

amazingly quick turning of the heavy steering wheel. He turned down an

alley even as Joe yelled at him not to. If the alley was a dead end, they were

done for. This was obviously one of those sleepy towns that wanted to stay

that way and they resented autos tearing through their streets at all hours,

scaring horses and making even the sidewalks unsafe. If they ever caught

up with this race driver, Hank might not live to tell about it.

There was a light at the end of the alley. It opened into a fenced yard

where a woman stood feeding her chickens—or had been feeding them,

because now she was paralyzed at the sight of a filthy auto traveling at a

breathtaking speed coming through her fence.

Both Hank and Joe ducked in unison from long practice as the fence hit

the front of the car. When the men came up, they were attacked by

squawking, flying chickens. Hank knocked one chicken off his lap then

leaned out to brush two off the hood. Joe lifted a chicken from the

floorboard and tossed it out.

After they got through the other side of the fence, Hank slowed down

and turned to look back. The farm lady was shaking her fist at them as her

chickens flew everywhere and behind her came running a group of

outraged citizens.

"Are you crazy?" Joe yelled over the roar of the motor as Hank turned

the car back toward the town. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm going to see if I can get Barney," Hank yelled back.

"No, you—" Joe yelled, then slammed back against the seat as Hank

took off. Who was he to argue? He was only the mechanic while Hank was

the owner and driver. What did it matter that it was his neck too? Hank

did what he wanted.

Joe held on to the side of the car as Hank revved up the car to forty,

fifty, sixty. Joe saw the turn that led back toward the road where Barney's

car was wrecked and he prayed Hank wouldn't try to take the corner at—

Joe knew he aged twenty years on that turn as Hank took it at seventy

miles an hour, barely missing the boardwalk on the far side. Joe smelled

rubber and cursed as Hank pulled on the brake as he approached Barney's

Metz.

"Get the gun!" Hank yelled.

Joe obeyed as he reached for the pistol that Hank kept lashed to the

floorboard but he knew that his hands were shaking too hard to use the

thing.

There were only three citizens standing near Barney, who was now

limping out of his car. His mechanic had quit on him two days before.

Barney was dazed, but as he saw Hank and Joe, then saw a furious mob

turning the corner behind them, he knew what was going on. Without a

backward glance to his destroyed car, he jumped into Joe's lap as Hank

sped ahead.

It was difficult trying to get around the little town, driving over

prairie-dog holes, dodging cactus, stopping to open and close gates. Joe

complained about Barney's weight while Barney bragged about how he

would have beaten them except that he swerved to miss a dog and

rammed into the side of the building.

Joe was thinking Barney wasn't so bad after all.

"Damned animal bones are hell on tires," Barney said.

Joe and Hank exchanged looks, and an hour later, about six miles

outside another little town, Hank stopped the car and told Barney to get

out.

"You can't leave me here!" Barney said. "I'll die of thirst."

"Only if you've forgotten how to walk," Hank said as he put the car in

gear and started moving.

Joe leaned back and sighed. "Never felt so light in my life. Where to

now, boss?"

"To the finish line!"

Hank Montgomery won the Harriman Derby and flicked mud off of

himself as he walked to the platform and accepted the three-foot-tall silver

trophy from the mayor of Phoenix.

Joe stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. They had been

racing for eight days, with no sleep to speak of, and all Joe wanted was a

bath and a bed. "You did get us rooms here, didn't you?" he asked wearily

between people congratulating them.

"I got you a suite and me the top floor of the Brown," Hank said,

grinning.

"Top—?" Joe began, then stopped. Sometimes he forgot that Hank was

loaded, but then he guessed that was a pretty good compliment to pay to

someone. Hank didn't act like a rich guy—nor did he act like a college

teacher.

"Well, I'm going to bed. You comin'?"

"In a while," Hank said, removing his leather cap and doing his best to

neaten hair that was dark blond when it didn't have five or so pounds of

mud in it.

Joe followed Hank's eyes to a very pretty young woman standing by the

edge of the crowd. "You're going to get into trouble," Joe warned, then

shrugged. What Hank Montgomery did was his own business. He paid Joe

well and he shared the winner's purse with him, and that's all Joe wanted.

He turned and made his way through the crowd.

Dr. Henry Montgomery gathered his papers and books, slipped them

into the heavy leather satchel and left the classroom. He was a tall,

broad-shouldered man and his dark brown suit fit him perfectly, showing

off the muscular body he had developed through years of exercise. Very

few of his colleagues and, he hoped, none of his students, knew his

background. To them he was an economics professor with excellent

credentials who gave difficult tests and expected a great deal from his

students. Some of the other teachers didn't like his ideas on labor and

worried that he might anger some of the richer alumni, but since Dr.

Montgomery remained quiet and wasn't involved in any scandals, they

accepted him. They did not know of the wealth in his family or that during

his holidays he raced automobiles, nor did they guess there was another

side to Dr. Montgomery.

Hank walked the mile and a half to his house, a pretty little brick

building set at the end of a quiet dirt lane, heavy shade trees towering over

it and everywhere lush greenery growing beautifully in the California sun.

Hank smiled as he saw the house, as he was looking forward to its

tranquility and the hovering, maternal care of his housekeeper, Mrs.

Soames. He had student essays to read and grade and he was working on

his second book about labor and management.

As soon as he opened the door, Mrs. Soames came rushing into the

room, a heavy cloud of powdered scent hovering about her, her face

bursting with smiles—as was the rest of her bursting. Mrs. Soames was an

excellent cook but she "tasted" the dishes a little too often.

"You're home," she said happily, then held out a letter to him. "It's from

those people up north, the ones the governor wants you to take care of."

"That's not what he said," Hank began. "He—" Hank stopped because it

was no use explaining again to her what his job was to be. He opened the

letter while Mrs. Soames stood there and watched, knowing it was no use

asking her to leave.

He frowned when he finished reading. "It seems the Cauldens want me

to come and stay with them. They want me to be their guest until after the

hops are in."

"They're up to something," Mrs. Soames said suspiciously.

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "Probably just want me to get to

know them and like them. I'm not likely to take the laborers' side if I'm

staying in the luxurious quarters of the management."

"So, are you planning to stay with them?"

He put the letter down on a table. "I think I'll decline their gracious

offer. I need to do some extra work with a few students anyway, so I'll stay

here until just a few days before the workers are due to arrive to pick the

hops."

"Good!" Mrs. Soames said firmly. "Now you sit there and rest. I've fixed

you a nice dinner."

He watched her hurry out, then poured himself a large whiskey,

removed his jacket and sat down to read the evening newspaper.

Mrs. Soames, in the kitchen, wasn't nearly as calm as Hank was. She

slammed pie dough down on the table and attacked it with a rolling pin.

Too many people took advantage of her Dr. Hank. They seemed to think he

could do everything at once. They thought he could teach those ungrateful

students of his, be the Executive Secretary of whatever-his-title-was, race

his cars—the only fun he had—and, in his spare time, prevent labor

strikes. It was more than one man should be asked to do.

But Dr. Hank believed in helping people less fortunate than himself and

he would risk his life to help them. And didn't she know that to be true!

Six years ago she was married and living in Maine with the odious man

who had been her husband for nearly twenty years. He drank; he beat her.

She bore scars from his abuse but no one would help her get away from

him. Her family said she was his wife for better or worse and she just

happened to get only the worse. They were sorry to see her wounds but

there was nothing they could do to help her. The police wouldn't help; the

hospital where she spent a week once when he'd nearly killed her gave her

back to him. She ran away from him three times, even managed to get two

hundred miles away once, but he always found her again. She had almost

given up hope until Dr. Montgomery, driving by in one of his motorcars,

happened to see the old man strike Mrs. Soames.

Dr. Montgomery stopped his car, jumped out, hit her husband in the

face and escorted Mrs. Soames to his car. Mrs. Soames was suspicious of

the handsome young man at first, but then she asked herself, What could

he possibly want from her?

He drove her home to his family, who lived in a long, sprawling house

that his family had owned since before the American Revolution. Dr.

Montgomery's mother, a breathtakingly beautiful woman, had swept

down the stairs and looked Mrs. Soames up and down. "Another stray,

Hank?" she'd said, then gone on her way.

Mrs. Soames stayed with the lovely family for three months, making

herself as useful as possible until Mrs. Montgomery began to say she

couldn't run the house without Mrs. Soames.

Dr. Hank obtained a divorce for Mrs. Soames and then, to make sure

she wasn't bothered again, he asked her to go with him when he went all

the way across the country to California to accept a post as an economics

professor. Mrs. Soames had readily accepted and these last five years had

been the happiest of her life.

But the very trait in him that had made him save her was what also

worried her. He cared about people less fortunate than he was. He cared

about the roan who delivered the coal and always had Mrs. Soames save a

piece of pie for him. Yet there were several men Dr. Hank worked with,

illustrious men, educated men, who he wasn't particularly polite to.

Last year that book of his that had caused such a stir had been

published. All she knew was that it was something about being on the side

of the maids and delivery men of the world. Mrs. Soames was sure it was a

good book but it certainly had caused trouble.

Union organizers, men who all seemed to be nervous, their eyes

jumping around, came to see him. Mrs. Soames counted the silver when

they left.

She put the pie in the oven then grabbed the potatoes to mash. And

now these rich farmers wanted her Dr. Hank to come and stay with them.

Corrupt him, that's what they wanted to do. Give him wine with his every

meal, feed him French sauces and give him indigestion.

And worst of all, she thought, as she slammed the masher against the

innocent potatoes, they wanted to endanger her dear Dr. Hank's life with

that union riffraff. Her dear, saintly Dr. Hank needn't risk his life for a

bunch of people he didn't know. He had enough to do at his college.

She put the massacred potatoes aside and went into the parlor. He was

sitting quietly on the sofa, reading his paper and sipping his whiskey. The

setting sun came in through the west window and made his hair glow like

an angel's. Like the angel he was, she thought, looking at his profile. Such

a handsome man, she thought. Such a good, kind, lovely man.

She walked across the room to pull the curtains closed so the sun

wouldn't shine in his eyes and she saw a long white open-topped limousine

pull up outside. A chauffeur in a spotless white uniform and cap sat in

front and in back was a beautiful young woman wearing a white silk dress,

an enormous-brimmed white hat with white ostrich plumes curling

around it and softly framing the woman's face. Her hair was a deep shade

of red, the only color on her, the car or the chauffeur.

Mrs. Soames jerked the curtains shut and gave a glare at the back of

Hank's head. There was one area where her Dr. Hank wasn't so innocent

and that was when it came to women. She never asked, of course, exactly

what he did on those automobile races of his, but twice he had returned

with articles of ladies' undergarments in his luggage. Once there had been

a black silk stocking inside his trouser leg.

She turned to peep back out the curtain and saw the chauffeur helping

the young woman out of the car. And in the woman's hand was—oh no!—it

looked to be a book of wallpaper samples.

Mrs. Soames closed the curtain and rolled her eyes skyward. He had

done it again. She had tried to explain that it was all right to save fat old

women like herself from unpleasant situations, but when he started saving

young women they expected something from him—like marriage and a

family, for instance.

She gave the back of his head a look of disgust. He was much too old to

be getting himself into these predicaments.

She walked to the front of him and took the newspaper out of his hands

and began folding it. "You have a guest coming," she said sternly. "Tall,

red hair, henna I would say, very pretty."

Hank finished his whiskey and looked puzzled. "I don't seem to

remember…"

When men had flaws they had flaws. Were there so many women in his

life that he didn't remember this stunning woman? She narrowed her eyes

at him and slipped his empty glass into her apron pocket. "She has a

bosom like the prow of a ship."

Hank grinned in memory. "Blythe Woodley."

Mrs. Soames's mouth made a disapproving little line. "She has a

wallpaper sample book."

Hank's face lost its color. "She's in front? I think I'll go out the back. Tell

her—"

"I will not!" Mrs. Soames said indignantly. "You have made that poor

woman believe something that isn't true and now you must face her like a

man and not take the cowardly way out." She started to say more but she

didn't as she turned on her heel and left him alone in the room.

Hank slowly slipped on his jacket and prepared to face what he knew

was coming. Three years ago Blythe had been a student of his and he'd

been impressed with her intelligence, her curiosity, the thought she put

into her essays, her questions asked in class, and, not least of all, her

magnificent bosom. Not that he ever was forward with her in the least.

Even when she stayed after class and asked him questions and gave him

every opportunity to make their relationship a more personal one, he had

remained aloof from her. He didn't touch his students.

At the start of the next school year, he had expected to see her again but

he hadn't seen her on campus. Then one day he saw her walking across

campus wearing some frothy sort of dress more suited for a dance than for

study. He'd stopped her and asked her how she was. He didn't like what

she told him. Her family, which had a little money—nothing like Hank's,

though—had introduced her to the son of an old friend of her father's.

They'd spent all summer together and one thing led to another and at the

end of the summer they'd become engaged. It was only after the

engagement that Blythe found out that her fiancé didn't want her to go to

college. Under pressure from him, her family and his family, she'd left

college and entered a cookery school.

Hank hadn't liked this idea; he hated the idea of someone else

controlling another person's life, but if it made Blythe happy, it wasn't any

of his concern.

She said she was on her way to luncheon with her fiancé and, on

impulse, she asked him to go with her.

Also on impulse, Hank accepted her invitation. Maybe it was impulse

but it might have been a tone in Blythe's voice, a kind of urgency and

pleading, or maybe it was the touch of sadness in her eyes.

He went to lunch with them and it was worse than he feared. Blythe's

fiancé was obviously scared to death of a woman who might be as smart—

or smarter—than he was. He condescendingly explained the items on the

French menu to Blythe, yet Hank knew Blythe spoke and wrote French

fluently. He asked Hank about his book, then, before Hank could answer,

he patted Blythe's hand and said they'd better not bore her with an

intellectual conversation. And Blythe was the woman who'd last year

missed only one question on the toughest final exam he'd ever given!

He didn't like what he saw but he wasn't going to interfere. He'd already

learned that when you stepped between a pretty woman and her fiancé or

husband or father, pretty women expected you to marry them. Ugly

women thanked you ever so much for freeing them and went on their way,

but pretty women expected you to spend the rest of your life with them.

So he'd walked away from that luncheon and done nothing, not so much

as said one word to Blythe about how she was throwing her life away for

this pompous young man.

But then, the best-laid plans…

He'd come in the winner of the Harriman Derby and he was exhilarated

with winning and he didn't remotely feel like a professor of economics. He

was just a happy, healthy, energetic young man with a silver trophy in his

arms and people cheering him, and there, on the sidelines, had stood

Blythe Woodley wearing a white dress and all that red hair of hers hanging

down her back with this cocky green feather curving around her head. He

didn't think. He just put his free arm out and she came to him, curving

her body to his so well that she was like a second trophy he'd won.

At the hotel, after the door was closed, for just a second he'd had a

return to sanity and told her she'd better leave. But then she'd slowly

raised her skirt above her knee and revealed a black silk stocking. He

could resist most anything, but black silk stockings on long, slender legs

was not one of them. He thought he might betray his country if a woman

asked questions of him while revealing a pretty leg.

They had spent the weekend together—a wonderful, exciting two days of

champagne baths and, one morning, a wild ride across the Arizona desert

in his newly cleaned racer, then a picnic and lovemaking beneath a

saguaro cactus. On Monday he'd kissed her goodbye and had returned

home and she, he assumed, had gone back to her fiancé.

But now, a month later, she was at his doorstep bearing a wallpaper

sample book, and he knew that wallpaper samples or fabric samples

meant marriage.

He glanced longingly at the whiskey decanter but a knock sounded at

the door and there was no more time.

Mrs. Soames found him later, sitting in the darkness, sipping more

whiskey and, to her dismay, the decanter was half empty. She turned on a

table lamp and, except for blinking his eyes, he didn't move. Scattered

about the room were torn pieces of wallpaper as if someone, in fury, had

torn sheets and thrown them—which is probably just what happened, she

thought with a grimace.

She was not going to let him sit there and feel sorry for himself. "You

deserved it, you know," she said angrily. "You lead these young women on.

You make them love you, then you refuse to marry them. And while we're

on that, why don't you marry one of them? That young lady, Miss

Woodley, looked perfectly respectable to me. You're twenty-eight years old

and it's high time you thought about settling down and raising a family.

Maybe then you'd stop this foolish racing of cars and stealing women away

from other men."

She stopped her tirade when she saw how sad he looked. She sat down

beside him and patted his hand. "There, dearie, you meant well."

"The funny thing is," he said softly, "I would rather like to get married.

It's just that I haven't found her yet. I can't think of a thing wrong with

Blythe. She's really quite perfect. She's smart and interesting, dazzling to

look at, great in—well, good company, and she's from a family good

enough to please my grandmother."

"So marry her," Mrs. Soames said. "Or at least court her. I don't think it

will take much to fall in love with her."

He sipped more whiskey. "I could never love her. I don't know why, but I

know she isn't the one. I have this feeling that someday I'll see her and I'll

know her." He turned to grin at Mrs. Soames. "That sounds somewhat

metaphysical, doesn't it?"

"It sounds to me like a man who's had too much whiskey on an empty

stomach." She heaved herself up. "You come in and eat now."

Hank didn't move but just stared blankly ahead. "I'm going to go to

Caulden's ranch," he said. "I think I'd like a little vacation from this place."

Mrs. Soames sniffed. "You want to put some distance between you and

that poor Miss Woodley is what you want."

Hank began to look sad again. "I never meant to insinuate marriage.

She just—"

"Come on and eat," Mrs. Soames said, exasperated. "I just pray this Mr.

Caulden doesn't have a daughter who is oppressed or repressed or

anything else, so that you feel like saving her."

Hank smiled crookedly and got off the couch. "If he does have a

daughter, I'll stay away from her, I swear. I don't care if she wears nothing

but black silk stockings and walks into my room in the middle of the

night, I'll still stay away from her."

Mrs. Soames chose to ignore that remark.

Chapter Three

« ^ »

Amanda suppressed another yawn and tried not to look with dismay at

the tall stack of books on her desk. For days she had done nothing but read

books on economics in preparation for the professor's visit. Both her

father and Taylor had drilled her about the importance of this man's visit

and how Amanda was to be a gracious hostess. "And keep him away from

here," J. Harker had said. "I don't want him snooping around my land."

Taylor had given her a list of museums and places of interest to visit.

Perhaps she might go with him to Terrill City to visit the library there. He

wanted Amanda to brush up on her local history so she could act as a

knowledgeable tour guide.

Amanda so wanted to please the two men in her life but it seemed to be

almost impossible with this Dr. Montgomery coming. The fear that her

father and Taylor shared—that Amanda might act like her mother—was

beginning to worry Amanda too. She must not, under any circumstances,

forget herself. She must make her father and Taylor proud of her. This

professor was a man of great learning and she must not disgrace herself

with him. Taylor said Amanda had a frivolous streak in her—no doubt

inherited from her mother—that must be suppressed. And he said that the

outcome of what happened with the union leaders depended on Amanda's

favorably impressing Dr. Montgomery. A great deal depended on the high

caliber of Amanda's intellectual stimulation of Dr. Montgomery. She

returned to the books.

Hank drove through the beautiful California countryside south of

Sacramento, the little Mercer open all around and allowing him to smell

the flowers and enjoy the fragrant breezes. It was a beautiful little summer

car, no top, no doors, just a bright yellow body, yellow wheels, and black

leather seats. It was a man's car, low to the ground, very fast when pushed,

the heavy steering improving the faster it went. The car did have a flaw in

the fact that the brakes were next to useless, but its speed and torque (it

could climb very steep hills in fourth gear) made up for the bad brakes.

Hank was looking forward to a few weeks of rest on a hop farm. He

imagined Caulden's plump wife serving hot biscuits and gravy in the

mornings. He imagined lying in a hammock and dozing in the sultry heat.

It would be nice to get away for a while from books and students and

papers to grade.

North of Sacramento was Kingman, and he slowed down to look. It was

a medium-sized town built around five railroad tracks, and from the

hustle and bustle of the people, the place looked to be thriving. There was

the Opera House that played motion pictures every Friday and Saturday

night and matinees during the week. He passed a rich-looking residential

area with big, well-kept houses.

At a filling station on the west side of town, he asked where the Caulden

ranch was. The attendant turned and pointed toward the horizon. All

Hank saw across the flat land was another town in the distance.

"It's near that town?" Hank asked.

"That 'town' is the ranch," the attendant replied.

Hank stood and stared at it for a while, looking at building after

building spread along the horizon, and he began to understand why the

ULW wanted to start at this place. Make a ruckus here and the world

would hear the noise.

He got back into the Mercer and started driving toward the Caulden

Ranch. He passed several side roads that no doubt led into the ranch but

turned when he came to a wide road bordered by palm trees and flowering

shrubs. The road led half a mile to a two-story brick house with a wide,

deep verandah around most of it.

No one came out at the sound of his car and so he went to the door and

knocked. A maid answered, an unsmiling, lusterless-looking little woman

who politely took his straw hat, led him out of the dark paneled vestibule

and into the big hall. To the left was a pair of french doors, and the maid

politely knocked, then slid one door open.

"They are waiting for you," the maid murmured and Hank moved past

her.

In the library, directly before him was a fireplace flanked by two

floor-to-ceiling windows that looked into the green lushness of a

conservatory. He smiled slightly at the sight and thought he'd like to

explore the place. To his right were two more doors, both shut.

To his left, he could feel the eyes of people, so he turned slowly and saw

two men. The older one had the belligerent look of a mean little kid who

was being made to do something he didn't want to do, while the other one

looked as perfect as a store mannequin. He's a cold fish, Hank thought,

and immediately liked the older man better.

"I'm J. Harker Caulden," the older man said, as if daring Hank to

challenge him. "And this is my son-in-law, Taylor Driscoll."

Hank held out his hand to shake, but Caulden ignored him, so he turned

to Driscoll. Driscoll's hand was as cool as his looks and his hand felt fragile

in Hank's.

"You don't look like a college teacher," J. Harker said daringly.

Before Hank could speak, Taylor stepped forward. "What Mr. Caulden

means, Dr. Montgomery, is that we assumed you'd be older, a bit more

mature."

Hank grinned. "I hope I'm not a disappointment."

"No, of course not," Taylor said. "You are welcome. I imagine you'll

want to get settled before luncheon. Martha will show you to your room."

Hank knew he'd been dismissed. He nodded and left the room. You

aren't any more disappointed than I am, Mr. Iceberg, he thought, I was

hoping for a pretty little farmhouse. Oh well, he could always leave in a

day or two. He followed Martha up the stairs.

J. Harker was chewing on an unlit cigar and pacing the library. "I don't

like it one little bit," he said. "He doesn't look like a college professor

should. He looks too young, too healthy. He looks like he might go out in

the fields and lead a strike himself."

"All the more reason to keep him where we can watch him. I admit his

age and looks threw me for a moment, but I will try to make up for the

rudeness of both of us. He must be kept away from the fields. We have to

save every penny we can this year or we'll lose everything."

"You don't have to remind me," J. Harker said bitterly. "It's just that he

don't—"

"Doesn't," Taylor corrected him automatically. "Doesn't look as a

professor should. Amanda will—"

"Amanda! Surely you don't think I'll let her go out alone with him. "

Taylor's face showed little emotion. "I have taught her well and she is

obedient. She will help us now that we need her."

J. Harker looked hard at the man who was to be his son-in-law. Taylor

seemed to have supreme confidence that he was going to get everything he

wanted out of his life. Years ago Harker had tried to get him to marry

Amanda, but Taylor wanted to wait until she was "trained properly."

Harker hadn't protested, but now he thought Taylor was making a

mistake if he let Amanda go out alone with this good-looking young buck.

"I think you'll be sorry for this," Harker said. "She has the blood of her

mother in her."

"I know Amanda," Taylor said. "There's something… insolent about that

man that Amanda will greatly dislike. Trust me. She will help us."

"You have more faith in women than I do," Harker said, clamping down

on his cigar.

The bedroom the maid led Hank to was quite nice. It was at the front of

the second floor, looking north with east and west windows. There was a

pretty little private balcony with two wrought-iron chairs and a tiny table.

While standing on the balcony, to his left was the roof of the first-story

verandah wrapping around the windows of what he assumed was another

bedroom.

His room was dark and clean and the furniture of good quality, but it

had none of the homey touches that Hank had grown used to with Mrs.

Soames. He looked at the books in the bookcase and found nothing of

interest and so began to hang up his clothes. He had refused Martha's

offer of help.

He removed his dusty traveling jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and

headed for the bathroom Martha had pointed out to him. The door was

closed, so he knocked.

"Yes?" came a woman's voice.

"I'm sorry," Hank said, "I'll come back."

"I will be out in three and a half minutes," said the woman.

Hank was already on his way back to his room when he heard this. A

woman who knew exactly how long she was going to be in the bathroom?

Hank stopped where he was and lounged against a wall where he could see

the tall clock and the bathroom door.

As the hands neared three minutes, he reached into his pocket for a

coin to flip to lay odds with himself whether or not she'd be punctual.

At exactly three and a half minutes the bathroom door opened and out

stepped what Hank thought was surely the most beautiful woman he'd

ever seen. Tall, thin—too thin—big brown eyes that looked wary, sad,

frightened and curious all at once. Deep, dark chestnut hair. He didn't see

what she was wearing, for he seemed to see her in several gowns: medieval

velvet, Napoleonic muslin, Victorian taffeta, Edwardian linen.

The coins in his hand fell to the floor.

"May I help you?" the woman-vision asked.

"I… ah, I…" Hank stuttered stupidly.

The next second the vision was gone and he was able to see again. No,

she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world. She was very pretty,

true, but, technically, she wasn't as beautiful as Blythe Woodley. But he

couldn't stop staring at her.

"Are you Dr. Montgomery?" she asked.

He began to recover. "Yes, I am, and you are?"

"Amanda Caulden. Welcome to my home."

She held out her hand to him and he almost didn't take it. What in the

world was wrong with him? "Thank you very much. I met your father and

his son-in-law. You must have a married sister." He was doing his best to

make conversation but he was getting lost in her eyes. Not again,

Montgomery, he commanded, thinking of what had happened with Blythe

Woodley. Don't even consider it.

"Taylor is my fiancé. Now, Dr. Montgomery, if you'll excuse me, I'm

late."

"You're leaving?" he said, then cursed to himself because he sounded

like a little boy whose mother was leaving.

"No, I shall join you at luncheon. Shall I help you pick up your coins?"

"No, I can," he said quickly, and immediately went to all fours and

reached under a table for a coin, then turned to look up at Amanda and

bumped his head. She took a step forward and saved a vase of flowers

from falling to the floor.

"Perhaps I should call a maid," she suggested.

"No, I'll be fine," he said, then bumped his head again.

Amanda just looked at him, expressionless, then opened the door to the

room next to his and went inside, closing herself from his view.

Hank sat on the floor and cursed for a full five minutes, but he couldn't

get the image of her from his mind. He saw her as something from a

painting from Fragonard: on a swing, laughing, satin skirts blowing,

exposing lacy petticoats and tiny shoes with jeweled buckles. He saw her

running through fields of golden wheat, long hair streaming out behind

her. He saw her dancing a tango, wearing a slinky dress.

He saw her in his arms.

He stood, his eyes on the door to Amanda's room, and, without

conscious thought, he walked softly to her door and put his hand against

it.

It was at that moment that Amanda opened the door to her room—and

almost got Hank's hand in her face.

She was too startled to do anything but stare at him, her eyes wide.

"I… ah, the coins. I, ah…" Hank stammered, then gave her a weak smile.

"It is time for luncheon," she said firmly and turned sideways to get

past him. She halted on the stairs and put her hand to her breast and

willed her heart to stop pounding. Was this man insane or just very

eccentric? He didn't look like a college professor. In fact, he didn't act as if

he had a brain in his head. She had left the bathroom and there he had

stood, staring at her as if he'd never seen a woman before. Amanda had

looked down to see if perhaps she had forgotten some important article of

clothing. Then he'd thrown coins on the floor and floundered about, nearly

knocking over furniture as he tried to retrieve them.

What he had been doing when she opened her door and nearly walked

into his hand, she didn't like to think about. She continued down the

stairs.

"Amanda, you are late," Taylor said sternly.

"I… I met Dr. Montgomery."

Taylor was watching her. "He is younger than we anticipated and

therefore more dangerous. He must be kept occupied. Have you studied

the topics for today's discussion?"

"Yes," she said in a faraway voice. She couldn't possibly voice her

complaints to Taylor. She couldn't say that she didn't like Dr.

Montgomery, or that she was even a little afraid of him. Taylor wanted her

to spend time with him and she had to do it—for Taylor.

Dr. Montgomery sauntered down to the dining room at five minutes

after one. At least this time he was fully dressed. Even though Taylor had

lived in the same house with Amanda for eight years, had shared the same

bathroom, she had never seen him in his shirt sleeves as Dr. Montgomery

had first appeared to her.

Now he wore a simple, rather too casual tan suit and he had a way of

sitting in his chair that was not quite proper.

"Was I late?" he asked. "Sorry. It took me a while to find all the coins. I

can't afford to lose anything, not on my salary," he said, smiling at

Amanda as if they shared some private joke.

Amanda did not return his smile. "I wonder, Dr. Montgomery, if we

might discuss some of the issues of your book."

Hank was looking down at his plate in astonishment. No bowls or

platters of food were served, just individual platefuls of what looked to be

invalid food: a pale, soggy fish, about six green beans, three slices of

tomato. He was hungry and this wasn't going to fill a hole in a sock, much

less the hole in his belly. He looked at the identical plates of Taylor and

Amanda—except Amanda had even less on her plate. He'd have to get

something to eat later.

"Dr. Montgomery?" Taylor said.

Hank looked at him, at the way he sat, shoulders back, neck stiff, and

thought he took a lot on himself. He was just a fiancé yet he sat at the

head of another man's table. And why was he waiting to marry Amanda?

"Oh yes, issues," Hank said and took a bite of his fish. It was as flavorful

as eating a spongy piece of air. "I guess the real issue is, Who owns the

land? Does the rich rancher or the worker? Does the rancher have the

right to treat the worker as he wants or was slavery abolished? When are

you two getting married?"

Amanda was speechless at the man's presumption and rudeness, but

Taylor was very smooth. He acted as if he hadn't heard the last question.

"I believe it is the rancher's land. The workers are not slaves, they can

leave when they want," Taylor said.

"And let their wives and kids starve?" Hank answered. "Look, maybe we

better not get into this yet."

"Of course, you're right. This afternoon Amanda will take you on a tour

of the ranch and you can see how a ranch of this size operates."

Hank looked across the table at Amanda and thought it would be better

not to be alone with her. He wondered how long her hair was when it was

down. He'd already finished his meager meal, so he watched Amanda and

Taylor eat their tasteless food ever so slowly. They seemed so prim and

proper, yet they were in love and about to be married. Did they kiss

passionately beneath the palm trees? Did Amanda slip into Taylor's room

at night?

"If it's all the same to you, I thought I'd find a hammock and doze for

the afternoon," Hank said, then saw the two of them gaping at him. Now

what did I say? he thought.

Taylor recovered first. "It has been arranged and there is no hammock,"

he said, as if he expected no further change of his plans. Hank wanted to

defy the arrogant bastard, but if Taylor was forcing the lovely Amanda on

him, why should Hank fight him? Besides, they could go into town and get

something to eat.

Amanda had hoped Taylor would allow the man to waste the afternoon

lying about in a hammock, but he hadn't, and Amanda knew he must have

his reasons. She added laziness to the list of Dr. Montgomery's attributes.

She already had clumsy, poor table manners, aggressive, slovenly dresser.

How many others would she discover this afternoon?

At the end of luncheon, Amanda said, "I will meet you at 2:15, Dr.

Montgomery, in the north vestibule."

His eyes twinkled. "Which end of the vestibule?"

"I beg your pardon?"

He smiled at her. "I will be there precisely at 2:15, not thirty seconds

later."

When she turned away from him she was frowning. For some reason

she seemed to amuse him. She went upstairs to get ready, and when she

came down he was waiting for her, leaning against the wall as if he were

too tired to stand up straight. "Shall we go?"

"Your wish is my command."

She didn't know why, but his every word seemed to grate on her. The

chauffeur waited for them, but Dr. Montgomery hesitated before getting

into the back seat with Amanda.

Amanda did her best with him, oh how she tried, but he never seemed

to be listening to her. Taylor had drawn a map for her that showed the

route they were to take around the ranch and he'd listed facts she was to

tell Dr. Montgomery, facts she'd memorized about how much it cost to run

a ranch the size of the Cauldens'. She told Dr. Montgomery acreage,

number of hops produced, number of employees fed and sheltered. She

showed him the other crops grown on the ranch: figs, walnuts, almonds,

corn, and strawberries and asparagus in the spring.

But he just sat in the back of the limousine and stared out the window

and said nothing.

She showed him the grape fields and the small winery.

"How about a bottle?" he asked, pulling one from its holder.

"My family does not drink alcohol," she said. "This is for sale." She

turned away from him and continued telling him the facts about the

winery.

"You're a regular little encyclopedia, aren't you?" he said as they got

back into the car.

Amanda, under other circumstances, might have thought his words

were a compliment, but somehow his tone was not that of a compliment.

She didn't know what to reply to him.

At 3:51, as Taylor's schedule said, she had the chauffeur return them to

the ranch house so that they arrived back at precisely four p.m. Amanda

suggested that Dr. Montgomery make use of their library, but he had

given her an odd look, said he could take care of himself and had left the

house. Later, Amanda had seen his little two-seater, topless car speed

down the road toward town.

She sat down at her desk and tried to study her French textbook, but

her hands were shaking. He was a very unsettling man. She had never

been very good with strangers, but this man made her feel awkward and

strange and, well, she didn't like to think this, but he somehow, well, made

her feel angry. He didn't exactly sneer, he didn't ridicule, but somehow,

she felt disapproval coming from him. Not disapproval of the ranch—at

times he'd shown some interest in things, such as listening for the rustling

sound a hop made when it was ripe—but she felt he disapproved of her.

She left her desk and went to the small mirror over the dresser. What

was it about her that he disapproved of? Did he find her physically

repulsive? Stupid? She had tried to be as accurate a guide as possible and

had spent several days memorizing Taylor's facts about the ranch, but she

felt she had failed. Were Dr. Montgomery's female students so much more

erudite than she that by comparison she was a moron?

Again, she had that feeling of anger but she pushed it down and

returned to her desk. Tomorrow she was scheduled to take him to a

museum in Kingman and she had to tell him about Digger Indians, the

Donner Party and early mining in the area. She had better review her

facts.

Hank sat on a bar stool eating a three-inch-thick corned-beef sandwich

and drinking a beer—his third.

What a little prig she was, he thought. What a self-righteous,

know-it-all, fact-spouting little prig! She lectured him as if he were an

elementary school student. She was the lady of the manor and she had

been given the onerous task of entertaining the town blacksmith, an

uneducated lout who didn't know a knife from a fork. He'd seen the way

she looked down her little nose at him while they were eating that tasteless

meal.

No doubt she thought of him the way her father thought of the laborers,

that they should be grateful to get to work for so illustrious a family as the

Cauldens and how dare they ask for decent wages? Why, it should be

enough that he allowed them to bask in his sunshine, to touch his crops.

She, that sanctimonious little Miss Amanda, probably thought he was

thrilled to get to stay in a house like theirs. Tomorrow she'll probably ask

if I've ever seen a flush toilet before, he thought, slugging down the rest of

his beer.

He wasn't sure what he should do. His instinct was to leave the Caulden

house immediately, but he felt an obligation to the governor and, most of

all, to the unionists. Maybe his presence could prevent trouble. Maybe he

could watch out for the laborers' rights better if he were inside the

Caulden house. Just being there, he might be able to stop something

before it started. Logically, he knew he should stay. Emotionally, he

wanted to get away from the cold little Amanda and her even colder

fiancé. And to think that when he'd first seen her he'd—

He didn't know what it was that he'd felt, but she'd snowed on it and

killed the seed.

He left the cool, dark bar and stepped into the bright sunlight, thrust

his hands into his pockets and went to his car. It was about time for

dinner at the Cauldens'. Wonder what they were having? Boiled chicken

and boiled rice and boiled potatoes?

Amanda had never seen Taylor so angry.

"That is not the dress I told you to wear to dinner," he said under his

breath.

Amanda tried to keep her back straight and not cry. Taylor hated tears.

"I forgot. Dr. Montgomery upset me and—"

"Upset you how?" If possible, Taylor made himself taller. "Was he

forward with you?"

"No, he doesn't… I mean, I think he dislikes me."

"Dislikes you?" Taylor was aghast. "Amanda, I am surprised at you. I

thought you above these female vapors. Did you follow the schedule? Did

you explain to him each part of the ranch?"

"Yes, I did it exactly, to the minute as your schedule said."

"Then there can have been nothing wrong. Now go upstairs and change

your clothes and do not tell me any more of your fantasies. You are going

to make me think that I have chosen the wrong woman to marry."

"Yes, Taylor," she whispered and went to her room. Alone in her room,

dressing as fast as she could, she felt it again, that little gnawing sense of

anger. She hadn't felt anger since Taylor came to live with them. Before he

came she often felt anger. She used to get angry at her mother, at her

father, at her friends at school.

Then her father had hired Taylor and given him absolute control over

Amanda. He had taken her out of school in Kingman and started giving

her private lessons. Things had changed then. Amanda soon learned that

anger and/or defiance was a useless emotion; Taylor didn't allow either.

He had put Amanda on a schedule that didn't allow for anger (4:13 p.m.

temper tantrum). No such thing was permitted. And he had hired Mrs.

Gunston to make sure Amanda did what she was told.

Besides the classes, Taylor had said Amanda's mother was a bad

influence on her. After all, didn't Grace Caulden have a "past"? J. Harker

had agreed, and Grace had been sent to some expensive spas around the

world, and when she returned, her daughter had not even been allowed to

hug her hello. Grace had retired to a spare bedroom at the back of the top

floor and had rarely come out since.

As Amanda started down the stairs again, she vowed she'd try harder to

please Dr. Montgomery and therefore please Taylor.

Chapter Four

« ^ »

Hank was late for dinner and he felt Taylor's cold displeasure as soon as

he walked in the door. Was this house run like a military school? Again, J.

Harker did not appear and it was just the three of them eating. If you

could call what was on the plate eating. He'd been wrong about the menu.

It was boiled chicken, boiled rice and boiled beets.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut. "You feed your hands this well? No

wonder unionists are choosing you to picket."

Taylor gave him a look to freeze. "It is better for the body to eat lightly.

Amanda and I constantly fight gluttony."

"You've won," Hank said and pushed his plate away. "You mind if I'm

excused? I have some reading to do."

"Amanda is finished also," Taylor said. "She would like to show you the

almond orchard."

"That's all right. I've seen a lot of the ranch today." He got out of his

chair and started toward the door.

Taylor gave Amanda a glare that let her know she was to follow the

professor. With a yearning look toward her half-eaten food, she followed

Dr. Montgomery.

Hank stopped when he heard her behind him. "Afraid I'll see something

I shouldn't?"

"I have no idea what you mean, Dr. Montgomery," she said honestly.

"You wouldn't know where the kitchen was, would you?"

"Through there," she said, pointing, then followed him. She had not

been in the kitchen for years, not since Taylor had found her there one day

eating milk and cookies. He had been horrified at her impending obesity.

In the center of the big kitchen was an oak table covered with many

dishes: roast beef, gravy, at least five vegetables, yeast rolls, butter, fruit

salad, green salad, and on a counter were three kinds of cake. The servants

were sitting down to dinner, food halfway to their mouths when they

stopped at the sight of Hank and Amanda.

"Miss Amanda!" the cook gasped and sprang to her feet.

Hank just gaped at the food. "Mind if I join you?"

"No!" Amanda said, knowing that Taylor would be furious with her if

she allowed him to sit with the servants. "I mean—"

The cook, who had been with the family since Amanda was a baby,

knew a great deal of what was going on. She also knew what this big,

strapping, healthy Dr. Montgomery had been given to eat today. "I'll fix

you a plate," she said to Hank.

"Yes," was all he could say, his mouth watering. "And from now on, I

want real meals."

She smiled at him. "If Mr. Taylor will allow—"

" I will allow it," Hank said, taking the heaping platter of food from her.

"Miss Amanda?" the cook said, holding out an empty plate.

Amanda didn't remember having seen so much food in her life and she

felt fairly faint for wanting it. But Taylor wouldn't approve; he didn't like

plump women. "No, thank you," she said at last.

"All right," Hank said, "take me to the almond orchard or someplace

where I can sit down."

Amanda went out the back door behind Hank, leaving the delicious

smells behind her and following his fragrant plate like a hungry dog.

"There," Hank said, his mouth full and pointing with a loaded fork

toward the little summerhouse. It was a floor, a roof and four latticed

posts, and inside seats all around.

She followed him into the summerhouse and sat opposite him and all

she was aware of was the smell of the food.

"You aren't going to tell me when this was built?" Hank asked, wolfing

down roast beef. "Or what kind of wood this is?"

"It was built in 1903, right after my parents and I moved here. It is

made of cypress and is an exact copy of an English gazebo my mother saw

in a magazine."

"Oh. Sorry. I guess you don't like to talk about your mother."

She was surprised that he knew. Everyone else in Kingman knew, so

why not this stranger? He was eating a buttered roll. Taylor did not

believe in bread and certainly not butter. "I'd rather not talk about her."

"I understand. When did she die?"

"Die?" Amanda asked. "My mother is not dead."

"But she doesn't live with you, then?"

"My mother stays in her room. Perhaps, Dr. Montgomery, we should

change the subject."

She turned her head away and Hank sat there, eating, and watched her.

Seeing her profile in the moonlight made him remember his first

impression of her, as if she came from another time and place, as if he'd

known her before. But her coldness, her haughtiness, her snobbery made

him know he was mistaken. He wondered if her thin little body was

capable of emotion.

He turned at a noise and saw the cook coming through the darkness

and bearing two plates, each heaped high with three slices of cake.

"Thought you might like a little something else," she said, setting the

desserts down and taking Hank's empty plate, then leaving.

Hank offered a plateful to Amanda, but she shook her head. "Suit

yourself, but it's awfully good." Little prude, he thought, too cool to even

accept a piece of cake. No doubt she thought her purity would be

threatened if she touched devil's food cake. He wondered if she and Taylor

kissed at all. Probably it would be a kiss as tasteless as that afternoon's

fish.

Amanda didn't dare look at him while he was eating the cake. Her

stomach was rumbling and the smell was making her mouth water. But

she didn't dare eat any because Taylor might smell it on her breath or see

bits of chocolate between her teeth. He wouldn't like her if she were so

weak-willed as to eat cake that wasn't on the schedule.

"Better," Hank said as he put his cleaned plate aside and leaned back

against the post, his legs stretched out. "What do you have planned for us

tomorrow? I assume you do have my day planned."

She frowned at his tone then began to quote Taylor's schedule. "We go

to the Kingman Museum in the morning, then home for luncheon, and

then a scenic tour of the area. That should take us to dinner time."

"What do you do for fun?"

"I do watercolors and sew," she answered, smiling to herself. Taylor

gave her excellent grades on the watercolors and they were used as a

reward for other subjects well done.

"How do you stand the excitement?" he murmured. "What do you and

your lover do on nights on the town?"

"We do not go into town," she said, confused. Taylor said Kingman was

too provincial to be worthy of his time, that he'd not visit a city smaller

than San Francisco, where he went once a year to buy clothes and other

necessary items. Other than those two weeks, he rarely left the ranch.

"Too good for it, are you?" Hank asked and realized he was getting

nasty. Something about her primness, her smugness, her refusal to even

bend enough to eat a piece of chocolate cake, brought out the worst in

him.

He stood. "I'm going to bed. You coming in?"

"Yes," she said softly, and gave one last look at the shadow that she

knew was the second plateful of cake.

Moments later she was in her room, and on her desk were pages of

notes on the history of Kingman that she was to commit to memory before

going to bed. She sat down heavily in her chair and wished for the

thousandth time that Dr. Montgomery had never come. For some reason

he seemed to dislike her a great deal, more with each passing minute, and

to earn this dislike she was having to work twice as hard, miss meals, and

repeatedly incur Taylor's wrath.

So tonight she would have to stay up late studying, and tomorrow she'd

have to take him to a museum, and no matter how hard she'd try to be a

good guide, she'd no doubt displease him. Why was he so hard to please

and Taylor so easy? If she did what Taylor had written down, in the exact

order, exactly on time, Taylor was happy. Perhaps she should ask Dr.

Montgomery what he wanted of her. But no, that wasn't a good idea,

because if it conflicted with Taylor's schedule, she'd have to ignore Dr.

Montgomery's wishes.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and thought she'd better stop

pondering and get to work.

Hank stood on the cool balcony, looking at the stars and smelling the

rich fragrances of the night, and wished he had a whiskey. To his left was

Amanda's room and he could see a light through the curtains, could even

see the shadow of her sitting at her desk. He knew he could step off the

balcony onto the verandah roof and walk right across to her window.

And then what, he thought. Have Miss Amanda tell him how many feet

it was from his balcony to her window? He wondered what she'd do if he

kissed her. Tell him the history of kissing?

He went back into his room, took off his clothes and climbed into bed.

He went to sleep right away, but a couple of hours later he woke and, on

impulse, put on his robe and went to the balcony. Amanda's light was still

on and she was still hunched over her desk.

Frowning, he went back to bed. However much a prude she was, she

was certainly diligent at whatever she did.

When he woke the next morning it was late and he sensed that people

were already up and at work. He dressed hurriedly, then raced down the

stairs. Amanda and Taylor were standing in the doorway to the dining

room, Taylor looking at his pocket watch, Amanda obediently behind him.

"I guess I'm late again," he said without concern, and walked past them

into the dining room. On the sideboard were silver servers full of

scrambled eggs, biscuits, gravy, ham, sliced pineapple, waffles and syrup.

"Ah," he said in the tone of a hungry man confronted with delicious food.

He filled a plate and sat down, then looked up to see Taylor and

Amanda watching him. There was a sneer of disgust on Taylor's coldly

perfect features but on Amanda's… It was just fleeting, but he almost

thought he saw wistfulness or maybe it was true hunger, but the look was

gone instantly and she looked down at the watery poached egg in her cup.

After breakfast the limousine and chauffeur were waiting and Hank

almost groaned. Another day of touring and lectures.

An hour later they were standing in the Kingman Museum, which, as

far as Hank could tell, was a tribute to the Caulden family.

"My father bought four ranches at one time," Amanda was saying.

"They were very inexpensive because the silt from the mines nearby had

caused the Glass River to flood and deposit the silt over the land. At great

expense, my father dredged the silt off the land and exposed the rich soil

underneath. He also put a stop to the mining."

"I bet he did," Hank murmured.

"Then he irrigated the land and—"

"Became rich," Hank put in.

Amanda looked away. Again he was making it clear that he didn't like

her or her family.

"When did your father buy this museum?" he asked on a hunch.

"Two years ago." She didn't understand why he laughed at that.

"Come on, I've had enough. Let's go outside."

"But it isn't time yet. We still have forty-two minutes in here."

"I plan to spend forty-two minutes enjoying the out-of-doors."

Reluctantly, she followed him outside. She hoped Taylor wouldn't find

out that they had left the museum early. And now what was she to do with

him? She started toward the waiting limousine but he wasn't with her.

She turned and looked at him standing there with his hands in his

pockets, looking more like a very large little boy than a man. She did so

wish he would stand up straight like… like Taylor did.

"How far is it to town?" he asked.

"Two and a quarter miles," she answered.

"Somehow, I thought you'd know. I'll walk. I'll meet you at the Opera

House."

Amanda felt a moment of panic. She just knew he'd never show up at

the Opera House and she had a hideous vision of having to tell Taylor that

she had "lost" Dr. Montgomery. "The driver can—" she began, then

stopped because he was walking rapidly toward town. With a sigh, she

told the driver where to meet them, then, holding her hat on, she hurried

after Dr. Montgomery.

When the car went by and he saw she wasn't in it, he turned back to see

her scurrying along after him. Impatiently, he waited. You'd think I'd want

a beautiful young woman along, he thought. But Amanda was about as

real as a magazine photo. "I don't guess I'm to be trusted alone, am I?

Might meet with some union leaders and do something awful, right?"

Amanda suddenly felt very tired, tired from staying up most of the night

trying to learn what she needed to know for this man, tired of missed

meals, tired of his snide comments. "I am doing my best to make your stay

pleasurable, Dr. Montgomery. I'm sorry if I'm failing." She kept her

shoulders back in the posture Taylor had taught her—taught her with the

help of a steel brace.

He relented. Maybe she couldn't help being a cold little prig any more

than he could help being what he was. It wasn't right to be angry with her

because she wasn't what he wanted her to be. So she walked as stiffly as a

poker with two legs, so she pulled her hair back so tight her eyes were

stretched, so she spoke only in facts, so she dressed like somebody's

mother, so she had no humor, no warmth, no passion about her. It wasn't

his business.

"I apologize, Miss Caulden, I have been rude to you. It's just that I

haven't had my days planned for me since I left my mother's house, and

I'm afraid I'm too old to start over again. Look, there are some children

playing. Couldn't we just sit still for a while and smell the roses, so to

speak?"

"Roses?" she asked. "There are no roses in the schoolyard."

He groaned, then took her elbow and began to lead her toward the

fenced schoolyard. School was out now, but there were three young

children playing on the swings and seesaws, and a pretty young mother

standing nearby. He left Amanda near a bench under a giant oak tree and

walked toward the group. More than anything in the world, he wanted to

see a friendly face.

"Hello," he said, and the woman turned. She was indeed pretty and she

smiled at him. It seemed to be ages since a woman had smiled at him.

"Hello," she answered. "I'm—"

"No, don't tell me." She looked past him to Amanda sitting primly on

the bench. "You must be the Cauldens' guest. Some teacher or something,

right?"

"Close enough," he answered, holding out his hand, which she shook.

"Hank Montgomery." He nodded toward the children. "Good-looking

bunch. Father still alive?"

She laughed. "He was an hour ago."

"My loss," Hank said with a sigh.

She walked away toward the swings and her little girl and Hank

followed her. "What's it like up there?" she asked softly, motioning her

head toward Amanda. "The Cauldens treating you right? You here to

teach Amanda?"

"It's all right, and Amanda seems to be teaching me." He paused a

moment. "You know her?"

"I did. We went to elementary school together, but her father took her

out of school just about the time she started liking boys, you know?"

Hank couldn't imagine Amanda liking anyone, but he nodded. "He

hired her a tutor?"

"That man Driscoll. I've only seen him a couple of times. He doesn't

come into Kingman, but I've seen him ride through in the back of a car.

Not my type," she said, smiling more broadly at Hank.

Not mine either, Hank thought. So, Amanda was going to marry her

tutor. That made sense, what with her little mind being nothing but a

catalog of information.

The woman started to say more, but the little girl fell off the swing and

started to scream and the woman picked her up. She didn't seem to be

really hurt, just scared, and she kept peeping around her mother at Hank.

Hank put out his arms to her and the child went to him.

"Flirt!" her mother said, laughing.

Hank held the little girl and they studied each other. He liked children

and hoped someday to have several of his own.

"Miss your kids?" the woman asked, prying for information.

"No kids; no wife."

"Are you and Amanda… ?"

"Heavens no!" he said before he thought. "I mean, she's engaged to her

tutor, Taylor Driscoll. I figured everybody in town would know. Usually in

small towns doesn't everybody know everybody else's business?"

"Not the Cauldens'," she said, again lowering her voice. "They may be

rich as Croesus but there are some things that can't be bought. Not that I

care, but to my mother's generation it mattered a lot."

"What did?" Hank asked.

The woman looked past him and he saw Amanda approaching. She took

her child and stopped her confidences.

"Hello, Amanda," she said.

"Hello," Amanda answered, and by her blank face it was easy to tell that

she had no idea who the woman was.

"Lily Webster. We went to school together."

"Yes, of course," Amanda said. "How are you?"

"Overworked. Well, I better be going. Nice to meet you, Hank."

"Same here," he said, and smiled as she walked away, all three children

hovering around her. Hank turned back to Amanda. "You ready to go?" He

paused, for she was staring after the woman as if she'd seen a ghost. "You

all right?" he asked.

Amanda recovered herself. "Yes, I'm ready." She remembered Lily.

When they were in the fourth grade together they had sneaked into the

cloakroom and tied and buttoned every piece of clothing together. They

had just finished when the teacher caught them and made them unfasten

everything then stand for two hours with their noses in a circle on the

chalkboard. When her father heard of it he had been horrified but her

mother had laughed delightedly.

But that had happened before Taylor came. Sometimes she didn't seem

to remember anything that existed before Taylor came. It was as if his

presence blotted out everything that had happened before his arrival.

Now her fellow prankster, Lily, was married and had three little

children and Amanda didn't even know when her own wedding was to be.

She frowned at Dr. Montgomery's back. His questions were beginning

to bother her. He was making her wonder what Taylor had planned for

them. She knew when the wedding was to be—when Taylor felt she was

ready and not before. And at the rate she was going in doing what he

wanted her to do with Dr. Montgomery, she was never going to be ready

to be married.

She walked just behind him the rest of the way into town and breathed

a sigh of relief when she saw the limousine waiting in front of the Opera

House. But to her chagrin, Dr. Montgomery turned away from the car.

"Here it is," she called, hoping that perhaps he just hadn't seen it.

He ignored her and kept walking toward a restaurant. Amanda dodged

two old Ford pickups and crossed the street after him. He had to go back

to the ranch for luncheon because she had to pick up the schedule for the

afternoon.

At the restaurant, he held the door open for her.

"Luncheon will be waiting for us at home," she said.

"Why drive all the way back there? Besides, it might do you good to eat

somewhere else." He firmly took her arm and led her inside the cool

restaurant, where the smell of years of meals permeated the place.

Amanda couldn't remember the last time she had eaten out. It had been

here with her mother and she had been wearing white gloves. A waitress

handed them menus and Amanda read of rolled fillets of veal, rib roasts,

leg of lamb and stuffed chicken breasts. The selection made her mouth

water, but she knew there was nothing of which Taylor would approve.

She put the menu down.

"Made up your mind already?" Hank asked.

"I'm not eating here."

Angrily, he slapped his menu down on the table. "What is it you have

against food with flavor? Or is it that you're too good to eat in a public

place?"

Again, that little feeling of anger rose in her. "It is neither. It is just that

I do not wish to get fat."

He gaped at her, openmouthed. "Fat? You'd have to gain twenty pounds

to be considered thin. "He picked up her menu and handed it to her. "I'm

your guest and you're supposed to keep me happy, remember? I want you

to eat."

She felt very frustrated. She wasn't supposed to get fat; Taylor didn't

like fat women. But, too, Taylor wanted her to entertain Dr. Montgomery.

Only Dr. Montgomery didn't like museums or tours of the ranch or healthy

food. He liked to talk to women in parks and hold children, and walk, and

eat. He seemed to like eating best of all.

Amanda tried to choose the least fattening thing on the menu, but when

the waitress came, Dr. Montgomery chose for her: chicken breasts stuffed

with creamed spinach, spiced peaches, sage dressing, watercress salad,

yeast rolls and butter.

"Miss Caulden," he said, "if I swear not to run away or interfere in your

father's business, tomorrow could we spare each other our company?"

"I… I don't know," she answered. What would Taylor say? She was to go

with Dr. Montgomery to see where he went. But she was also supposed to

make him like the Cauldens and she wasn't doing very well at that, was

she? Taylor said he would be in awe of their house and ranch, but so far

nothing seemed to awe him. She didn't know what to do. "Do you have any

plans of your own?" she asked. Maybe he meant to stay at the house.

"I want to get in my car and drive. After that, I have no idea what I

want to do." Except get away from this woman who unsettled him and

made him alternately nervous and angry.

Amanda felt a moment of panic. Taylor would be angry if he went away

by himself. "Would you possibly like to read tomorrow? If I repulse you I'm

sure I could occupy myself elsewhere."

Damn, damn, damn, he thought. Honey, you don't repulse me. You

drive me crazy. That hair of yours. Those big, sad eyes. That body that

would be real nice with some meat on it. How could the interior of such a

beautiful package be so awful?

"I do have some essays to grade and some letters to write," he said at

last. "I'll stick around the house tomorrow."

She looked so relieved that he thought she might cry, and just for an

instant he thought that she might get into trouble if he didn't do what she

wanted. But that couldn't be. She was an ice lady or she wouldn't have

fallen for stone-faced Driscoll. They were a perfect match. Maybe they

made love to each other by reading love sonnets aloud.

The waitress put their plates of food on the table, and the expression on

Amanda's face made Hank smile.

"You look like you're about to worship it rather than eat it. Dig in.

Enjoy."

It had been years since Amanda had eaten food like this. Taylor said the

body was a temple and must be treated with reverence, therefore it was

not to be filled with unhealthy, greasy food.

Her first bite was heaven, absolute, sheer heaven. She closed her eyes

and chewed and let the flavor roll about in her mouth.

Hank looked up from his plate to see Amanda with her eyes closed and

wearing an expression that he had only seen on a woman's face when he

was making love to her. He dropped his fork and her eyes flew open.

"Like"—his voice broke—"like the food?"

"Yes, thank you, I do."

She went back to eating, her eyes open, thank God, but Hank had a

little trouble swallowing. Calm down, Montgomery, he told himself. She's

just a pretty girl, that's all. You came here to talk to the union leaders, not

get yourself in trouble like you did with Blythe Woodley.

"Miss Caulden, could you tell me a little about Kingman?"

Like a little box that you put a nickel in, she began to spout facts. She

told about the five railroad tracks (one main one and four sidings) and the

seven mail deliveries a day. She told about the Digger Indians, the Spanish

land grants, the copper mines. She told about the Donner Party arriving

just east of Kingman at the Johnson Ranch and she rattled off facts and

dates about the rescue parties and the number of survivors and deaths.

She told of dates when the town flooded and when it was burned down.

She told of dams built, bridges built. She gave numbers of population,

dates schools built, dates—

"Stop!" he said, gasping for air. She was a wind-up toy that never ran

down, but at least his ardor was cooled. Taylor Driscoll could have her.

She was all looks and nothing else. "Eat your cherry pie," he said, pushing

the plate toward her. He smiled at the way she cleaned her plate. For

someone who was worried about getting fat, she sure could pack it away.

Chapter Five

« ^ »

Taylor Driscoll stood behind the desk in the library staring intently out

the window toward the front of the house. He looked at his watch again.

2:13. Where was she? He had given her a schedule this morning and she

was to return by noon, so why was she over two hours late?

He looked at his watch again. 2:14. Still no sign of the car. Damn her!

he thought. Damn her for making him feel like this. He cursed her and he

cursed himself for caring so much. He'd sworn long ago that he'd never

love another woman—women were too untrustworthy. They said they

loved you and then they deserted you.

As he stared out the window he seemed to be transported back to his

childhood when he used to stand by the window and wait for his mother

to come home. She'd come staggering up the steps, two young men

holding her up, her red-dyed hair frothy about her face, her big breasts

heaving, her fat hips swaying, with a man now and then squeezing an

ample buttock and making her laugh raucously. Young Taylor used to

watch as his father, who always waited up for his wife, came out the front

door and helped her inside. The young men would make taunting remarks

to Mr. Driscoll but he never seemed to hear them.

Taylor would leave the window and go back to bed, but he'd lie there,

his little fists clenched at his sides, and hate both his parents: her for

being the fat, loud, stupid, uncaring woman she was and him for being

refined, educated, and for stupidly loving this unworthy woman.

Taylor spent every moment he had reading and studying, trying to get

away from his mother, who lolled about on a sofa and ate chocolates and

never lifted a finger to help manage the household servants or even to talk

to the child who was her son. Sometimes Taylor would stand in the

doorway and glare at his mother, but this would make her laugh at him,

so mainly he stayed in his room. His books came to represent love to him,

for there was no love anywhere else in his house. His mother openly

admitted she had married his father for his money, and her main concern

was rich food, revealing dresses covered with flounces, and "having a good

time," which involved whiskey and good-looking young men.

Taylor's father's only concern was suffering and feeling miserable

because he loved a woman like his wife. He seemed to regard loving her as

an incurable disease that he'd contracted.

When Taylor was twelve his father had died, and within a year his

mother had spent every penny he'd left to both of them. Without regret,

Taylor had packed a bag of dirty clothes—all the servants had left months

ago—and had taken a hundred dollars he'd managed to steal when his

mother was drunk and gone in search of his father's relatives.

For years he'd begged for an education. He had developed a strong

sense of pride when he was living in his parents' house—he needed it to

survive the abuse, shame and degradation—but he put his pride aside as

he asked for a little from this relative, a little from that one. After a few

years, they began to regard him as an obligation, and they knew that if

they didn't send money or letters of introduction, or whatever Taylor was

requesting, they would be bombarded with letters from Taylor and from

other relatives who he had asked to intercede.

By the time he was twenty and was graduating summa cum laude, each

relative was taking full credit for having put him through school and

having encouraged him when Taylor would have given up.

After college, he tried one job after another, but nothing appealed to

him and he was considering going back to school to get his Ph.D. and

teach when he got a letter from a distant cousin-by-marriage, J. Harker

Caulden. Caulden said he had a wayward daughter who he was afraid was

getting out of control. Her mother was useless at discipline and he hadn't

the time. He wanted Taylor to come and privately tutor the girl until she

was of marriageable age.

Taylor had immediately visualized his mother and had imagined a

fourteen-year-old harridan who sneaked out the window at night to go to

parties. Taylor hoped he could save her, and, if he were strict enough, he

might be able to prevent another being such as his mother from

developing.

He accepted J. Harker's offer and went to California and the huge

Caulden Ranch to start his taming of young Miss Amanda.

Taylor almost laughed when he saw Amanda. He had expected a young

version of his mother and instead he saw a tall, gangly, almost-pretty girl

who looked at him with big, eager eyes. And it took only two days to find

out that she had an excellent brain—a brain empty of learning but stuffed

full of clothes and boys and gossip and other frivolous things.

At once he saw the potential. She was as malleable as a piece of clay. He

could make Amanda into a lady, into the exact opposite of his mother. He

could teach her so that she could converse on something besides the latest

dances. He could dress her in a refined, sedate style. She would never be

fat under his guidance.

She was an excellent pupil, so eager to learn, so eager to please. He

didn't mind the hours he spent writing out her daily schedules because

then he knew where she was. Amanda would never have time to leave him.

As the years passed, Amanda grew into a very pretty young lady who

wasn't remotely like his mother. And he began to fall in love with her. He

didn't want to and fought it at first, because women were unfaithful

creatures who used you when they knew you loved them. So he had kept

his love for her to himself but he had bound her to him so she couldn't get

away, and someday, when the idea didn't frighten him so much, he

planned to marry her. Right now he feared that if he married her, she

might change, she might become his drunken, fat, stupid mother.

He looked at his watch again. 2:18. Still no sign of her. He hated

allowing her to go out with that barbarian Montgomery but he had no

choice. Montgomery could cause a great deal of trouble on the ranch and

he needed to be kept away, and Amanda was the only one available to do

it. The ranch had come to be very important to Taylor, for J. Harker had

said it was someday to be his. Amanda was Harker's only child and he

meant to leave everything to Taylor through her. The security of money

was something Taylor needed. His childhood, especially after his. father

died, had been one long time of begging for money, books, tuition, shoes,

clothes. The years of begging for even necessities had deeply hurt his

pride.

So now he was torn between doing what he could for the ranch and

keeping Amanda isolated.

He almost allowed himself to smile when he remembered Amanda

saying she thought Dr. Montgomery didn't like her. Didn't like Amanda? A

woman who could converse on nearly any intellectual subject in four

languages? Not likely. But then perhaps he was one of those lower-natured

men who preferred scullery maids and night-club floozies.

It was 2:22 now and still no sign of Amanda.

He stared out the window so hard his head began to ache.

Amanda's feet were hurting and she was so worried about being off her

schedule that her stomach was feeling a little queasy. Dr. Montgomery

wanted to walk around the town of Kingman and look in shop windows

and talk to people and, in general, waste time. Taylor had repeatedly told

Amanda how precious time was and that it was not to be wasted on

frivolous matters, yet here she was doing nothing to improve her mind.

And also, Taylor had told her what awful people the citizens of Kingman

were. Hadn't they ostracized her mother? They didn't like the Cauldens

and she was better off not associating with them. Yet here she was,

standing behind Dr. Montgomery and nodding in recognition to passing

people, some of whom knew her name.

"Hasn't hurt you to speak to a few of the common folk yet, has it?" Dr.

Montgomery said in an angry tone to her when she mentioned returning

to the ranch.

And another thing that made this outing so unpleasant was this

stranger's attitude toward her. He smiled at passing women but at her he

glared and frowned and made very disagreeable remarks. She wanted to

go home to the safety of Taylor and her books.

She almost bumped into Dr. Montgomery when he stopped in front of

the drugstore. There was a sign there telling of a dance next Saturday.

"You and Mr. Taylor going?" he asked her. "Planning to paint the town

red?"

She understood his meaning if not the slang. "We do not attend

dances," she said stiffly.

"Is it the dances or the townspeople who aren't good enough for you?"

Again she felt anger. "Dancing is a waste of time, and as for the

townspeople—" She was on the verge of telling him about her mother but

she didn't. She was not going to be rude merely because he was. "Dr.

Montgomery, I would like to return home now. It is late and there are

other things to do."

"You go back, then," he said angrily, thinking that he had to get away

from her and the whole Caulden clan. The two cold fishes of Amanda and

Taylor, the rude, belligerent J. Harker and the mother who was locked

away somewhere and spoken of in mysterious half-sentences, was more

than he could bear.

But as he looked at Amanda, standing there absolutely straight, her thin

little shoulders thrown back, her eyes with just a spark of fire in them, he

knew he couldn't leave. Something was holding him.

"All right," he said, "we'll go back."

Amanda could have cried with relief as they walked back to the waiting

limousine. He didn't speak to her on the drive back and she was grateful.

She needed to gather her strength for the coming meeting with Taylor.

Once in the house, Taylor came to the hall to meet them, and Amanda

could tell he was angry. He waited for Dr. Montgomery to go upstairs,

then he called her into the library.

For a moment he stood with his back to her, then he turned on his heel

and faced her, his dark eyes glittering, his cheeks pulled in in fury. "I am

disappointed in you, Amanda. Very disappointed. You knew you were to

be back here at noon, yet you were not. No! Do not give me excuses, I will

listen to none of them. Don't you realize how important your assignment

is? If unionists come here and make trouble, we could lose this year's crop

altogether. And all because you did not keep to the schedule."

Amanda looked down at her hands. How could she keep Dr.

Montgomery to the schedule? Somehow she had to. It seemed that

everything—the whole future of the ranch—depended on her.

"Now, go to your room and think on what you have done. Do not come

to dinner tonight, but later come to the parlor and read for Dr.

Montgomery. Perhaps if you are here with me you can keep on schedule."

And I will not be worried about you, Taylor thought, frowning at her

bowed head. "Go on, Amanda," he said, controlling the anger in his voice.

Amanda went up the stairs slowly, feeling as if she had gained fifty

pounds. Mrs. Gunston was waiting for her. Amanda was to go to the

basement to do her exercises, then a bath, no dinner, and reading for Dr.

Montgomery in the evening. She was beginning to despise that man!

Hank stayed in his room until dinner, trying his best to read a couple of

his students' essays. Sometimes when a student had done well, but not as

well as he liked, Hank allowed him or her to raise his grade with a

research paper. So, between terms, Hank sometimes had papers to grade.

But he couldn't keep his mind on the papers; all he could think about was

Amanda. He wasn't sure what about her infuriated him so much, but

something did. He remembered the way she had looked at lunch, her eyes

closed, that look of sublime happiness on her face. "I wish I could cause

her to look like that," he muttered and turned back to the essay.

Amanda didn't come out of her room for dinner, and Hank was sure it

was because she couldn't bear his company. He sat in unnatural silence

beside ol' stiff-necked Taylor, eating veal cutlets while Taylor ate more

boiled fish. Hank wondered what Amanda ate in her room when she was

out of Taylor's sight. Boiled fish or perhaps fried chicken?

After dinner, just as the clocks all over the house chimed 7:15, Amanda

appeared in the parlor. Hank looked around his newspaper, nodded curtly

to her, then hid behind his paper again. He wondered if she'd leave when

she found her beloved Taylor wasn't alone.

Taylor announced that Amanda was going to read for them.

"Don't let me stop you," Hank said from behind his paper, but he was

aware of the heavy silence in the room and knew he was supposed to give

proper attention to the show. Slowly, he folded his paper, put it aside, then

sat primly with his hands folded in his lap like a proper young gentleman.

Amanda, wearing a prim little blue dress with a sedate lace collar, was

standing perfectly straight before the two of them, holding her poetry

book open. As he would have guessed, she read the most boring poems

ever written: William Collins's "Ode to Evening," Shelley's "Hymn to

Intellectual Beauty." He would have fallen asleep except that her reading

gave him a chance to look at her: long, thick, lush lashes, a full mouth that

moved enticingly as she talked. He listened to her voice, felt it caress the

lovely words and wondered how it would sound if it were murmuring love

words to him.

But any love words she said would be to Taylor. Hank looked at Taylor

and saw the man wasn't enjoying her reading so much as judging it. He

looked like a teacher with a student—not like a man listening to the

woman he loved.

Hank was aware that Amanda had stopped reading and he watched

while she walked toward Taylor and handed him the book. She gave him a

soft, tentative smile and said, "Please," in almost a whisper. Hank felt a

pang of jealousy as cold, unsmiling Taylor took the book from her. Hank

thought that if Amanda had smiled and said please to him, he'd certainly

smile back; in fact, he just might do anything she wanted. But Taylor just

took the book, opened it and began to read John Milton's "On the

Morning of Christ's Nativity."

While Taylor read in a monotonous voice, Hank watched Amanda, saw

the way she looked at Taylor as if he were a god, as if he had the power of

life and death, yet Taylor seemed to be oblivious to her adoration. It

suddenly made Hank angry that Amanda should give so much and get so

little in return. If she were his he'd give to her. He'd give all she could take

and then some. If he were engaged to her he'd not spend his evenings

reading poetry to her, he'd take her into the lanes where the jasmine grew

and he'd kiss her while slipping that awful dress from her shoulders. He'd

—

"Dr. Montgomery?"

He came out of his reverie to hear Amanda. She was holding out the

book of poetry to him.

"Perhaps you'd read something for us?"

Hank was so deep in his thoughts that at first he didn't understand

what she was saying.

"Dr. Montgomery is an economist," Taylor said in that brittle way of

his. "I doubt if poetry interests him."

Hank didn't take the book but looked at Amanda, his eyes as hot as he

was feeling, and he began to quote from William Butler Yeats.

"A sudden blow: the great wings beating still

Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed

By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,

He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

"How can those terrified vague fingers push

The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?

And how can body, laid in that white rush,

But feel the strange beating where it lies?"

There was silence in the room when he stopped speaking, and he was

aware only of the lovely blush stealing up Amanda's neck and onto her

face.

"I cannot say that that was to my taste, Dr. Montgomery," Taylor said

in a remote voice. "Amanda!" he said sharply, making her turn her

attention back to him. "I think you should read another selection."

Suddenly, Hank couldn't bear to be in the same room with them. "If you

will pardon me," he said, and without waiting for anyone to do so, he left

the room. He went outside, but even there he felt hemmed in, as if he were

suffocating and couldn't get enough air. He went to the big garage where

his car was, and before he thought about what he was doing, he was in the

Mercer and driving away.

The cool wind on his face and body made him feel better. He drove

down the rough dirt road, faster and faster still, pushing the Mercer to its

limits, knowing that its brakes weren't worth a damn, but he needed the

speed and the feeling of freedom. He needed to put some distance between

himself and that house. "… her thighs caressed," he thought. "… fingers

push the feathered glory from her loosening thighs."

The car was doing sixty when he saw the girl. She was standing in the

middle of the road, startled by the car's headlights as she crossed. She just

stood there, frozen in space, as Hank approached faster than she'd ever

seen anything move.

Hank had the reflexes of a race car driver, and he swerved to the right a

foot before he hit her and plowed into a fence, tearing up posts for fifty

feet as Hank used all his strength to slam on the brakes, trying to stop the

speeding car. He took up about twenty feet of a row of Caulden's hop

plants before the car at last stopped.

It took him a second to recover as he just sat there, staring at the hop

field illuminated by the car lamps. Then he began to move, to pull hop

vines and strings from around him so that he could get out the doorless

side. His legs were weak but they gained strength as he started back to the

road, so that he was running by the time he reached the girl.

It was dark but he could see her sitting in the middle of the road. He

didn't think he'd hit her, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, kneeling in front of her.

"I ain't never seen somethin' move that fast," she said in wonder.

As Hank inspected her, he smelled liquor on her breath and realized she

was drunk. Gently, he took her arm and hauled her up. "Come on, let's get

you home."

Smiling, she collapsed against him, her body like rubber. "You the one

stayin' at the Cauldens'?"

"I am. Come on with me. If I can get my car out I'll take you home."

"Home with you? Amanda won't like that."

"She'll never notice," he said, his arm about her waist as he supported

her and led her to the car.

He had to tear away more vines and string to make room enough to get

her in the passenger seat.

"Nice," she murmured and leaned back against the leather seat.

He spent another few minutes cleaning off the front of the car and

inspecting the ground. It was dry and he thought he could get out without

help. He bent the broken fencing back, then got in the car.

The only light was from the moon and the headlamps, but he could see

that the woman was young and pretty in a dark, flamboyant way. She

wore heavily applied cosmetics on a face that was already strongly

featured, but the red lipstick drew his attention to her lips.

When she saw him looking, she smiled in a slow, seductive way. "I like a

man who drives fast."

He started the engine and began to back out. "Where can I take you?"

"Charlie's Roadhouse," she said.

Hank hesitated for only a moment, then said, "All right." It might make

him feel better to see a little life. "Only if they don't have poetry readings."

She laughed in a way that made him know that she'd been to Charlie's

Roadhouse several times before and knew there were no poetry readings.

He enjoyed the ride to the roadhouse with her, enjoyed seeing a woman

relaxed in the seat, not sitting stiffly and inhumanly. He liked seeing a

woman who looked as if she might be able to laugh.

The roadhouse was about five miles out of town, set a little back off the

road behind a graveled parking lot, about three autos parked there now.

The lights and the sound of laughter drew Hank inside.

The girl had already got out by the time Hank had walked to her side.

She was wearing a cheap red satin dress and her lipstick was smeared at

one corner of her wide mouth, but the drive seemed to have cleared her

head because she was standing on her feet more steadily.

She took his arm and pressed her body close to his. She was well

rounded and pleasing now, but in a few more years she'd be fat.

"The gang's gonna be green with envy when they see you," she said.

"What's your name?"

"Hank Montgomery," he answered, smiling down at her. "And yours?"

"Reva Eiler." She pulled a bit on his arm and guided him toward the

front door of the tavern.

There were only four customers in the tavern, which was lined with

booths around three sides, a long bar on the fourth wall. Half the floor

space was taken up by tiny tables and lots of chairs; the other half was a

dance area and bandstand. Reva greeted the man behind the bar, but no

one else, as she led Hank to a booth in one corner.

"So tell me all about yourself," she said, taking a compact from a little

beaded bag and beginning to repair her face. When she'd finished she

removed a cigarette from a silver-plated case with most of the plating

worn off. Hank took the matching lighter from her and lit her cigarette as

she pushed her heavy hair back. It was cut to shoulder length, and Hank

realized that he rarely saw women with hair this short and he liked it. He

wondered how Amanda would look with hair like this.

"Not much to tell," he said. "I teach economics at—"

"Economics!" she gasped just as the bartender set two beers before

them. "Thanks, Charlie," she murmured. "You don't look like no teacher of

economics. I thought maybe you and Amanda were lovers or somethin'."

Hank took a deep drink of his beer. "You know Amanda?"

She looked at him for a long time. There was something about him that

appealed to her. He was good-looking, extraordinarily so; dark blond hair,

blue eyes, that nose that gave him the look of a prince—those lips. She

liked those lips of his a lot. But there was something else, too. It was…

"You're rich, aren't you?" she said, picking a piece of tobacco off the tip

of her tongue.

Hank was startled and didn't speak for a moment.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody if you want to keep it a secret. It's just

that I can smell it on somebody. You develop the sense when you grow up

as poor as I have. No, no sympathy, just buy me another beer and tell me

what's going on at the Cauldens'."

Hank put his hand up to the bartender, then turned back to Reva. "You

know Amanda? I mean, do you know the Cauldens?"

She smiled at him. She was young but he sensed that in another few

years she wouldn't be. He didn't think she'd age gracefully.

"You meant Amanda," she said. "How is she? Still a brat?"

"Amanda?" he said. "Amanda Caulden a brat? You must mean someone

else. Amanda is perfect. She walks perfectly, talks perfectly, discusses only

perfect subjects; she eats perfectly healthy food; she loves a perfect man.

Amanda is not a brat."

Reva finished her first beer and started on her second one. "When you

were in elementary school, did you have one kid who was your archenemy?

Somebody who rubbed you the wrong way no matter what he did?"

"Jim Harmon," Hank said, smiling in memory. "I thought he was the

meanest kid ever born. We fought all the time."

"Right. Well, Amanda and I were enemies from the first day of the first

grade. I still remember it. My old man had been drunk for three days and

my mother'd run off again, like she always did when he got mean, so there

was just my big sister and me. She dressed me as best she could, but my

clothes were torn and dirty and wrinkled and when I got to school the

other kids laughed at me. I was used to being laughed at and it was

something I understood, but then little Miss Amanda, all clean and white,

came up to me and put her arm around me and told the others to stop

laughin'. It made me crazy. I could stand bein' made fun of but I couldn't

stand pity. I pushed Amanda down, jumped on her and started beating

her."

Hank listened to this with great interest. "And what did Amanda do?"

he asked, thinking that she no doubt went crying to the teacher.

Reva grinned. "Blacked my eye is what she did. She got in trouble but I

didn't, because the teacher walked out when Amanda was sitting on me

and slamming a right fist into my face. We were enemies forever after that

—until ol' man Caulden took her out of school. Nobody's seen much of her

since then. It's like she moved to another state. Has she changed much?"

Hank couldn't imagine the Amanda he knew being in a fist fight. What

had made her change so drastically? Did she finally realize she was the

richest kid in town and that she was better than everyone else?

"She's changed," he answered at last. "She's not the same Amanda she

was then. You want another one?"

What I want, Reva thought, can't be found in a bottle. I want somebody

like you: clean, smart, strong, somebody to take care of me. How involved

was he with Amanda? "So," she said, "are you visiting her or somebody

else at the Cauldens'?"

For some reason, he was reluctant to mention the unionists that said

they were coming to Kingman. He didn't want the town frightened; people

had fanciful ideas of what unionists were and what they hoped to do, so he

decided to keep it quiet.

"I'm learning about the ranch. I didn't know J. Harker had a daughter

before I came. And Amanda is engaged to her tutor."

Reva leaned back against the bench and smiled sweetly at him. "Then

you should get to know the people of Kingman. There's a dance Saturday

night," she said, and there was hope in her voice.

Hank knew Reva wasn't his type but in the last few days, since meeting

Amanda, he wasn't sure what his "type" of woman was. No doubt he was

fascinated by a prude like Amanda because she was the only woman he

saw daily. It was as if they had been shipwrecked on an island alone. After

a while, any woman would start to look good. Maybe if he went to a dance

and saw other women, he wouldn't be watching the self-righteous, skinny

little Amanda so much.

"Could I pick you up?" he asked at last.

Reva grinned broadly and pushed her hair back. "I'll meet you there.

Eight o'clock?"

"Great," he said. "I better be getting back. The Cauldens may lock the

door."

She almost said, you can stay with me, but she didn't. He drove her to

the corner of Fourth and Front streets and let her off. She wasn't going to

let him see where she lived. She watched him drive away toward the

Cauldens' big, dark ranch and she knew that once again Amanda had

something she wanted. Reva had often pondered and cursed the accident

of birth that had given one person everything and her nothing. Amanda

lived a life of ease, no worries, no cares, no drunken father threatening her

every day, no one telling her what to do or how to do it, while Reva's life

was the opposite. Amanda had always had everything good and Reva was

handed all that was bad.

Reva started walking toward the railroad tracks. But maybe, this time,

Reva could win. She began planning how she could scrape together

enough money from her cashier job to buy a new dress for Saturday night.

Wouldn't everyone be surprised to see her with someone like him?

Chapter Six

« ^ »

Amanda didn't exactly sneak out of the house but she certainly didn't

make any noise either. She took her notebook with her and her fountain

pen, but she didn't take a light. She hoped the moonlight would be

enough; besides, she wanted to study the constellations and she could do

that better in the darkness.

It had been an odd evening, as every minute had been since Dr.

Montgomery had arrived. After reciting that… that poem he had left the

house and she'd heard him drive away in his pretty little automobile. For a

while afterward she had not heard a word Taylor had said. She kept

remembering the way Dr. Montgomery had looked at her while saying

those words, words she'd never thought could be put together in such a

way.

She wished he didn't dislike her so much and that perhaps he would

teach her poetry. She felt a pang of disloyalty to Taylor for even

considering another teacher but, after all, the goal was for her to learn,

wasn't it? And when she had learned enough, Taylor would marry her and

they'd live happily ever after here on the ranch.

Once downstairs, she went to the summerhouse where she and Dr.

Montgomery had sat while he ate his plateful of food. Amanda thought it

best not to think of food because her stomach grumbled from the missed

dinner—missed because Dr. Montgomery refused to follow the schedule.

She leaned back against the post and gazed up at the stars. In spite of

the fact that she hadn't been able to sleep for several nights in a row, she

wasn't sleepy tonight. Something about the heavy, hot night air, the

fragrance of flowers and the clearness of the sky made her feel very odd.

While she was stargazing, the quiet, deep rumble of a car came down

the driveway and Amanda immediately tried to draw herself up as small

as possible so Dr. Montgomery wouldn't see her. She held her breath as

she heard the engine stop then the sound of footsteps crunching on the

gravel. She'd wait until he was in the house, then she'd go in. She didn't

want to meet him on the stairs and be subjected to more of his caustic

remarks.

As she waited and listened, to her disbelief, he seemed to be not moving

toward the house but toward her. She didn't dare move.

"I thought I saw someone," he said while still several feet from her.

Amanda let out her breath with a sigh. Caught! she thought. "Good

evening, Dr. Montgomery," she murmured.

Hank walked into the summerhouse and sat down across from her, as

far away as he could get. He'd seen just a corner of her white dress

reflected in his headlamps. Ordinarily he wouldn't have noticed, but it was

as if he had a second sense about Amanda. Go to bed, he told himself.

You've had too many beers and you're feeling too good from the run in the

car and you shouldn't be here with her. But his mind didn't tell his body to

move, so he continued sitting there. "I met a friend of yours tonight."

Amanda couldn't imagine who would describe herself as a friend; it had

been years since she'd seen anyone but Taylor and her family. "Oh?" she

asked. She needed to get upstairs. Taylor would not like for her to be here.

This wasn't on the schedule; in fact, she wasn't even studying

constellations right now.

"Reva Eiler," he said.

For a moment Amanda didn't place the name, then slowly she began to

remember her fights with Reva. Was that Amanda the same person she

was today? Thank heaven Taylor had saved her from what she was.

"Don't remember her?" Dr. Montgomery asked. "She remembered you,

black eye and all."

In spite of herself, Amanda smiled. "Yes, I remember her. I felt sorry for

her, but she stopped that. She always—"

"What?" he coaxed.

"Always seemed to want what I had. If I wore a blue dress with little

hearts on it, two days later she'd show up with a blue dress with hearts on

it. Once Mother put a big pink-and-white-striped ribbon in my hair and

the next day Reva wore a ribbon just like it. I…" She trailed off.

"You what?"

"I threw my ribbon in the river."

He smiled at her in the darkness. "I'm taking Reva to a dance on

Saturday," he blurted before he thought.

"Good," Amanda said. "Reva has had too little joy in her life."

"Unlike you," he couldn't resist saying. She was so damned pretty in the

moonlight, looking a bit like a fairy maiden, somehow ethereal, with her

white dress and her pale oval of a face.

She stiffened. "I have had a great deal of happiness in my life. I have my

family, my fiancé, my books. It is all one could ask for."

It probably was enough for her, he thought, but for most women it

wouldn't be. "Why don't you and Taylor come to the dance with us and

make it a double date?"

"I hardly think so," she said and couldn't imagine Taylor dancing. She

stood, gathered her notebook and pen and started toward the doorway. "I

think I better go in."

As quickly as a cat, he blocked her way. He was standing very close to

her and he could smell the fragrance of her. Without thinking what he was

doing, he reached out to touch the hair at her temple. "Don't go," he

whispered. "Stay here with me."

Amanda swallowed hard. He was looking at her the same way he had

when he'd quoted that poem to her, the poem about loosening thighs. No

man had ever looked at her this way or spoken to her this way. It was

frightening, yet at the same time she couldn't move away.

"How long is your hair?" he whispered.

"Long?" she asked stupidly. "To my waist. It is difficult to keep neat."

"I'd like to see it not neat. I'd like to see it long and full and thick."

Amanda was feeling quite strange. Perhaps it was the missed meal.

Perhaps it was several missed meals over the last few weeks, but she did

indeed feel light-headed and limp-limbed. "Dr. Montgomery, I don't

think…" she began but trailed off as she took a step backward and he

stepped forward.

"What are your shoulders like, Amanda? As white and as smooth as the

skin of your cheek?" He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

Definitely strange, she thought, her eyes locked with his. His words were

not right, she thought, and he shouldn't say these things to her. Perhaps

she should cry for help. But she only took another step backward and he

took one forward.

"Those eyes of yours could eat a man alive," he said, his voice pouring

over her like something hot and thick and creamy. "And lips. Lips made to

be kissed. Lips made to whisper love words. Lips made to kiss a man's

skin."

Oh my, she thought, but no words came out. Oh my, oh my, oh my. She

was afraid of him, and that's why she didn't scream or run from him. Only

this emotion didn't feel like fear, it felt… There was nothing to describe it

or compare it to.

"Amanda," he whispered and put his hands on her neck, his thumbs

caressing the line of her jaw.

She had never been touched like this and it was as if she were starving.

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and let herself feel his hands on

her face.

Then, one minute he was there and the next he was gone. For a moment

she stood there, all alone in the night, and wondered if she'd dreamed it

all, but then she heard the door of the house shut noisily and she knew

he'd gone inside.

Heavily, she sat down on the seat, her pad and pen, which she'd clasped

to her the whole time, falling to her lap. Wrong, she thought. This was

absolutely, completely wrong. It was wrong to have done and even more

wrong to have felt.

She thought of Taylor and her chest tightened. He trusted her so much,

he believed in her so much, yet she'd betrayed him as if she were a wanton

creature with no morals. How could she ever be worthy of Taylor if she

acted like this toward this stranger who was toying with her? Dr.

Montgomery might seem like a man of high character, what with his

degrees and all, but he wasn't. He quoted vulgar poems and drove too fast

and invited women he didn't know to dances, then made improper

advances to an engaged woman practically under her fiancé's nose. This

was not the behavior of a man of high moral character such as Taylor was.

Taylor never drove too fast (or drove at all, for that matter). Taylor didn't

indulge in unseemly pastimes like dancing, and Taylor would never, never

drive out in the middle of the night and meet someone like Reva Eiler. And

he didn't make improper advances, not even to the woman he was to

marry. Taylor didn't tell a woman her lips were made to be kissed, or to

whisper love words or to kiss a man's skin.

Kiss a man's skin, she thought. To kiss his bare shoulder or his throat or

even the palm of his hand or his— No! she told herself, put those thoughts

from your mind. Or at least, when she thought them, she was to imagine

kissing Taylor's bare shoulder and not Dr. Montgomery's as she was doing.

But for the life of her she couldn't even imagine Taylor in his shirt sleeves,

much less bare-chested.

As she started back toward the house, she knew she had never been so

confused in her life, and once again she wished Dr. Montgomery had never

come. From now on she was going to do her best to stay away from him.

Hank didn't sleep much that night. He didn't know if it was guilt or just

plain old-fashioned lust that kept him awake. Why did he always seem to

want the women he shouldn't have? He hadn't been the least interested in

Blythe Woodley while she was his student, but the minute she was

engaged to another man, he couldn't keep his hands off of her.

Now here was Amanda, not at all the sort of woman to inspire great

passion, yet he couldn't keep away from her. She was pretty but there were

lots of women prettier. She was too thin, too perfectly proper, too much of

a little old maid. So why was she driving him stark, raving crazy?

He got out of bed, and before he could change his mind he packed his

clothes. Tomorrow he would leave the Caulden house and go into Kingman

to stay. That would be better anyway, because the unionists would be able

to reach him there. He'd stay at the Kingman Arms and every night he'd

go out with a different woman, a warm, real, flesh and blood woman, one

who ate pork chops and drank beer and didn't believe dancing was a

mortal sin. He'd find a woman he could talk to.

It was three a.m. before he fell asleep.

"Amanda," Taylor said sternly. They were in the dining room, waiting

for Dr. Montgomery to join them for breakfast. "Mrs. Gunston says his

bag is packed, that he means to leave today."

Amanda swallowed guiltily. It was her fault that Dr. Montgomery was

leaving.

"Perhaps you don't understand what this means. This Dr. Montgomery

is practically a socialist. All his writings indicate that he believes in giving

everything to the poor people. He wants to take away your house, your

pretty clothes. Amanda, he wants you to work in the fields, to be a servant.

Would you like that, Amanda?"

She remembered the meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes the

servants had been eating in the kitchen, but she pushed that vision away.

"No, I wouldn't," she said solemnly.

"It may happen if Dr. Montgomery has his way. When these union men

come, they will go to him and he will side with them and he will incite

them to strike."

Amanda looked down at her hands. And if that happens, it will be my

fault, she thought heavily, but she couldn't figure out what to do. One

minute Dr. Montgomery seemed to detest her and the next he was making

improper advances to her.

"Amanda!" Taylor said sharply. "Why is your hair in disarray?"

A strand had fallen from the tight bun she wore. She pushed it back

into place. "I was rushed this morning because Dr. Montgomery was in

the bathroom." Suddenly her restraint broke. "Oh, Taylor, I wish you'd

give him a schedule. He is so erratic! He comes and goes at the oddest

times, goes into the bathroom whenever he wants, eats when he's hungry

and eats whatever he wants. He makes life difficult for everyone else."

Taylor was startled and disapproving of her outburst at first but then he

smiled. Here was proof that Amanda was a woman who understood logic.

She was never going to come home at two a.m. staggering from drink, or

sleep until noon, or disappear for three days at a time. Amanda would

never abandon her children or her husband.

To Amanda's utter disbelief, Taylor bent slightly and kissed her

forehead. He had never kissed her before.

"Come, my dear," he said softly. "Perhaps you'd like a little strawberry

jam this morning, and in a few weeks, when the hops are picked and Dr.

Montgomery and the unionists are gone, perhaps we can talk about our

marriage plans."

Amanda was too stunned to speak. What had she said? What had she

done? A moment ago he was upset because she was not doing what he

wanted with Dr. Montgomery and now he was planning their marriage.

Amanda sat down at the table. Whatever had happened, she was glad of

it. She put jam on her toast and, as she had done at lunch with Dr.

Montgomery, she closed her eyes and let the taste flow down her throat.

It was Taylor's turn to be shocked. "Amanda!" he gasped.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she said, opening her eyes. "It just tastes so good."

He moved the jam jar to the other side of the table as if he were moving

a liquor decanter away from an alcoholic, and Amanda tried not to look at

it with longing.

Hank felt rotten when he woke, so he went to the bathroom and half

filled the tub with icy cold water then sat in it. His teeth chattered and his

skin tightened like a bandage about his body, but it did wake him up—and

it helped him forget his dreams about Amanda.

One more meal with her, he thought, then he'd leave this strange

household where four people lived but he saw only two of them.

Dressed, he started down the stairs but paused, his hand on the rail.

Across the stairwell that extended to the first floor was the door to

Amanda's room and it was ajar. To his left, behind the wall, he could hear

the faint, descending steps of a maid on the back stairs. He was alone

upstairs.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he walked the few steps to

Amanda's room and pushed the door open. He didn't know why it

surprised him, but the room had less character than a drawing of a model

room for a magazine. There was nothing wrong with the room; it had

furniture and pictures on the walls and curtains at the windows, but there

was nothing personal in it. Guest rooms in his mother's house had tatted

lace on the tables, a bright-colored shawl to spread across your legs if you

wanted to read at night. She put embroidered pillows on every chair,

novels by the bed, fresh flowers wherever she could and little scented

pillows on the dresser.

But Amanda's room had none of these things. The surfaces of all

furniture were bare. The bed with its blue cotton spread looked spartan,

with no lacy little pillows heaped on top. The pictures were dull etchings of

scenery that was too perfect to be real. The curtains were dark blue, not a

deep, rich blue that could give some character to the room but a plain,

boring, nondescript blue.

He walked to the far end of the room to the desk where he'd seen

Amanda silhouetted during the night. There was nothing on top of the

desk. He opened the right-hand desk drawer and the contents were as neat

as the outside. On top was a handwritten piece of paper headed: Schedule,

and below that, today's date. Below that was a minute-by-minute account

of where Amanda was to take Dr. Montgomery, what she was to talk to

him about, even what she was to feed him and what to wear while doing

it.

He shut the drawer in disgust. What a controlling little bitch, he

thought. She not only had to put her own life into perfect order so that she

had no freedom, she had to do the same for everyone else. Suddenly Hank

felt sympathy for Taylor and wondered if he knew what he was getting

into. Would Amanda make out a schedule for Taylor when he was her

husband? 11:01 p.m. : fourth attempt to breed a child. If he failed in six

attempts would she throw him out? He didn't imagine Amanda would put

11:01 pm.: feel passion on her schedule.

He walked out of the room and left the door open, not caring about

covering his tracks. Another couple of hours and he'd be out of this place.

In the dining room Amanda and Taylor were already seated and eating,

and after a curt greeting, Hank filled his plate from the silver dishes on the

sideboard. He tried to control his anger but it wasn't easy. He felt like a

free animal that had been caught and put in a zoo and a strict feeding

schedule made out. She put him on a schedule; did she put Taylor on one

too? If he didn't keep to it, was his punishment loss of the ranch? Marry

me and do exactly what I say, to the minute, and the ranch is yours. Is

that what she said to him?

Poor guy, Hank thought, glancing at Taylor with some sympathy. She

didn't allow dancing or parties; she snubbed women who were once her

friends.

"Dr. Montgomery," Taylor was saying, "Amanda would so like to go into

Terrill City today and hear a lecture on Eugenics. She can't possibly go

alone, and I have accounts to do. Would you mind terribly accompanying

her?"

Hank opened his mouth to say no, but then he knew he wanted to tell

her just what he thought of her manipulation of the people around her.

"I would love to," he said, looking across the table at Amanda, every bit

of the anger he felt showing in his eyes.

Amanda looked at him, and when she saw the anger in his face she

almost said she didn't want to go anywhere with him, but it was too soon

after Taylor had mentioned their marriage to risk angering him. But

something about the way Dr. Montgomery looked at her made the hair on

the back of her neck stand up.

After breakfast she waited for him by the car—for thirty minutes she

waited, until at last he sauntered outside.

"Mess up your schedule, missy?" he said nastily.

She backed away from him, away from the rage she could feel coming

from him. "We… were to leave earlier, yes," she said tentatively.

"Then what's to keep us from going?" He turned to the chauffeur. "We

won't need you today." He looked back at Amanda, his eyes glittering.

"Either we go in my car or not at all."

"All right," she answered softly, and rather liked the idea of traveling in

his pretty, open car.

"That's not on your schedule either, is it?" he said with anger, then

stomped past her to the garage.

She stood still for a moment, looking toward the back of him. Had

Taylor given him a copy of today's schedule? Perhaps Dr. Montgomery was

angry at himself because he saw how late he was or because he'd been in

the bathroom when it wasn't on the schedule.

He went through the complicated motions of starting his little yellow

car, then backed it out of the garage and quickly moved it so close to her

that he almost ran over her toes.

"Get in!" he commanded.

Amanda was only too happy to obey. There was something wonderful

about the little car, and she smiled as she sank into the black leather of the

passenger seat then held on to her hat as Dr. Montgomery let out on the

clutch and they started moving. But it wasn't moving like the limousine

moved. She watched, fascinated, as he began to shift gears. The car began

to accelerate. She had never traveled faster than 15 mph before and that

had seemed fast, but now, with the wind tearing at her hair and face, her

eyes batting quickly to keep bugs from flying in them—for there was no

windshield except for a circle of glass before the driver—she knew she was

traveling very, very fast. And she liked it. Oh yes, she liked it very much,

liked the wind, the openness of the car, liked the way the trees and fields

tore past them at lightning speed.

They hadn't gone very far, not as far as Amanda would have liked, when

there was a loud sound and the car swerved quickly to the right. There was

an angry expletive from Dr. Montgomery, and Amanda watched with

interest as he fought the wheel of the car and began to slow it down. He

kept his eyes, his feet and his hands busy and never once did she feel that

he had lost control.

When, at long last, the car was under control, Dr. Montgomery turned

and looked at her, his face, if possible, even more angry. "A blowout. This

should mess up your little schedule real well."

Since the objective was to get Dr. Montgomery out of Kingman for the

day, Amanda hoped Taylor wouldn't mind if they were late for the lecture.

As for Amanda, she just wanted to ride in this fast car some more.

She leaned her head back against the seat, closed her eyes and smiled in

memory.

Before she knew what was happening to her, he grabbed her from the

seat and pulled her into his arms and then he was kissing her. Kissing her

hard and passionately, just the way he drove.

She was so stunned she couldn't react. She didn't even have time to

close her eyes, but just when she was beginning to realize what was

happening to her and thinking she rather liked this, he thrust her from

him so violently that her back slammed into the side of the car.

She put the back of her hand to her lips and stared at him wide-eyed.

"Was that on your schedule, Little Miss Prim and Proper? Did the ride

scare you? Was something like speed too much for your perfect little

world? You may think you can command every man around you but you

can't. You may have poor old Taylor in your palm because he wants your

daddy's ranch, but you don't rule all of us."

Furiously, he turned toward the back of the car and jerked one of the

two spares off it and began to change the tire.

Amanda stood where she was. His speech, his kiss, indeed, his actions,

were incomprehensible to her. She had no idea in the world what he was

talking about and for a moment she was afraid of him. They were alone on

a dirt road, ten miles out of Kingman, and there wasn't a house or car in

sight.

Courage, Amanda, she thought. She walked to stand behind him and,

holding herself as rigidly as possible, she said, "Dr. Montgomery, I am very

sorry that I have displeased you so. I am sorry that breaking the schedule

distresses you, but now I think I should return home." She turned and

began walking west toward Kingman.

Hank slammed the tire on the wheel. "If you'll just hold your horses, I'll

take you back and then I'll leave your precious ranch and—" He heard the

crunch of gravel and turned to see her walking away.

Serve her right to walk, he thought. It might do her some good to have

to do something for herself. His hands on the spare tire, he stopped and

rested his forehead against it. He didn't think he'd ever been quite so

angry in his life. Injustice was what made him angry, not pretty girls. He

hated seeing people mistreated, hated tenements owned by rich landlords,

hated to see poor sharecroppers, hated to see any person who lacked

freedom.

Maybe that's what made him so angry: Amanda had tried to take away

his freedom. She had set him on a schedule and expected him to do just

exactly like she wanted. Just like her father, he thought, J. Harker believed

that anyone who worked on his land had no rights.

He turned and looked at Amanda, growing smaller in the distance.

Just like her father, he thought. Just like her father, always trying to

control people, and that Driscoll was cut from the same cloth. The two of

them would like to control the world and everyone in it.

Hank sat up straight, as if startled. "Control the world," he whispered,

"or just control one small daughter?"

He was on his feet and running instantly.

Amanda stopped when he blocked her way and hunched her shoulders

as if prepared for a blow.

"Amanda," he said softly, disgusted with himself for frightening her.

"Tell me about your schedules."

He didn't look angry anymore, but Amanda didn't trust him. "Taylor

makes a schedule for me every evening."

"And how long has he been doing this?" Hank asked, his breath held. He

wasn't sure what he was going to find out, but he had just a nugget of an

idea.

Amanda was leery of him. Why was he asking questions about

something as ordinary as a schedule? "Since I was fourteen. Taylor was

hired to be my tutor."

"The schedule I saw seemed to list every minute of the day."

She frowned. "Yes, of course. It is what I do. Doesn't your schedule list

what you are to do?"

Hank didn't answer but he let out his breath. "And your schedule also

includes what you wear?"

"Yes."

"What you eat?"

"Yes."

"Even when the bathroom is yours?"

She looked away, blushing. "It makes for an orderly household."

Hank stood and looked at her for a long while, looked at her profile, the

curve of her neck. When he'd first seen her he had thought she had sad

eyes and now he knew the reason for the sadness. At fourteen she had been

a butterfly just starting to emerge from a cocoon, but her father had

snapped her up and hired a butterfly killer—ol' Taylor—to push her back

into the cocoon. And there she had remained.

He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and tell her that now

things would be all right, but that wouldn't help, because, the truth was,

Amanda didn't know there was anything wrong that needed righting.

"Amanda," he said patiently, the way one would speak to a shy child.

"You are being held prisoner. Just as your father mistreats the people who

work for him, so is this Driscoll misusing you. Other people don't have a

schedule; other people are free to eat what they want, go to the bathroom

when they want. Driscoll has taken all your freedom from you, and

freedom is something that is granted to everyone under the American

Constitution. Come with me now, Amanda, and I will take you away from

here. I will see that you never again have to live by a schedule." He held

out his hands, palms up, beseeching her.

Amanda was so stunned that for a few moments she couldn't speak. She

looked up through the bright sunlight at this tall, handsome man who at

this moment looked like an evangelist trying to save sinners from their

wicked ways, and the anger that she had been feeling since he arrived

erupted in a volcanic mass.

"How dare you presume to tell me about my life," she said through teeth

clamped tightly shut. "How dare you criticize my father and my fiancé."

She took a step toward him and her rage seemed to make her taller—or

him shorter—as she looked him in the eye. "What do you know of me or

my life? You come to my home as a guest and you have done nothing but

sneer at us and look down your nose at us. For your information, I happen

to like my life. I like orderliness. I like the feeling of accomplishing things,

and most of all, I love my father and my fiancé. And as for your American

freedom, I believe it also means a citizen has the right to choose, and I

happen to choose to give some direction to my life. Now, Dr. Montgomery,

I suggest you get in your fast little car and speed away as quickly as its

wheels will turn. I will walk back to my home, and when I get there the

first thing I will do is see that your clothes are sent to you."

With her back stiff, she stepped around him and started walking down

the road, her every step showing her anger.

In a state of shock, Hank stood where he was, listening to her angry

steps behind him. He felt like a fool. Since the moment he saw her, he had

felt that there was something between them. He had been angry at her for

not seeing it. He had been jealous of Taylor and he had looked for a reason

to believe she didn't really love Taylor. He felt like a vain, strutting fool, so

vain that he couldn't believe she would love someone other than him. He

could feel his face turning red as he remembered his arrogance in telling

her he was going to rescue her and save her from big, bad Taylor.

He ran his hand over his face and wiped away the sweat. Ever since he'd

met Amanda he hadn't been himself. He'd been behaving like a schoolboy

who gave presents to the girl he liked then an hour later he was hitting

her. Looking back at the last few days, he was mortified at his behavior.

He remembered walking down streets and leaving her behind, making

snide comments and sometimes downright rude ones. He had forcibly

kissed her, something he'd certainly never done before.

And what had Amanda done to deserve such treatment? Nothing but be

herself. She had taken him to museums and he had sneered. She had

offered to talk with him on subjects she thought might interest him and

he had been contemptuous. She had even let him join in a simple

after-dinner reading of poetry and he had ridiculed her by reciting a

licentious poem.

He had never felt so small in his life.

He turned and walked down the road toward her, halting her by

standing in front of her. "Miss Caulden," he said before she could speak,

"there is nothing I can say that will fully express the depths of my apology.

You are right in everything you said to me. My behavior has been abysmal,

beyond any level of decency. I do not expect you to forgive me, so I will

leave your house at once, but please, may I drive you back to your home?"

Amanda's anger was beginning to cool now and she thought of Taylor's

fury when she told him she had screeched at Dr. Montgomery to leave her

house at once.

"I should apologize to you," she said, knowing she was lying but also

knowing that her future marriage to Taylor might depend on this lie. "My

behavior, too, has been inexcusable. Please do not leave."

Please, he thought. She looked at him with those big eyes that exuded

sadness and said, please. He should go; he knew that. He knew she wasn't

good for him. She was as tempting as cake to a fat person, as irresistible

as liquor to an alcoholic. Yet he knew he couldn't leave her. He was going

to stay and he was going to learn to leave her alone. He had a job to do

with the unionists and he was going to do it.

"Yes, I'll stay," he said at last. "Will you come back to the car with me

and wait in the shade while I finish changing the tire? I'll take you into

Terrill City for your lecture and I promise I won't drive fast."

She murmured consent and sat under a tree while he changed the tire.

She had been right in what she'd said. Every word, every syllable had been

right, but she kept hearing his words. Was it true that other people didn't

have schedules? Were people free to eat when and what they wanted?

She tried to push the thoughts from her head. She was choosing to

follow Taylor's schedule.

Chapter Seven

« ^ »

Hank drove ten miles an hour to Terrill City. The town was about three

times the size of Kingman and much more modern, with many stores and

places of interest, and the people on the streets were more fashionably

dressed, several of the women wearing cosmetics.

Some of the women eyed Hank appreciatively in his sporty yellow car,

but he was too glum to notice them. He stopped before the Masonic Hall

where Amanda's lecture was being held, got out and opened the door for

her.

"What time will it be over?" he asked in a dead voice.

"At one. You aren't coming?"

"I'm afraid Eugenics isn't my cup of tea."

"The library is—"

"I saw that there's a matinee on. I think I'll go see it."

Amanda's eyes widened. "A motion picture?"

Hank had his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you at one."

Amanda stood on the sidewalk and watched him drive away. A motion

picture, she thought. He was actually going to see a motion picture. What

would it be about?

In the Masonic Hall, the woman lecturer was talking with enthusiasm

about the selective breeding of people to create a pure race of intelligent,

perfect beings, and all Amanda could think of was the motion picture.

Afterward, she went outside, and Dr. Montgomery was leaning against

the side of his car waiting for her.

"Would you like lunch, then go home?" he asked.

She agreed, and he drove her to a pretty little restaurant on the

outskirts of town. Amanda's mouth started watering the moment they

stepped inside. The last time she'd had lunch with Dr. Montgomery she

had eaten the most delicious meal.

As the waitress came for their order, Amanda's stomach rolled in

anticipation, but Dr. Montgomery spoke before she could.

"The lady is on a special diet. Could you give her some plain boiled

potatoes, no seasoning, boiled green beans and fish, also no seasoning?"

The waitress looked at Amanda, and Amanda hoped the young woman

would say that no, that wouldn't be possible, but she didn't. "Sure, if that's

what you want. And what about you?"

"I'll have the house special," Hank said.

Amanda tried to conceal her disappointment. It was better, of course,

that she eat good, honest, wholesome food instead of greasy,

butter-dripping, sauce-coated— She made herself stop that line of

thought.

"Did you see your motion picture, Dr. Montgomery?" she asked.

"Sure," he mumbled, not looking at her. The truth was, he hadn't paid

much attention to it because all he'd been able to think of was Amanda.

He had to get away from her. He couldn't bear to continue seeing her hour

after hour.

"Was it enjoyable?" She wanted to ask him hundreds of questions but

she didn't dare. Motion pictures were frivolous things, not at all

mind-improving.

"The same ol' thing," he said. "Bad guy, good guy, and an innocent girl

with too much eye makeup."

"Yes," she murmured, not knowing how to get him to elaborate.

Their food came and Amanda's eyes bugged as she looked at the dishes

spread around Dr. Montgomery: a salad of strawberries and pineapple,

trout broiled in butter, creamed potatoes, cucumbers with French

dressing, asparagus soufflé, popovers and coffee. Her own plate looked

bland and tasteless, and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep the

envy out of her eyes if she didn't get her mind on something besides his

food.

"Shall we have a conversation?" she asked.

Hank looked up, startled. Her eyes were wide, her features soft. It would

be better to never speak to her again, but he mumbled, "Sure."

"What shall we converse on?" she asked. "I have been studying

President Wilson's new tariff reforms. Or perhaps you'd like to discuss the

economic reconstruction in the Balkan States?"

Whenever she talked, he knew she wasn't for him. He gave her a little

smile. "Know nothing about them."

"Oh," she said, and watched as he cut into his trout. There was butter

glistening on it. "American income tax?" she asked with hope in her voice.

"I also know about English and Danish income tax."

Hank smiled broader. "Not me."

He broke open a popover, and Amanda could smell it, and when he

buttered it the butter melted and ran into the soft little holes of the dough.

"Servia?" she said quickly. "Adrianople? Janina? Turkey?" Maybe talking

about a war would take her mind off the smells and sights.

"I know nothing about any of them," he said happily. Now he was

remembering what he didn't like about her. "Why don't you tell me?" If he

could keep her talking, maybe he could remember long enough to get back

to her house and get out.

She talked while he ate. She talked about the Bulgarians having taken

Adrianople after a three-day assault. She talked about Austria's reaction

to the takeover and then hypothesized whether Servia and Montenegro

would unite.

The more she talked—lectured—the better Hank felt. This was the

Amanda he despised. He could imagine this Amanda and Taylor together

with ease. Maybe they'd give birth to a set of encyclopedias.

The waitress came back with two desserts of thick-crusted peach

cobbler. Hank started to tell her to return Amanda's portion but then

Amanda grabbed the plate and began to eat it. She ate like no one else

he'd ever seen: sensually, with pleasure in her eyes, almost as if she were

making love.

"Is that all you know about the war?" he asked angrily.

Amanda was used to having her knowledge quizzed but it was difficult

to think when flavors such as these peaches and this divine crust were in

her mouth. "R… Russia is angry at Austria and Austria is…" She trailed off

for a moment and closed her eyes.

"Austria is what?" Hank snapped.

"Angry," she said at last. "Austria is angry at Russia."

"Good," he said. "Are you finished yet? We have to get back. The

schedule, remember? Don't you need to study something to improve your

mind?"

"Yes," Amanda said, coming back to reality. Tomorrow she was to have

a test on the history and present consequences of the Panama Canal and

she would need to study. She looked at the clean plate with regret. Taylor

was right: unwholesome food was bad for one in more ways than one. The

peach cobbler had just made her hungrier. "We should go."

He drove back to the Caulden Ranch very slowly and Amanda arrived

without a hair mussed. The first thing she knew she must do was find

Taylor and tell him they had returned and perhaps he'd like to revise her

schedule since she was back from Terrill City earlier than planned. But at

least she'd get her studying done and not have to stay up late tonight

doing it.

A servant told Amanda that Taylor was in the library.

Hank left his car in the garage and stayed outside while Amanda

hurried inside. No doubt she couldn't wait to see her beloved Taylor, he

thought, and realized he was getting angry again. At the moment, he

couldn't bear to see them together.

With his hands in his pockets, he strolled to the side of the house, idly

looking at the plants and the building. The door to the conservatory was

open, and he went in. For a few moments he enjoyed the heavy fragrance

of the jasmine, then he heard voices behind him in the library. He started

to leave, but he knew it was Taylor and Amanda and he stayed where he

was and listened.

"You have returned early, Amanda," Taylor was saying in a cold voice.

"You were to keep him out until evening."

"I apologize, but he seemed to want to return."

"What he wants is of no consequence. Or doesn't the welfare of the

ranch mean anything to you? You are willing for all of us—me, your father,

your mother, yourself—to be thrown out with no means of support merely

because you cannot occupy one rather ordinary working-class man?"

"I am sorry," Amanda whispered. "I don't know what to talk to him

about. We have nothing to say to one another."

"Nothing to say!" Taylor exclaimed. "Do you forget everything you have

learned when you're with him?"

"No, I don't, but he isn't interested in scholarly pursuits, he… he goes to

motion pictures."

"But the man is a college professor," Taylor said, his voice puzzled, then

he changed. "You must be doing something wrong."

"Should I…" Amanda said hesitantly, "… should I go to a motion picture

with him? Or a dance? I believe he likes to dance."

Taylor's voice was cold enough to freeze the plants in the conservatory.

"Is that the kind of woman you are, Amanda? Have I proposed marriage

to a loose woman? Have you been hiding your true self from me all these

years? Perhaps next you would like a bottle of gin sent to your room."

"No, sir," she said, slipping back to the time when he was just her tutor

and not her tutor and her fiancé.

"Or perhaps you'd like to wear short dresses and take a typewriting

job."

"No, sir," she said softly. "I want only what I have."

"It doesn't sound so to me. Amanda, you have no idea how fortunate

you are. You have everything life has to offer. You'll never have to beg for

money or for an education, yet you are willing to throw everything away."

He paused a moment. "Or perhaps it is me alone who you wish to thwart.

Perhaps you want me off the ranch. Is that it, Amanda? You do not want

to marry me and this is your way of telling me so."

"No," Amanda said, and there were tears in her voice. "I want more

than anything in the world to marry you, but I don't understand this man.

I don't know how to please him."

"Nor does it seem that you know how to please me, either." There was

another pause. "You may go to your room and you will stay there the rest

of the day, through dinner, and you will devote yourself to your books and

you will find a topic that will interest this man. If he leaves here and meets

with his unionists it will be your fault and you will be"—he lowered his

voice—"punished for your disobedience. Now go. I can no longer bear the

sight of you."

Hank heard Amanda's steps leaving the library and his first impulse

was to go to Taylor and hit him in the face, but Hank held up his hands

and saw that they were trembling. What he had just heard made him sick

to his stomach. He remembered being angry when he saw Blythe Woodley

with her fiancé because the man was overbearing with Blythe, but Blythe's

intended had been nothing compared to Taylor Driscoll. Taylor had

assumed absolute control over another human's life.

Hank left the conservatory and walked outside, trying to get enough air

to breathe, but there didn't seem to be enough oxygen on earth. This is

what he'd seen in Amanda's eyes, this sadness, this look of a caged animal

—not frightened but resigned. Taylor owned her mind, her thoughts, even

her body. He controlled her as if she weren't an autonomous human being

—as if she were something he'd created.

Hank began to understand things that had happened since he'd arrived:

the rigid timetable of Amanda's. Of course she knew that she had three

and a half minutes left in the bathroom because that was how much time

Taylor had allotted her. Her dresses were of somber colors and cut, and

her hair was pulled back tightly. Taylor wanted her that way. She spoke

only of things she'd learned in books because Taylor didn't allow her to

take her nose out of them.

Hank thought back to the times he'd seen Amanda sitting at her desk

late at night. She had to entertain him all day yet keep up with her studies

at night. This was a woman who was old enough to have graduated from

college yet she was still being sent to bed without supper if she didn't obey

her master.

Master! Hank thought. How he hated the word. Each man was master

of his own fate, but some men, because of their wealth or ancestors, set

themselves up as better than others. Taylor had said that Hank was

working class, as if there were classes in America. And he'd told Amanda

that if unions were brought in, their ranch would be taken away from

them. The union was the boogyman of the owners.

Hank closed his eyes for a moment and thought of all Taylor was doing

to subjugate Amanda, to keep her in line, to deny her her God-given

freedoms: the freedom to choose, the freedom to love, to like or dislike, the

freedom to laugh or frown or cry. He had taken all that away from her,

holding over her head threats of bankruptcy and of withdrawing from a

marriage.

Hank walked to the front of the house and looked up at Amanda's

window. He understood now, understood why he had first been drawn to

her. It was his hatred of oppression and injustice. Some part of him had

recognized it in her and knew he needed to help her. He would help her

realize that she had just as many rights as another person had and that

she didn't have to eat, sleep and breathe according to a schedule made by

someone else. He would teach her these things, and when he was finished,

she'd be able to tell Taylor Driscoll to go to hell.

He smiled up at Amanda's window. "Sleeping Beauty," he said, "I'm

going to wake you up."

He turned away from the house and started toward the garage. He

needed to get away and make plans—plans about how to bring Miss

Amanda Caulden to life.

Hank stood in his room on the second floor of the Caulden house and

put the canvas rucksack he'd just bought on his back. He left his jacket in

the closet and wore only his shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his

trousers held up by suspenders. He walked out on the balcony and stood

there a moment looking up at the starlight. To his left he could see a light

behind the curtains of Amanda's bedroom and just the faintest shadow of

her bent over her desk.

Making as little noise as possible, he threw a leg over the balcony railing

and stepped onto the porch roof which ran just under Amanda's open

windows. The roof was steeper than it looked and his shoes slipped, but he

caught Amanda's windowsill with one hand and the frame with the other.

He was halfway inside the room before she looked up and saw him. She

was as primly dressed as always, every button fastened, every hair in place,

in spite of the fact that it was ten o'clock at night and she was alone in her

room.

Amanda looked up from her book on economic history to see Dr.

Montgomery coming through her window. Shocked was not the word for

what she felt. Her first thought was, Taylor will not like this.

She stood, her body stiff with disbelief, and, again, that rising feeling of

anger. "Dr. Montgomery," she said, "you cannot possibly come into my

room."

"Sssh," he said as he stepped inside. "You'll wake everybody." He

nodded toward the bare floor in the center of the room. "That looks like a

good place. Here, take this." He removed the canvas bag from his back

and handed it to her.

To Amanda's utter disbelief, he went to the bed and removed the

spread. "Dr. Montgomery!" she gasped. "You cannot—"

"You really are going to wake everyone." He lifted the cover, let it billow

in the air, spread it on the floor, then sat on it. He reached up for her to

hand him the rucksack and, as Amanda watched, he began to pull food

from it.

There was a salad of lettuce and what looked to be lobster or crab meat,

another salad of chopped chicken with peas, little sandwiches, olives,

stuffed celery, pickles, strawberries and pretty little white cakes.

Dr. Montgomery held up a bottle of a thick, red liquid. "Strawberry

sauce for strawberry shortcake."

Amanda just stood where she was, looking down on the food in wonder.

"You aren't hungry? I missed dinner and I thought you did too, so I

hoped we could share this. I don't really see any difference between eating

here together or in the dining room, do you? If you do, we could go

downstairs and wake the servants and they could boil something white for

you. Maybe we could wake up Taylor and he'd join us."

"No," Amanda said quickly, and blanched at the thought of waking

Taylor. The smells of the food were drifting up to her and making her

knees weak. She sank down to kneel on the spread as a general might

kneel when surrendering his sword to an enemy.

"Sandwich?" he asked, holding out the plate full of tiny crustless

sandwiches to her. "They're minced ham with just a hint of mustard."

Amanda took the sandwich and made a nibbling bite, then the whole

thing disappeared into her mouth. The flavor of it, tart and salty, was

delicious.

Hank, smiling, handed her a pretty little porcelain plate. "Help yourself.

It's not much but it's the best I could do on such short notice. I hope you

like lobster."

"Yes, anything," she murmured, reaching for food and eating too fast,

but everything tasted so divine and she had this feeling that it was all

going to be taken away from her.

"You were studying?" he asked.

"Economic history," she mumbled, mouth full of chicken salad made

with a rich, creamy mayonnaise.

"Ah, yes, I guess that's because I'm here. Or have you always studied

economics?"

"I thought it would be something to converse on. I didn't realize you—"

She stopped because she meant to say that she hadn't realized he would be

more interested in fast cars, motion pictures and women from the wrong

side of the tracks.

"But we haven't spent much time talking of economics, have we?" he

said. "Or speaking of anything else, for that matter. I have been terribly

rude to you, Miss Caulden, I do hope you'll forgive me. More lobster

salad?"

"Yes, please," she said. She was beginning to relax somewhat. It was, of

course, outrageous for this man to be in her bedroom late at night, but he

certainly didn't seem dangerous and he did seem genuinely contrite over

his past behavior.

"You like economics so much you miss meals to study it?"

"No, Taylor—" She started to tell him the truth but caught herself. "It

was better that I stay here and study."

"I admire your dedication. I was in school for years but I don't believe I

ever missed a meal while buried in a book. I get hungry and I want food.

Nor could I eat what you do. You have enormous self-discipline, Miss

Caulden."

"I guess I do," she murmured, but at the moment she didn't feel very

disciplined. She felt as if she might sell her soul for a heaping plateful of

that strawberry shortcake.

"When do you graduate?"

"Graduate?" she asked, looking at the strawberries.

"Yes, you're what? Twenty-three, twenty-four? Most women have

finished school by now, yet you still have a tutor."

"I will finish when I marry," she said, reaching for a strawberry.

Hank began to heap her plate high with cakes and strawberries,

drenching it all with thick strawberry sauce. "When you marry Taylor,

that is? Tell me about your wedding plans."

"We haven't made any yet."

"Isn't that unusual? How long have you been engaged?"

Abruptly, Amanda set down her plate of half-eaten food and glared at

him. She was beginning to understand now what he was doing and why he

was in her room. Just as the devil enticed people, so was he enticing her.

"Dr. Montgomery, contrary to your opinion of me, I am not a fool. Will you

please leave my room and take your things with you at once?"

"There are more strawberries."

"I do not want more strawberries," she said, lying. "Now will you please

leave?"

He sat where he was, knowing she would call no one. When she was

angry the quiet sadness left her eyes. "Where do we go tomorrow?"

"I think perhaps you and I will not go anywhere. I have things I need to

do here." A lump of fear formed in her throat as she thought of telling

Taylor she would not keep Dr. Montgomery occupied tomorrow.

"Taylor wants you to keep me away from the house. He wants you to

take me somewhere where the unionists can't find me, right?"

She hesitated. "I am merely to make a guest's stay comfortable."

"Uh-huh," Hank said, munching on a strawberry.

She glared down at him, her half-eaten strawberry shortcake glaring

back up at her. "Dr. Montgomery, you must leave."

"Not until you tell me what you have planned for tomorrow."

She was afraid he'd do something embarrassing if she didn't tell him

what he wanted to know. She went to her desk to get the schedule Taylor

had given to her at eight p.m. "We are to go to the Pioneers' Museum in

Terrill City tomorrow."

"That sounds like a barrel of laughs. I should be glad it isn't to the

library to memorize dates of the Spanish-American War."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Where did you get your Ph.D., Dr.

Montgomery? From a mail-order catalog?"

He chuckled. "I just like to do things in life besides study, that's all, and

it might do you good to look at something besides the inside of a book.

Could we compromise? I'll go to your museum with you if you go where I

want in the afternoon."

"I do not waste my time on motion pictures," she snapped at him. "I

want to improve my mind and—"

He jumped to his feet. "You ought to try improving your life."

For a moment they stood glaring at each other, then Amanda backed

away from him. No one had made her angry since she was a child, but this

man did. But there was something else, too, as she looked into his deep

blue eyes, something she didn't understand at all, something that she was

feeling deep inside her.

"Please leave," she whispered.

He turned away from her and began shoving leftovers and dishes into

the rucksack. He had been right, he thought. Somewhere under her icebox

exterior was a woman. He could make her angry, and that was a step in

the right direction, and just a moment ago he'd seen something else in her

eyes. Something that for the first time made him think she'd seen him as a

man.

He picked up her plate containing the half-eaten shortcake and set it on

her desk.

"Take it," she said. "I don't want it. I shouldn't have eaten with you in

the first place."

"You'll save all your meals for Taylor? Is he the only one fit to eat with?"

" You aren't fit to sit at the same table with him."

"That's the best compliment I've heard this year. I'll see you tomorrow

morning and, remember, the afternoon is mine." He put his rucksack on

his back and left her room through the window.

Amanda sat down on the bed, her body feeling heavy and weak after her

encounter with that man. What an utterly bizarre few days it had been,

with everything turned upside down. Taylor was telling her he couldn't

bear the sight of her, and this awful man, Dr. Montgomery, was making

her act like a schoolgirl again. It was as if he were making her forget all

her years of training with Taylor. Twice she had looked up from her

studies and caught herself thinking of food—not good-for-you food but the

kind Dr. Montgomery kept forcing on her.

As she thought, she looked across the room at the strawberry shortcake

on her desk. Telling herself she was not going to eat it, she went to it and

picked up the plate. There was no fork but, in spite of that, in spite of

telling herself no, she picked up the sticky cake in her hands and began to

eat as if she were starving.

When she was finished she looked at her gummy hands in horror, and

even while refusing to believe what she was doing, she began to lick her

fingers. Once finished, she sighed in disbelief of herself, then went to the

door and silently opened it. She made her way down the dimly lit hall to

the bathroom, making as little noise as possible in the hopes that Taylor

wouldn't hear her.

When she came out she glanced nervously at Taylor's door, but there

was no light. Nor was there a light on under her father's door or Dr.

Montgomery's. Turning, Amanda saw a light shining from under the door

of the spare bedroom where her mother spent her days. For just a

moment, Amanda wondered what her mother was doing at this time of

night. Years ago Taylor had forbidden Amanda to spend time alone with

her mother as he thought Grace Caulden was a bad influence on her

daughter. And Grace soon learned her daughter's precise movements, so

they rarely saw one another.

Amanda shook her head. This, too, was Dr. Montgomery's fault for

disrupting her orderly life. Her mother was a bad influence on her, just as

Dr. Montgomery was a terrible influence on her. But she had to put up

with him until the hops were harvested and all danger of a strike was past.

When that was done, then she could return to her normal life. Once again

she and Taylor could sit in the parlor after dinner and discuss intelligent,

meaningful things. They could eat food that was good for one's body. And

she would know what was going to happen during a day. There wouldn't

be any more riding in speeding cars or having a man climb in your

window during the night. And there wouldn't be any more anger in her.

She was calm and quiet when she was with Taylor, but when she was with

Dr. Montgomery she was constantly having to repress her anger.

Back in her room, she changed into her nightgown, put the spread back

on the bed, then hid the dirty plate Dr. Montgomery had left behind. It

wouldn't do for Mrs. Gunston to find it in the morning.

She cleared the top of her desk because Mrs. Gunston reported on the

condition of her room each day to Taylor. Amanda felt a little guilty about

not studying more, but she felt so tired and sleepy with her full stomach

and, besides, what was the use of studying? Dr. Montgomery never talked

about anything intelligent. He merely ate and drove his little car faster

than the wind. Both of which she detested, she reminded herself.

Tomorrow she'd do better than she had today. Tomorrow she'd act as if

Taylor were standing beside her. She would direct their conversation to

intelligent, enlightening matters, and nothing he could do would make her

show her anger at him.

And she'd not eat his food, either! And when he drove fast, she'd

demand that he slow down. She'd have to deal with him firmly and show

him that she was indeed master of her own life. How dare he say she was

oppressed! She'd show him that she was capable of making her own

decisions.

She went to sleep and dreamed of creamed corn and fudge and roast

beef, and when she woke she was ravenous, and the thought of a single

poached egg and a dry piece of toast revolted her. But she stamped the

feeling down so that she was in control again when Mrs. Gunston came to

wake her.

Chapter Eight

« ^ »

When Hank woke the next morning he felt great. Last night with

Amanda, he had done just what he meant to do: he had made her show

emotion. If he could rouse her anger, he could rouse other emotions in her,

and emotion was the key to making her realize she was being controlled by

someone else.

He was whistling when he went down to breakfast, and he was greeted

by a scowl from Taylor Driscoll. "Good morning," Hank said cheerfully.

"Ready for another hearty breakfast of ham and eggs?" Smiling, he passed

Taylor and went into the dining room. How in the world could Amanda

think she loved that ramrod-stiff caricature of a man?

He smiled warmly at Amanda, who was already seated at the table

behind her meager breakfast, and went to the sideboard to help himself to

the feast laid out there.

"Bacon?" he asked Amanda before Taylor entered the room. "It's awfully

good."

"And bad for your body," she said coolly.

" 'Fraid he'll catch you eating it? Well, don't worry, you can make up for

it at lunch. I'll feed you something good."

Amanda wanted to say something scathing to this man but Taylor came

into the dining room. She was beginning to genuinely hate Dr.

Montgomery. There seemed to be no end to his vanity. He presumed that

he knew what was good for everyone else in the world.

She looked from Taylor to Dr. Montgomery. They were both

good-looking men, but she liked Taylor's dark handsomeness better than

Dr. Montgomery's blond boyish good looks. She liked the way Taylor sat

up straight, the precise, clean way he ate. Dr. Montgomery ate with too

much enthusiasm and he had a lazy, slouching way of sitting. He was too

big, too… too masculine. Yes, she definitely liked the reserved strength of

Taylor. Taylor was a man who knew exactly what he wanted in life and

went after it. And Amanda knew what Taylor wanted from her, whereas

Dr. Montgomery seemed to want… Well, she didn't really know what he

wanted—but whatever it was, he wasn't getting it from her.

At the end of the silent meal, Amanda went with Dr. Montgomery to his

car. She didn't even bother to ask him to go in the limousine. He started in

on her at once. "Are you hungry?"

"Do you want to stop somewhere and eat?"

"Would you rather go swimming than to the museum?"

"Did Driscoll give you a test this morning?"

"Did Driscoll buy that dress for you?"

"Would you like to pick out some new clothes for yourself?"

On and on the man went, but Amanda refused to get angry. He was a

foolish, egotistic, overbearing man who liked to believe he knew everything

about everyone else's life and he wasn't worth getting angry over.

He drove slowly to Terrill City, and Amanda used the time to watch the

way he shifted gears. By the time they arrived at the museum she was able

to anticipate when he was going to make a gear change. At least she was

learning something, she thought, rather than wasting her time with this

frivolous man.

At the Pioneers' Museum he was rude and impatient. She was telling

him about the tragedy of the Donner Party that was represented in the

museum. "It was then that the rescuers found the remains of the others,"

she said, hinting at the cannibalism but not wanting to speak directly of

it.

"I guess it beat shoe leather," he said irreverently. "Look, I have to make

a phone call to arrange for this afternoon. Wait here for me."

He doesn't like others ordering me about but he is perfectly free to give

me orders, she thought. Defiantly, she left the museum to stand outside in

the cool shade of the porch. Brilliant fuchsia-colored blooms hung from a

bougainvillea vine that draped one side of the porch. Suddenly she felt a

wave of homesickness to be back at her desk with her books. What awful

thing was this man planning for this afternoon?

"There you are," he said from behind her. "Have you seen enough of this

place? Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry."

"That seems to be the usual state with you. Tell me, Dr. Montgomery,

how did you earn your Ph.D.? From out-eating the other students?"

He gave her a hostile look. "I impregnated all the female students and

they gave me a doctorate to get rid of me." He took her arm as she got in

the car, then when he was seated he turned to her. "Look, I don't mean to

be rude, it's just that you don't ever talk about anything besides what's in

books. There's a whole world out there," he said, gesturing, "and I think

you ought to see some of it."

"I don't know why you assume I'm stupid, Dr. Montgomery. I have seen

enough of the world to know what it's like. It is a dirty, angry place full of

dirty, angry people."

"And who told you that?"

"Taylor said—" she said, but stopped. "It is my own observation."

"Right, and I'm Christopher Columbus," he said, putting the car in gear.

"You haven't been outside that house long enough to know what the world

is like."

She knew that if the world was composed of people like him she most

certainly didn't want to see any more of it.

He stopped in front of a restaurant and came out a minute later laden

with a big cardboard box that he strapped onto the back of the car

between the spare tires and the gas tank.

"We're going on a picnic," he said, as if he dared her to contradict him,

then slammed the car into gear and took off.

Another waste of time, she thought. She was going to be so far behind

in her studies that Taylor was never going to marry her.

He drove through the countryside, toward the Sierra Nevada

mountains, past farmhouses and orchards and planted fields toward a

dense grove of trees. There was a pretty pond in the center of the trees and

he parked the car in the shade nearby. It was an isolated place, made

private by the circle of trees, only a cow path leading into it.

Amanda looked around and began trying to identify the wild flowers

and the birds. If Taylor asked her what she had been studying, she could

tell him.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Hank asked, removing the box from the back of the

car. "They told me about it at the restaurant. Here, take the end of this."

Amanda took the opposite end of the cloth he held. It hadn't crossed her

mind that the place was pretty, but it was. The grass was greener here

than in the full sun and the water was blue and the buzz of the insects was

pleasant and— She pulled herself together. She was going to act as if

Taylor was with her, remember?

"Are we to sit on the damp ground?" she asked.

"No, on the dry cloth. A little dampness won't hurt you. That's what skin

is for—to protect you." He began to unload containers of food.

Amanda swore to herself that no matter what he brought out of that

box she would not eat it. If she kept eating meals with him she'd get fat in

a week, and Taylor would despise her. It took a great deal of self-control to

watch the food being spread before her. There were strips of chicken

breast in a golden sauce, cold roasted guinea hen, bread sticks, a

grapefruit and endive salad, cold, seasoned boiled potatoes, sautéed

eggplant, strawberries and tapioca, pretty little meringues, and candied

almonds on top of a gorgeous chocolate cake. He poured glasses of

lemonade from a big, frosty jar.

Amanda swallowed but turned her head away.

"Where do you want to start?" Hank asked, holding out a plate to her.

She took the plate, then put on it a small helping of potatoes and began

to eat in tiny bites. She didn't even take the lemonade because she knew it

had sugar in it.

"That's it?" Hank snapped at her.

She ignored his words and his tone. "Dr. Montgomery, could we discuss

something less personal than my eating habits? Why don't you tell me

what has made you believe that there is any good to come of unions? Were

your parents, perhaps, migrant workers?"

"No, they weren't. Are you going to carry this subjugation of yours to

the point where you don't eat?"

She ate a tiny piece of potato, hoping her body would ignore the

tantalizing aroma of the food before her. "I think you have me confused

with your migrant workers. I'm one of the rich tyrants, remember? It is

people like me who give them jobs and thereby cause them enormous

amounts of pain and misery." She kept looking at that chocolate cake. The

icing was only on the top and dripping fatly down the sides, exposing

seven layers of cake sandwiched together with thick, rich, dark chocolate

cream.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hank said. "Have you ever

been in the fields during harvest time? Did you know that a lot of farmers

sell drinking water to the workers? A hundred and ten degrees and they

can't even get water."

"I'm sure you must be exaggerating. Of course the workers could go

elsewhere if they don't like the way they're treated. This is a free country,

yet you make it sound as if they were slaves owned by their master." She

was looking at the cake, watching the way the light made the icing

sparkle, and didn't see Hank's eyes turn dangerously dark. She was talking

about the thing that meant most to him.

"It's people like you," he said softly, "that make a union necessary. The

workers are simple people. They don't have the education and resources to

fall back on so they can change jobs on a whim. They have kids to feed and

clothe and they can't afford to quit a job. So they work in the heat and

save a dime by not buying water and they faint from heat exhaustion."

Amanda frowned at his words. She didn't like to think of the picture he

was painting. What would Taylor say? she asked herself. "I cannot be

responsible for all the poverty in the world, Dr. Montgomery. My family

merely offers jobs. If the workers do not like the conditions they can go to

another ranch."

Rage filled Hank. "You pompous little prig," he said under his breath.

"You sit there in your silk dress surrounded by food and you're too good—

too superior—to even eat it while others are out there fighting to make

enough to buy a loaf of bread. People like you make me so mad I could—"

He broke off, so angry he could no longer speak. Without thinking what he

was doing, he shoved his right hand into the cake she seemed so

fascinated by and grabbed a quarter of it, then lunged across the food and

slammed the cake in Amanda's face. "There!" he yelled at her, grinding

icing and cake and chocolate cream filling into her face. "You can eat and

won't. They want to but can't."

He was trembling with rage. Amanda's face and most of her hair were

black with chocolate, her eyes wide in horror.

"I'm going to wake you up, Amanda Caulden," he yelled at her. "I'm

going to pull you out of that cocoon of yours no matter how hard I have to

fight."

It was very difficult to keep one's dignity when one's face was covered

with chocolate cake, but Amanda did her best. "Did it ever occur to you

that some of us are happy the way we are?" she said, her own rage making

her tremble. "You set yourself up as a god and decide to change me,

change the workers, yet maybe we like the way we are. If I'm asleep I'd

rather stay asleep than participate in a world where men bombard women

with food." With that she got up and went to the pond to wash her face.

She felt like crying; she felt like screaming. But most of all she felt as if

she'd let Taylor down. He would be horrified beyond description if he saw

her now. She turned when she heard Dr. Montgomery walking up behind

her.

"If you do another thing to me I shall press charges," she said, cringing

away from him.

He winced, then held out a clean handkerchief. "I thought you could use

this."

She snatched it from his hand and wiped her face. She thought she'd

got most of it off but black smears came away on the cloth. Taylor was

going to kill her. She'd have no supper for a month. How she wished the

earth would open up and the flames of hell swallow Dr. Montgomery!

"Here, let me," Hank said, kneeling beside her.

"Don't you touch me," she said, seething.

He snatched the handkerchief from her and washed it in the pond.

"Amanda, you are a mess. You have cake all over your face, your hair, even

your clothes."

Amanda could feel the color draining from her face. She had never done

anything to really, truly anger Taylor, but if she came home looking like

this, what would he do?

Hank's face changed as he looked at her. "You're scared, aren't you?" he

asked softly. "Do they beat you?"

"Of course no one beats me," she said, but her tone showed her

uncertainty.

He stood, then took her hand and pulled her up. "All right, we'll fix

everything. We'll wash your hair and your dress and everything will be dry

by the time we return. You'll be as good as new."

"Wash my dress?" she gasped, horrified. "My hair?"

"Sure," he said. "It's either that or go home to your beloved Taylor

looking like that."

For a moment she weighed the consequences and she decided that most

anything would be better than having Taylor see her like this.

Hank watched the emotions play across her face and he was reminded

of the migrant workers, torn between wanting to cause no problems and

wanting to join a union and protest. Was Amanda really that afraid of

Driscoll?

Hank made her decision for her as he slid his suspenders off,

unbuttoned then removed his shirt and held it out to her. "Go into the

trees there and take off your dress and put this on. We'll wash the

chocolate off and it'll dry in no time."

Amanda looked up at him, standing there in an undershirt, exposing

broad shoulders and muscular arms. Contrary to what she would have

thought, he wasn't repulsive-looking or frightening. In fact, he looked

rather pleasant.

"Go on," he said, and his voice was a bit lower than usual.

Amanda stood and walked around the pond and into the deep shade of

the trees. She was wearing a severe, straight suit of boyish cut, and right

now she wished it were two pieces so she could leave her skirt on, but it

wasn't. She removed it to expose an ankle-length slip of flesh-colored

chiffon trimmed with wide borders of ecru Chantilly lace. It felt odd to be

without long sleeves and a high collar but it also felt cool and

unrestrictive. She glanced down at the skirt and frowned at the lace. The

skirt was semi-transparent from her knees down, her black silk stockings

peeping through. Once again she reminded herself of Taylor's wrath if she

appeared at home with a chocolate-encrusted suit and face.

She pulled the pins out of her hair and let it hang loose to her waist,

then shook it and smiled. Sometimes her hair was pulled back so tightly it

hurt her head.

When her hair was free, she picked up Dr. Montgomery's shirt and for a

moment she held it out and looked at it. To her knowledge, she'd never

held a man's shirt before and she was surprised at how large it was. She

wondered if Taylor's shirt would be so large.

Ridiculous! she told herself and hastily put the shirt on. Next she'd be

comparing Taylor and Dr. Montgomery. The shirt only reached to her

knees, and below that were several inches of lace that played peek-a-boo

with her black, silk-clad legs.

Hesitantly, she walked into the clearing, her suit over her arm.

Dr. Montgomery was stretched out on the tablecloth, still wearing only

his undershirt and trousers. He was gazing up at the trees, looking to be

half asleep. Lazy, she thought. The man was lazy. But she didn't think of it

angrily.

"Ready?" he said and turned toward her.

He had an expression on his face that she'd never seen a man wear

before. Taylor had certainly never looked at her like that. She didn't

understand his look but it was making her blush.

"I think the chocolate will… will come out easily," she said hesitantly, for

the man was gaping at her. He sat up, then slowly turned toward her, his

eyes barely blinking as he looked at her.

"Amanda, you are beautiful," he whispered.

"Beauty isn't important. It is one's mind that matters," she said, then

felt a little absurd to be standing there in her underwear and lecturing

him. But she conquered her feeling. His looks might make her blush but

he was a man who'd just slammed a cake in her face.

She turned on her heel away from him and went to the pond to try to

wash the cake off her suit and out of her hair. The suit was easy, and she

felt many pounds lighter when the cake stains blended with the brown

twill of the suit. Her hair was another matter. She needed a mirror to see

what needed washing.

"Allow me," Hank said from behind her, making Amanda jump.

She didn't trust him. "If I don't agree with you, do I get the tapioca

poured over my head?"

He knelt beside her and used his handkerchief to wash cake from her

hair. "It wasn't that you disagreed with me, it was—"

"Yes?" she asked. "What did make you do this despicable thing?"

He had his hand on her jaw and he stopped washing and looked down

at her mouth, then moved his thumb along the curve of her lower lip.

Amanda's heart began to beat faster. You shouldn't allow him to do

this, she thought, but she didn't move. "Unions," she whispered as he

watched her mouth.

He looked back at her eyes and seemed to recover himself. "You don't

know what you're talking about. You're just parroting your father and that

man you think you love."

" Do love, Dr. Montgomery."

He took his hands from her face and rinsed out the cloth. "You know

nothing about love."

She snatched the cloth from him. "You have no idea what I know about.

I happen to know a great deal about love, as I have been in love with

Taylor since I was fourteen. It is an abiding, enduring love."

"I've seen the two of you together. He's your teacher, not your lover.

How many times has he told you you're beautiful? How many times has he

been so overcome with passion that you've had to shove him out of your

room?"

"Taylor is a gentleman. Of course I've never had to shove him out of my

room. I don't want a man who is so… so…"

"Passionate?" Hank asked. "Here, let me do that." He started to use the

cloth to get the now-drying cake from her hair but it didn't work. "It's in

there pretty good. Here, stretch out there, put your head on the rock and

I'll have to rinse it."

Amanda didn't like the idea but she obeyed. Hank went to empty one of

the glass food dishes and when he returned she was lying on the grass in

the shade, her head on a rock, hair spread out around her. He groaned

aloud, making her look up at him in surprise.

"I assure you that I can wash my own hair," she said, starting to rise.

"No!" he said quickly. He filled the container with water, then knelt by

her and poured water through her hair. There was part of him that didn't

believe what he was doing. In the past, if he'd found himself alone with a

young woman who was wearing her underwear and silk stockings on long,

beautiful legs, it would have been because he had removed her clothes to

make love to her. But here he was, innocently washing her hair.

"What were we talking about?" he asked. Maybe talking would make

him stop looking at her.

"You were insulting me, as usual," she said, but there was no anger in

her voice. She closed her eyes and felt his hands on her hair and head. This

whole day had been awful, of course, an absolute waste of time. Dr.

Montgomery hadn't cared about the museum and had rudely let her know

it. Then he'd yelled at her and hit her in the face with cake—really an awful

day, but right now she didn't want to be anywhere else but right here in

the drowsy heat with the warm water pouring over her hair.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world when Dr. Montgomery

kissed her. She didn't open her eyes but just enjoyed the sensation of his

warm lips on hers. She put her hand to the back of his head. Just the tip of

his tongue touched hers and it was very sweet. She might have lain there

forever if he hadn't put his hand on her breast.

The sensation was so startling, her eyes flew open. She pushed him

away and sat up, wet hair clinging to the shoulders of his shirt. "How dare

you!" she gasped.

"Rather easily," he said, grinning, "and with great pleasure. The same

pleasure you felt, I might add."

"You attacked me!" she said, standing.

He grinned at her in such a knowing way that she looked away, her face

red. "You have to take me home," she said stiffly.

Hank stood. "Sure. We drive up with me shirtless, you in your

underwear and my shirt and your hair wet."

Amanda couldn't even imagine what would happen if Taylor saw her

like that. He would leave her, leave the ranch. She'd ruin her own life and

her father would hate her for making Taylor leave. Sometimes Amanda

thought her father liked Taylor more than he did his own daughter.

Heavily, Amanda sat down on the grass. "No," she said softly, "I'll have

to wait until my dress and hair are dry."

Hank turned away rather than say another word to her about her fear of

the man she said she loved. How could he make her see that fear and love

didn't go together?

"You have a comb in that little purse of yours?"

"Yes," she murmured, and he walked toward the car. She was feeling

very confused at the moment and again she wished Dr. Montgomery had

never come into her life. She had to get away from him. This evening she

would tell Taylor that the professor was an impossible man and she didn't

want to spend more time with him. Taylor would understand. He would

understand and give permission— No! she told herself. They were in love,

not student and teacher, so they'd discuss this situation and—

"Hold still," Hank said, and knelt behind her and began to gently comb

the tangles from her hair.

"Dr. Montgomery, you cannot continue touching me," she said, moving

away from him.

"Because that's your lover's right? Look, I'm sorry about the cake, and

this is my apology, all right? Now turn around and hold still. Besides, your

fiancé doesn't do this, does he?"

Amanda turned around, and his combing felt wonderful, so relaxing, so

gentle. No, she thought, Taylor had never touched her hair—or held her

chin in his hands, or kissed her lips. Yet she knew that he did love her.

Love wasn't just touching. It was also respect and being able to look up to

the one you love. And neither of those qualities were in Dr. Montgomery.

"Are you married?" she asked abruptly, surprising herself.

"No, nor engaged, nor in love."

"Ah, so you don't know what it means to be in love."

"Neither do you, so I guess we're equal on that score."

"Taylor and I are—" she began. "Oh, what's the use? You have your

mind made up, and nothing I say will be able to change it. Could we talk

about something else?"

"You mean one of your 'conversations'? Something about some foreign

policy or a list of the causes of the War Between the States?"

"That's a very good topic. You know, of course, that slavery was only one

of several causes. As an economics professor—"

"Quiet, or I'll kiss you again."

Amanda almost smiled at that but she controlled herself. "Do you know

anything about botany?"

"Do you know anything about your mother?" he shot back.

Amanda started to move away from him but he held her hair in his

hands and she couldn't move. "I believe that is personal, Dr.

Montgomery."

"Could I bribe you with lemon meringue pie?" he asked, his big hands

gently combing the tangles from her long, thick hair.

In spite of herself, she did give a little smile. At the moment she couldn't

seem to remember Taylor. As she sat here in the grass wearing a man's

shirt, a man's hands in her hair, Taylor and her father seemed far away.

"My mother used to brush my hair and we used to eat lemon meringue

pies together," Amanda said softly. She hadn't thought of her mother very

often in the last two years.

"And when did it stop?" Hank kept stroking her hair, running the comb

through it, letting it wrap around his bare forearms. He just wanted to

touch her. He wanted to put his arms around her and kiss her neck and

slide the shirt from her shoulders and—

"When I was told—" she said, "I mean, when I found out the truth about

my mother. She was not a good influence on me."

Hank could hear the wistfulness in her voice. So Taylor had taken her

away from a mother who brushed her hair and fed her food with taste. "I

had a cousin like that, one who was a bad influence on me, I mean. He

gave me whiskey and cigarettes, took me to a… well, a house of wayward

ladies, taught me lots of curse words, taught me how to drive too fast. If it

was bad for my health or could possibly kill me, ol' Charlie had me do it.

It's a wonder I lived to be sixteen. I guess your mother was like that, huh?

Drank, did she? She didn't take drugs, did she? Opium dens? Or men? Did

she take lovers in front of you? Or—"

"Stop it!" Amanda said angrily. "My mother never did any such thing in

her life. She was wonderful to me. She used to make all my clothes, pretty

dresses with embroidered collars, and she bought me wonderful shiny

shoes, and every Saturday she took me into Kingman and bought me ice

cream and—" She stopped abruptly because she was aware of pain. More

pain caused by Dr. Montgomery, she thought.

"I see," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "She does sound like a

terrible influence."

She turned away from him, then jerked her hair from his hands. "You

know nothing about it. You are judging—and condemning—something you

know absolutely nothing about."

"Then explain it to me, Amanda," he said, using her first name for the

first time.

She put her hands to her temples. "You confuse me. Why should I

explain anything to you? I don't know you. You're a stranger. You'll be

gone in a few days, so why should I tell you anything?"

"Is that it or are you afraid to tell me? Tell me what hideous thing your

mother has done, so I can hate her too. I hate oppression. I despise tyrants

who hurt those weaker than themselves. Tell me what awful thing your

mother has done to you so that you two live in the same house but never

see each other."

"She never did anything to me," Amanda half blurted. "She never hurt

anyone in her life, but she used to… to dance!" She glared at Dr.

Montgomery in defiance. Now he knew.

"Oh," he said after a long pause. "Professionally? With or without

clothes?"

Amanda could only gape at him. She had told him this deep, dark secret

about herself, a secret that Taylor said tainted her blood and made

Amanda not quite "good," and yet Dr. Montgomery paid no attention to it.

He was a dense man! " With her clothes, of course," Amanda snapped.

"Don't you understand? She was on the stage. "

"Was she any good?"

Amanda made a sound that was half anger, half frustration and got up

and started toward the car. The man had the sensibilities of a rock!

He caught her arm and turned her toward him. "No, I don't

understand. Maybe you could explain it to me. All I hear is that your

mother loved you and you loved her, then somebody told you she used to

dance and suddenly you hate her."

"I don't hate her, I—" She jerked her arms from his grasp. He confused

her so much. He made her question things she knew to be true.

Hank saw the pain and anguish on her face and he calmed. "You know,

you never did eat. Why don't you come over here and eat and explain to

me about your mother? I can be a good listener and sometimes it helps to

talk about things."

Obediently, Amanda followed him to where the cloth was spread on the

ground and where the food was waiting. Suddenly, she did want to explain

things to him. He kept condemning her, but if he heard the whole story

maybe he'd understand—and if he understood, perhaps he'd stop making

her angry with his sly innuendos.

He poured her a glass of still-cool lemonade and heaped a plate full of

food and handed it to her. "Eat and talk," he commanded.

"My mother was good to me as a child," she began, her mouth half full,

"but I didn't know that the reason she spent so much time with me was

because the other women of Kingman would have nothing to do with her."

"Because she was a dancer?"

"Yes. You see, my father had no idea of her past when he married her.

My mother comes from an illustrious family. They came over on the

Mayflower and he was introduced to her in good faith."

"Meaning that he thought she was pure and innocent and had been

kept secreted away until he met her?"

Amanda frowned. "Something of the sort. It was only later, after they

were married, that someone recognized Mother. It was a man who'd been

forward with her, I believe, a man who she had repulsed. He told everyone

in Kingman." Amanda looked away. "He had a photograph of Mother in…

in tights." She almost whispered the last.

"So then what?" Hank asked. "The whole town ostracized her?"

"Yes," Amanda said softly, and looked back at her food. "When I was in

the third grade a girl said I thought I was so good because my mother

rode on the Mayflower but she was just a cheap dancer."

Hank was beginning to understand a great deal. "Who had told the

townspeople of your mother's background?"

"My father was very proud of his wife."

Hank watched her eat silently, her head bowed. So, J. Harker had

married a woman who he thought was pure, innocent and blueblooded

and he'd later found out she had spirit and personality—and probably legs

as good as her daughter's, he thought with a smile.

"Dr. Montgomery, I do not believe this is a matter for amusement."

"So your father had bragged to everyone about his wife being better

than anybody else, then he finds out she had been on the stage where, I

might add, she had turned away the advances of too-forward young men.

So the town turned on her, did they? I'll bet they were glad to snub

someone they were afraid would snub them first. What did your mother

do?"

Amanda hadn't thought of the town being wrong, only of her mother's

scandalous behavior. She had run away from her family when she was

eighteen, just after she'd become engaged to a man fifteen years older

than she, and her father hadn't been able to find her for two whole years,

during which time Grace had supported herself by dancing in a chorus

with seven other young women on stage in San Francisco. Grace's father

had forcibly returned her to his home, and six months later she was

married to J. Harker Caulden—a man who wasn't at all of the same social

background as Grace, but Grace's father believed that only the bottom of

the barrel was good enough for a fallen woman such as Grace was.

"My mother stayed home with me," Amanda answered. "We dressed

dolls together and she read stories to me and she let me try on her jewelry

and—" She stopped because her words were causing an ache inside her.

She remembered the soft, powdery smell of her mother, the goodnight

kisses of her mother, the times she woke from a bad dream and her

mother came to her and held her.

"So Taylor Driscoll came into your life and told you your mother was a

bad influence and you've stayed away from her ever since. Is that right?"

"Yes," Amanda said softly, still thinking of her mother.

"I guess your mother encouraged you to go on the stage," Hank said.

"Did she let you try on her tights? What about her stories about life on the

stage? Were they glamorous?"

"She never mentioned her time on the stage to me. And she certainly

didn't try to entice me to run away from home as she did."

"Then tell me, Miss Caulden," Hank said softly, "just how was she a bad

influence on you?"

Chapter Nine

« ^ »

"I don't want to talk about my mother anymore, Dr. Montgomery,"

Amanda said sternly.

Hank was watching her. "I don't blame you. Terrible person she must

be. Let's talk about something pleasant, like when you're getting married."

"Soon," she said, finishing the food on her plate.

"Cake?" he asked. "Or have you had enough?" His eyes were twinkling.

Amanda felt she should have refused the cake he offered but she didn't.

"Let's discuss something neutral," he said. "Such as love and courtship

and your wedding night with ol' Taylor."

Amanda choked.

"Lemonade?" he asked innocently, holding out a glass. "But I guess you

know all about sex, what with a mother like yours and all the studying

you've done. Tell me, does Taylor put lovemaking on your schedule or is it

something he does spontaneously?"

"He doesn't—" she said angrily, then stopped. "Taylor is a gentleman."

"I'm sure he will be on your wedding night too. Did you ever think that

as much as he likes educated women he's going to be disappointed with a

bride who knows so little about… shall we say, the physical side of

marriage?"

"Taylor is my teacher and I'm sure he'll teach me what I need to know."

"So he'll be your teacher even after you're married? It won't stop at the

ceremony? Will you be given a schedule every day of the rest of your life?"

Amanda stood abruptly and glared down at him. "You are despicable,

Dr. Montgomery."

Hank sat with his eyes fixed on her legs—long, slim legs with those black

silk stockings. "Amanda," he whispered, putting his hand out to touch her

calf.

But Amanda was already headed toward the pond to retrieve her

still-damp dress. Within minutes she had it on and her wet hair pulled

back into a tight knot. She walked back to the cloth where the food and

Dr. Montgomery were sprawled. "I want to go home now," she said as

coldly as possible.

He looked up at her with angry eyes. "Home to the open arms of the

man who loves you?"

"Dr. Montgomery, my life is none of your business. How can I make you

understand that?"

In one rolling motion, he came to his feet to stand in front of her, his

face close to hers. "I'll understand when I see that it is your life. All I see

now is a puppet, not a woman, and Taylor pulls your strings to make you

do whatever he wants you to do."

"That's absurd! I control my own life. I—"

"Prove it!" Hank snapped. "Prove to me that Taylor wants you and not

just your father's ranch and I'll leave you alone."

She took a step backward. He had said, out loud, her most secret fear.

"Of course he wants me," she said in little more than a whisper. "Taylor

loves me and he proves it every day. Every night he writes my schedule. He

cares about what I eat, what I wear; he directs my learning, he—"

"Keeps his job," Hank said, jaw clenched. "Your father can't dismiss

him as long as he's still teaching you. You're twenty-two years old,

Amanda. When do you get to graduate? When do you get to cut your

strings and be free?"

He was confusing her and making her angry at the same time. "You are

making my head hurt, Dr. Montgomery. Please take me home."

"Home to that automaton you say you love? My car has more feeling

than Taylor Driscoll has."

The confusion was beginning to leave Amanda and all that was left was

anger. "What proof do you need?" she snapped at him. At that moment

she felt she would do anything to make him stop antagonizing her. "Tell

me what I need to do to prove to you that Taylor is the man I love."

"Passion," Hank said quickly. "The man is incapable of passion. Even if

you marry him you'll die an old maid. Make him prove he can cut the

mustard."

Her face turned red, embarrassment overriding anger. "I will ask him—

"

"No, don't ask him anything. Invite him to your room. Throw yourself at

him. Sit on his lap and run your hands through his hair."

Amanda stared at him for a moment, trying her best to visualize sitting

in Taylor's lap, but she couldn't. She turned away from Dr. Montgomery

and headed toward the car. "You are a frivolous man," she said under her

breath.

Hank grabbed her arm and spun her about, pulling her close to him.

His mouth came down on hers with a mixture of hunger and anger.

Maybe it was Amanda's anger, too, that made her respond to him, but

her arms went around his chest, pulling him closer as his mouth opened

over hers and she tasted of his tongue with all the pleasure she gave to the

food he'd introduced her to. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her

hips against his as he pressed into her. His knee moved between her legs,

and Amanda slid her body upward, letting him support her weight, with

only the toe of her left foot touching the ground.

Hank moved from her lips, his mouth searing its way down her neck.

Amanda's whole body was throbbing and pounding, her heart pumping

wildly, but she managed to push away from him. "Is that what you mean

by passion, Dr. Montgomery?" she was somehow able to say.

The rage in his eyes was enough to kill a person. He didn't say anything

as he grabbed the edges of the cloth and began rolling dishes and food

together, then dumped it into the cardboard box and strapped it on the

back of the Mercer.

"Get in," he commanded her as he held the car door open, and Amanda

obeyed.

He drove too fast back to the Caulden Ranch, then had a devil of a time

getting the brakes to halt the car. At the garage Amanda started to get

out, but he stopped her. "We have a wager, remember?"

Amanda didn't want to look at him. His hands, his lips, his food, his

words were all making her life hell.

"You're to make Taylor show passion," he said.

"Dr. Montgomery, I think—"

"It's Hank," he snapped. "I think you could be that intimate with me."

She kept looking straight ahead, wishing he'd get out of her life so she

could go back to what she knew and understood. "It was something said

on the spur of the moment, and I don't think—"

"If you win, I'll leave Kingman."

She turned to look at him then and the hope in her eyes made him

angrier.

"If I win, you go to the dance with me tonight."

With you and Reva Eiler, she almost said, but there was no reason to

even think of the dance because she was not going to lose. She was quite

willing to climb into most any man's lap if it meant getting rid of the

obnoxious Dr. Montgomery. "And what of your unionists?"

"I'll send someone else, someone who couldn't care less about Caulden's

pretty daughter, someone to whom it won't matter that you throw your

life away."

"How melodramatic you are," she said, concealing her anger. "Tell me,

how do you plan to ascertain the winner of this idiotic wager? Do you plan

to hide behind the door and spy on us?"

"I'll trust your word for it. You have until 7:30 this evening to entice

Taylor into some sort of primitive display or—"

"Such as yours?" she interrupted.

"Or you go to the dance with me," he said, ignoring her.

"You had better pack."

He gave her a smug smile. "I'm going into town to buy you a dress for

tonight. I doubt if Driscoll's bought you anything suitable for a night of

tangoing."

She stepped out of the car. "I hope you know someone else who can

wear it, because I won't be needing it." She shut the door and gave him a

malicious smile. "It's been interesting meeting you, Dr. Montgomery, not

pleasant but interesting. I will meet you at 7:30 in the gazebo and I expect

you to have your suitcase with you." She turned on her heel and walked

back to the house as the car drove away behind her.

Amanda kept her courage all the way up the stairs and into her room,

but when she shut the door behind her, every ounce of strength left her

and she fell back against the door, her eyes closed. In the woods, alone

with that awful man, she'd turned into another person—a swaggering,

courageous young woman who wasn't like the real Amanda at all.

She looked around her sedate, tidy, colorless room and knew this was

the real Amanda. She walked to the desk and picked up Taylor's new

schedule. She was already off course, and the moment she touched the

paper, she felt Taylor's power over her return.

Heavily, she sat down on the chair. What in the world had she done?

She was to entice Taylor? Make improper advances to Taylor? She'd

rather walk across burning coals.

But if she didn't do it, she'd have to go to a dance. Of course she could

always tell Dr. Montgomery she'd been joking. And he, being the civilized

man he was, would no doubt throw her over his shoulder and carry her out

the door. Then everything really would be over between her and Taylor.

She put her elbows on her desk and buried her face in her hands. What

awful thing had she ever done to deserve the curse of Dr. Montgomery?

God gave the Egyptians the twelve plagues and to her He gave Dr.

Montgomery. Job would have thrown in the towel if he'd had to deal with

this man.

She opened her eyes to look at the schedule again. She was late getting

back with Dr. Montgomery, and right now she should be studying the

current battle between the Greeks and the Bulgars so she could discuss it

at dinner tonight with Taylor—if she was still alive at dinner. Taylor might

kill her if she did what Dr. Montgomery had goaded her into trying.

If only there was someone to talk to. How did one entice a man like

Taylor? With Dr. Montgomery all one seemed to have to do was stand in

one spot for a moment or two and he was enticed. Amanda's mind drifted

back to this afternoon. The warm air, the birds, the food, Dr.

Montgomery's lips and hands all seemed to be rolled into one long,

delicious sensation.

No! she told herself, stop those thoughts. Dr. Montgomery was an

overbearing lower-class moron who wasn't fit to clean Taylor's boots. But

he certainly did make her feel—

Mother, she thought suddenly. Her mother would know what to do.

Before Amanda could give herself time to consider what she was doing,

she left her room, went down the hall and knocked on the door to the room

where Grace Caulden practically lived.

"Come in, Martha," Grace called to whom she thought was the maid.

Amanda opened the door and found that her heart was pounding as if

she were doing something very wrong. Her mother sat at a little desk, her

pen moving rapidly over a piece of paper, her back to Amanda. Amanda

had, of course, seen her mother in the last few years but she'd always

averted her eyes. Taylor could be rather harsh when he caught her talking

to her mother.

"It's me," Amanda whispered.

Grace turned around in her chair, her eyes eating her daughter, but she

didn't move toward her. It wasn't easy to suppress the urge to envelope

Amanda in her arms.

"Something has happened," Grace said in a soft, carefully pronounced

voice. She was as pretty as her daughter, with her dark hair and eyes, but

there was no sadness in those eyes. For a woman who was nearly shunned

by her own family, she looked remarkably happy.

Amanda felt terribly guilty being in her mother's room but at the same

time it felt so good. She knew this confusion was Dr. Montgomery's fault.

"I need some advice," Amanda said softly.

Grace put down her pen and gave her full attention to her daughter. "I

will do my best."

"I… I have done a very stupid thing." Amanda looked down at her

hands.

Grace resisted the urge to say, Good! but just waited while Amanda

stood there and fidgeted. Her awful, unstylish, boxy dress was stained and

rumpled and her hair was a mess.

"I made a wager," Amanda said, and went on to explain as quickly as

possible.

When she finished, Grace's mouth was open. "Dr. Montgomery is…" she

trailed off.

"He is an awful man! I wouldn't consider this ridiculous wager except

that if I win he'll leave Kingman. Taylor has no idea what he's like or he

wouldn't ask me to spend time with him."

Grace's eyes brightened as she began to think quickly. "What you must

do is win this wager. For the good of everyone on the ranch you must win.

Now is not the time to think of yourself. You must throw yourself at Taylor

and let nature take its course. I'm sure Taylor will understand—and

respond. After all, he's a normal, healthy man and you are a beautiful

young woman. And it's perfectly all right since you're engaged to be

married. I'll bet Taylor has had to restrain himself from touching you. He's

merely being respectful."

"You don't think Taylor will dislike me if I'm too… too forward? He

doesn't seem to like forward women."

"I told you, he respects you. Just show him you need a little less respect

and a little more lovemaking and you'll not only win your wager but you'll

probably get a marriage date set—and you'll get rid of your dreadful Dr.

Montgomery. What more could you ask?"

Amanda smiled at her mother. "I guess you're right. Thank you." She

turned to go, but Grace called to her.

"Amanda," she said softly. "What made you come to me?"

"Dr. Montgomery asked me questions about you and I, well… I guess

I…"

"I understand. Go on now. You only have two and a half hours to win

your bet."

Amanda smiled at her mother and left the room.

Grace leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes skyward. "Please

God," she prayed, "I need Your help. I don't know how I'm ever going to

get into heaven hating Taylor Driscoll the way I do."

She looked back at the room and smiled. If Amanda made advances to

that cold fish he'd be horrified. This Dr. Montgomery was right: there was

no passion in Taylor. Grace hoped Amanda flung herself on him and she

hoped Taylor was disgusted enough to break the engagement, maybe

disgusted enough to leave the ranch.

"The bastard'd never do that," Grace muttered. Taylor wanted the

ranch so much he'd subjugate Amanda, banish Grace and make Harker

think he couldn't run the ranch without this stranger.

Dr. Montgomery, Grace thought before returning to her writing, she'd

have to pay some attention to that young man.

Amanda stood looking in her closet. Two and a half hours, she thought,

and she'd already wasted fifteen minutes trying to choose the right dress.

She wasn't used to choosing her own clothing since Taylor told her what

she was to wear. She didn't guess she could ask him what to wear for his

own seduction.

At last she grabbed a plain pink dress, since pink was the closest thing

she had to red, and as she dressed she wondered what constituted winning

this disgusting wager. A kiss on the lips, she thought. That's all it would

take. For a moment she paused and thought that if she reacted to Dr.

Montgomery's kisses with so much fervor, how in the world would she

react to the kiss of the man she loved? Just thinking about it made

goosebumps on her arms.

When she was dressed, she made an unscheduled trip to the bathroom,

then went downstairs in search of Taylor. The maid said he was in the

library. Amanda paused before knocking and took a deep breath. She was

doing this for the ranch, she reminded herself.

At Taylor's "Come in," her hand was trembling on the latch as she slid

the door back.

Taylor looked up from the desk, obviously surprised to see her, then he

looked down her body coolly. "I do not believe that is the dress I chose for

you."

"There was an accident," she answered glibly, as if she were used to

lying. "At the museum a child fell against me with a piece of cake.

Chocolate cake."

"Disgusting," he said. "Children today have no manners."

Amanda took a breath. "Not like our children."

Taylor looked shocked at her words, and Amanda felt a little surge of

power at having so much effect on him. "Why aren't you studying?" he

asked softly.

"I wanted to talk to you," she answered as she took a few steps closer to

the desk. "I thought…" She hesitated. "I thought perhaps we could talk

about our marriage plans."

Taylor took a while to recover. He didn't like this one little bit. Amanda

was not supposed to be in the library; she was not supposed to be wearing

that dress; and she most certainly was not supposed to be talking to him

about marriage and… and children! He had to stop this. If she started

going where she wanted when she wanted, where would she go next—to

roadhouses? He stood.

"Amanda, you are to—"

"I'd like to talk about our marriage," Amanda said quickly, cutting him

off. She hid her shaking hands behind her back.

Taylor walked around the desk and looked down his nose at her, his

back rigid. "We will discuss our marriage when I say we will."

For the first time ever, Amanda felt anger at Taylor. It was that odious,

interfering Dr. Montgomery, she thought. He was twisting her thoughts,

making her doubt what she knew to be true. "I'm twenty-two years old,

I'm a woman, not a little girl," she said in the voice of a ten-year-old.

"You are not acting like a responsible adult," he said, his jaw hard. "You

are acting like a demanding, whining, controlling shrew. You are not

behaving like a woman who any man would want for a wife."

Amanda remembered her mother's words: that Taylor was merely being

respectful to her and that he was a normal, healthy man—and she also

remembered her wager. Quickly, before she lost courage, she stood on

tiptoe and pressed her lips against Taylor's.

Nothing happened. Perhaps Dr. Montgomery's barbarism was tainting

her view of life, but every time she got within ten feet of him, his hands

were on her body. But Taylor didn't bend, didn't respond, didn't move. She

opened her lips a little but still nothing happened.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, saw him staring at her with

rage. She pulled away from him. He was livid. His face was red, a vein

pounded in his forehead—and Amanda was frightened. She remembered

Dr. Montgomery's words of, Do they beat you? She stood there paralyzed,

looking up at him.

It took Taylor a moment to recover enough to speak. He was really, truly

horrified. The woman he had so carefully taught was turning into a harlot

just like his mother. Were all women alike? Were women interested in

only one thing?

"Are you finished?" Taylor said at last, his voice cold enough to make

his breath seem frosty. "Or perhaps you want more? Shall we copulate on

the carpet? Is that what you're after?"

"No," she whispered. "I…"

"Have I misjudged you, Amanda? All these years I've thought you were

different, that you were a woman worthy of love, a woman who had higher

goals in life than merely procreation, and now I find that you're no

different. Tell me, have you always been lying to me? Have you ever been

interested in learning?"

"Of course I have," she said, and she felt like a harlot. "I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what?" he snapped. "Didn't mean to act like a woman

from the gutter? What kind of woman throws herself at a man?"

"But we are engaged," she said pleadingly. "Shouldn't engaged couples

show affection for one another?"

"I haven't shown you affection? You don't think planning your lessons,

the time we spend together, the hiring of Mrs. Gunston to take care of you

isn't a display of my affection?"

"Of course it is," she murmured. She had never felt so low in her life.

How could she have been so crude? "I'm very sorry. It won't happen again.

I apologize."

"I find your apology difficult to believe. Perhaps I am not the man for

you. Perhaps I should leave the ranch and—"

Amanda's head came up. He didn't want the ranch more than he

wanted her. She almost smiled. "No, please don't leave. I'll behave; you

don't have to worry. I'll never do anything so… so brazen again. Please

forgive me. I'll go upstairs now and study all night with no dinner, and

tomorrow I'll make you proud of me."

"That will be difficult."

"I will, you'll see," Amanda said, backing toward the door. "This won't

happen again, I promise." She slipped through the library door and ran up

the stairs.

Inside the library, Taylor sat down heavily and was horrified to find that

he was shaking. He had almost lost everything: the ranch, Amanda, future

security, everything. But something else that bothered him was that he

hadn't been the least bit tempted by Amanda's kiss.

He stood. That was perfectly proper. He shouldn't think of her any other

way except as his pupil until they were married. Even so, the whole

episode had left him shaken. To come so close to losing the ranch and to

see Amanda, the only female he'd ever come to trust, acting like a woman

of the streets, had left him feeling as if the foundation had been knocked

from under his feet.

For the first time in his life, he went to J. Harker's whiskey decanters

and poured himself a two-finger-deep shot of whiskey, then downed it. He

was sure his throat was burned raw, and his eyes teared as the hot liquid

hit his stomach, but he felt better as he went back to the account books.

Whatever had got into Amanda? Maybe she had too much free time.

Maybe her lessons weren't difficult enough and didn't challenge her active

mind sufficiently. He'd work on tightening her schedule and on giving her

something to occupy her.

Amanda tried to keep her composure but she couldn't. Once inside her

room, she flung herself on her bed and cried as if her life were over. She

had almost made Taylor leave her.

She beat her fists into the bed and kicked her heels. She hated, hated,

hated Dr. Montgomery. He was ruining everything in her life. Why didn't

he go back to where he came from? Why didn't he just leave her alone?

She cried for nearly thirty minutes until a knock sounded on her door

and she opened it to Mrs. Gunston. Amanda averted her eyes so the

woman wouldn't see that she'd been crying.

"He sent this to you," the big woman said, looking smug and pleased

about something.

Amanda took the book and paper and practically closed the door in the

woman's face.

" Beginning Calculus," she read aloud, then looked at the new schedule.

She was to study this book and there would be a test on the first four

chapters at six o'clock the next morning.

"But tomorrow is Sunday," she whispered, then her shoulders drooped

as she flipped through the book. It looked awfully complicated, and if she

was to do well she'd have to stay up all night. And she would do well! She'd

make Taylor see she wasn't frivolous, and wasn't a wayward woman.

She went to the desk and opened the book to page one.

She was so engrossed in trying to understand the basic principles of

calculus that she didn't hear Hank enter her room through the window, so

when he spoke, she jumped.

"Lost the bet, did you?" Hank said from behind her.

Amanda put her hand to her heart as she turned toward him. "Really,

Dr. Montgomery, must you skulk about like a burglar? Couldn't you come

to the door and knock like an educated, mannered person? Or perhaps I'm

asking too much. Maybe you grew up in a stable with the rest of the

animals."

Hank grinned at her. "Turned you down so bad he made you snippy,

didn't he?"

She gave him what she hoped was a look to kill. But he didn't even so

much as stop grinning. She turned back to her book.

"Ready to go? I bought you a new dress. It's supposed to be the latest

thing for a young lady to tango the night away in."

She gritted her teeth and kept her face turned toward her book. "I'm

afraid something has come up. I can't go." She waited for his explosion,

but there was no sound from him for so long that she turned. He was

sprawled on her bed, his long body taking up the whole bed. For just a

second, he looked rather appealing, but she stopped that thought.

"Well?" she said. She might as well get the argument over.

"Well what?" He continued looking at the ceiling.

He had more ways for angering a person than most people had hairs on

their head. She stood, her fists clenched at her side. "Dr. Montgomery, I

want you to leave my room and I never want you to enter it again. Also, I

want you to stop interfering in my life. As for this afternoon, I was… well, I

was not myself and I said things I didn't mean. If you misunderstood and

thought I meant to go to a dance with you I'm very sorry, but I have work

to do and I cannot leave the house."

He just lay there, not saying a word, his hands behind his head.

"I asked you to leave!"

"What kind of work?" he asked at last.

She sighed in exasperation. "If you must know, it's Beginning Calculus

and I have a test on it early tomorrow morning, so I have to use every

minute to study."

He rolled off the bed and came to stand in front of her. "So you got

punished, did you? A test early Sunday morning. What did you do?

Wrestle him to the floor? Climb in the bathtub with him?"

"Get out of my room."

"Or did you just try to hold his cold hand?"

She looked away from him.

He leaned close to her, his lips near her ear. "Or did you maybe kiss

him?"

Amanda sank onto the chair. "Would you please leave?" she whispered.

He put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her up to face him. "You

ready to admit I was right? Your Taylor doesn't have any blood in his

veins. He's incapable of anything resembling passion."

She twisted out of his grasp. "He's a good man and I want to please

him."

"Why don't you please yourself?"

She gave him a false little smile. "It would please me to get back to my

studying. And it would also please me if you left my room. Better yet, it

would please me if you left America."

He pulled his watch from his vest pocket. "We're going to be late. I'm

supposed to meet Reva at eight, so that gives you about ten minutes to

dress. You'll like this dress I bought you."

"Does it have a bodice? Or is the skirt missing? Dr. Montgomery, I am

not going to some loud, beer-swilling party with you and your equally

disgusting friends."

He grinned at her. "You've already lost one bet today; what d'you want

to bet you lose this one too?"

Chapter Ten

« ^ »

By the time Hank entered the dance with a woman on each side of him,

he was ready to enter a monastery. Reva was angry because he'd shown up

for their date with another woman and Amanda was angry because he'd

threatened her until she had to attend the dance with him. Added to this

was the fact that the two women were natural enemies and they'd had to

share the passenger seat in his Mercer and Hank was beginning to think

pleasantly of Amanda's suggestion that he leave the country. Maybe a long

cruise on a ship. Maybe a cruise on a Navy ship where he'd see only men

for months at a time.

"There's a table," Reva said over the noise of the ragtime music. "Of

course it has only two places." She gave Amanda a withering look. Reva

thought she could cheerfully kill Amanda right now. She finally got a

chance at a gorgeous, rich, educated, rich, respectable, and, most of all,

rich man like Dr. Montgomery and who should show up but Amanda? And

to make it worse, Amanda was wearing a stunning white satin dress with

a slant-cut overskirt that dripped with a fringe of crystal beads. Reva

didn't know dresses like that existed, and it made her frilly blue dress that

had cost her a week's salary look cheap and gaudy.

"It doesn't look like there's room," Amanda said. "You two go on. I'll

find another table."

Hank's hand clamped down on her upper arm.

"Maybe I should be the one to leave," Reva said, then Hank took her

arm, too, and began pulling both women toward the tiny table.

No cocktails were being served but beer and wine were abundant, so

Hank ordered a bottle of champagne for their table. The three of them sat

in silence, laughter all around, music playing, couples dancing, and waited

for the wine. When it came, Reva and Hank drank greedily, but Amanda

ignored her glass.

"Drink," Hank commanded her.

"And what will you do to humiliate me if I don't?"

"I'll make you dance with me," he said so just she could hear.

"I'll drink out of the bottle to escape that," she said, picking up her

glass. The wine was heavenly, sour, effervescent, cold. She emptied her

glass and the waiter refilled it.

"You don't have to get drunk. Is there any food you don't like?"

"There are just men I don't like."

"Excuse me," Reva said, "but I don't think I'm needed here. There are

some people over there I know. I think I'll join them."

"Wait," Hank said, "let's dance." He took Reva's hand, and as he rose he

looked down at Amanda. "You leave and you'll be sorry."

She just looked into her third glass of champagne and smiled.

"And slow down on that stuff."

Hank led Reva onto the dance floor and she nuzzled as close to him as

was decently possible, but she didn't think he was aware of her. He kept

looking at Amanda and frowning. Reva took his chin in her hand and

turned those beautiful blues so they looked at her. "What's with you?" she

said. "Are you in love with her or something?"

"God no," Hank said in horror. "I happened to have been cursed with a

social conscience. I hate to see anyone who's under the rule of someone

else."

"You mean Amanda? Some ruler she has, all that money, that big house

of hers. Just that dress she has on is enough to make a woman forget any

problems she ever thought she had."

"Yeah? You like that dress? Amanda thought it looked like something a

saloon girl might wear."

"She was lying. Believe me, she was lying." This remark seemed to

please Hank, and Reva smiled when he moved a little closer to her. He was

an excellent dancer, and she loved the feel of all those muscles under her

hands and those legs of his touching hers. If Amanda was going to get this

man she was going to have to fight for him.

Amanda started on her fourth glass of champagne before the tension

left her body. Or maybe tension wasn't the word for it. Maybe stark terror

was what she was feeling. Dr. Montgomery had threatened to tell Taylor

everything that had gone on between them since the professor's arrival if

Amanda didn't go to the dance with him. Amanda was faced with

definitely losing Taylor if Dr. Montgomery told or just the possibility of

losing him if someone checked her room and found she was gone. She

didn't even want to think about what her grade would be on tomorrow's

test.

She took another swallow of the wine and began to look about the room.

It wasn't as garish as she'd first thought and the music was much nicer

than it had sounded at first.

"Amanda?"

She looked up to see a divinely handsome man leaning over her. Not as

good-looking as Taylor, of course, or even Dr. Montgomery for that

matter, but very pleasant, with dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and a

nicely full lower lip under a fat mustache. She kept looking at that lower

lip as he sat down beside her.

"It is you, Amanda. I haven't seen you in years. Remember me? Sam

Ryan."

She looked back at his eyes. "Sam Ryan, the love of the whole

elementary school. I remember we girls used to take turns swooning when

you came by." Amanda was shocked that she'd said such a thing but she

felt so relaxed that it didn't really matter.

Sam ducked his head in embarrassment. "I don't know about any of

that, but you look great. I like that dress."

"Do you? I've had it for ages." It seemed that he was better-looking with

every sip of the magic drink.

"Would you like to dance?"

"I'm afraid I don't know how."

"Oh." He smiled at her and leaned forward. "Are you here alone? I

mean, is that guy you came with your date or Reva's?"

"Reva's!" she practically yelled. "He's nothing to do with me. He just

drove the car. He's Reva's and no one else's. At least not mine. I hardly

know him. I don't want to know him." She shut up.

Sam looked at her for a while. She had grown into a beautiful woman,

with her hair soft around her face, her beautiful white shoulders exposed

under the transparent sleeves of her dress. "It's awfully noisy in here, don't

you think? Why don't we go somewhere and get somethin' to eat and talk

about old times?"

"Food would be lovely," she said, thinking that she hadn't eaten since

that disastrous picnic with that odious man. When Amanda started to

stand up, she nearly fell, but Sam's strong arm caught her and she smiled

at him as if he'd just saved her life. She was very happy to see a look in his

eyes that she'd seen several times in Dr. Montgomery's. She didn't want to

think about the way Taylor looked at her. His rejection of her today had

hurt more than she wanted to admit.

"Thank you," she murmured, holding on to him, and the warmth in his

eyes increased. He was making her feel very good. She clung to his arm as

if she were an invalid as he led her toward the doors.

The tango ended and Hank turned toward where he'd left Amanda. The

table was empty except for an empty champagne bottle and three glasses.

Frantically, he looked about the room only to see Amanda clutching the

arm of some big athletic-looking guy and gazing up at him with a simper

and fluttering eyelashes. It took a moment before Hank could react, then

he walked off and left Reva standing alone. Amanda and her overgrown

boyfriend were already on the steps outside.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" Hank demanded,

clamping his hand down on Amanda's arm.

"Wait just a minute, mister," Sam said, pulling Amanda toward him.

"You always did love to fight, didn't you, Amanda?" Reva said from the

top of the stairs.

Amanda smiled at all of them and decided she was going to drink

champagne every day for the rest of her life.

Hank looked into Sam's eyes. They were the same height, but Sam was

heavier and his face didn't have the intelligence in it that Hank's did.

"This woman is under my protection," Hank said, as if he were talking to

one of his stupider students. "I cannot allow her to run off with some—"

"Just one minute!" Sam said. "I've known Amanda all her life and I

thought Reva was your date."

"So did I," Reva said.

"She is," Amanda said, smiling.

"You're drunk," Hank said with disgust and pulled Amanda toward

him. "I'm taking you home."

She jerked away from him. "I want to get drunk. I want to run away

with Sam. Isn't that the objective, Dr. Montgomery? To make me do what

I want to?"

"Yeah, well I didn't mean for you to get drunk."

Sam started forward, but Amanda put her hand up. "You just wanted

me to do what you wanted, didn't you?" Quickly, she spun about on her

heel and planted her lips on Sam's. She didn't feel anything except anger,

and when Sam's hands grabbed her waist she pushed him away and

looked back at Hank.

"There! That's something J wanted to do. Now Sam and I are going to

get something to eat."

Reva clutched Hank's arm. "That's just great, because we're going

dancing." Reva pulled, but Hank didn't move as he watched Sam and

Amanda start walking down the street, the streetlamps making them look

isolated and intimate.

"I think I'm hungry," Hank said and started after Amanda and Sam.

Gritting her teeth, Reva followed him. "I thought you said Amanda was

nothing to you."

"Merely a responsibility," Hank said, then turned into a diner behind

Amanda and Sam. "Mind if we join you?" he asked as he took the opposite

side of the booth, across from Amanda, Reva beside him.

"Could someone tell me what's goin' on?" Sam asked. "Who is this guy?"

"I would love to know the answer to that," Amanda said. "Just who are

you, Dr. Montgomery? And why have you taken me to raise?"

"Good question," Reva said.

Hank picked up a menu and buried his face in it. "What's good to eat

here? Not that it will matter to Amanda; she'll eat a wagonload of

anything."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, three of them staring at Hank, but he

didn't look up until the waitress came. He didn't know what made him

angrier, prim little Amanda running off with this bonehead or the fact

that she kept smiling so invitingly at him. She seemed to go from one

extreme to another: Taylor, who was all learning and nothing physical, to

this galoot, who probably had muscle for brains.

"Sam and I are going for a walk," Amanda said.

"Over my dead body," Hank said pleasantly.

"Maybe that can be arranged, Doc, although I hate to take advantage of

an older man."

Hank nearly came out of his seat at that, but Reva put her hand on his

arm. She was liking Hank more by the minute. If she could just get him

away from Amanda.

"I think a walk's a grand idea," Reva said. "We'll all go. We'll walk out

toward the museum." That was a long, dark road and there were hop

fields on one side and maybe she could persuade Hank to walk under the

dark rows with her.

"Maybe Amanda can get the museum opened for us," Hank said. "Then

she could give us a tour."

Amanda gave him a cool look and moved closer in the seat to Sam.

"Tonight I prefer to have fun. That's the objective, isn't it?"

Hank looked at the way Sam was gazing down at Amanda and the fork

in his hand bent.

"You better be careful you don't hurt yourself, Doc," Sam said. "It takes

longer to heal at your age. Come on, Amanda, you ready to leave this

place?"

"Yes," she said, smiling maliciously at Hank.

Hank had to pay the check, and then Reva wanted to go to the restroom

and she made him feel so rotten that he waited for her and he nearly lost

Amanda and that schoolboy.

"Come on," Hank said impatiently to Reva.

"This is turning into the worst date I have ever been on," Reva muttered

as they started walking. She did her best to coax Hank into the dark hop

fields, but he didn't even seem to be aware of what she was doing.

Finally, she planted herself in front of him. "Look, I want to know what's

going on. You invite me out to dance but you arrive with another woman

who you say is nothing to you, then I get one dance and we're off chasing

Amanda as if she were the love of your life. I just want to know where I

stand. If you want Amanda, then don't invite me out." She knew she was

risking losing him, but at this point her feet, in shoes made for dancing,

hurt too much to care.

"Amanda's lived in a glass case all her life. She has no idea what men

are capable of, and she's been throwing herself at that football player all

night."

"Sam's a good guy. Amanda will be all right with him."

"Hah!" Hank said and started walking again. "She's my responsibility. I

made her come out tonight and I'd never be able to live with myself if

anything happened to her."

"You sure that's all it is? You're not interested in her yourself?"

"Only as a student. She's not my type."

She was nearly having to run to keep up with him. "Prove it," she said

daringly.

Hank paused for a moment and looked at her in the moonlight. Her

makeup was too heavy and the dress she wore was cheap and he doubted

if she had any idea what was going on in Servia but, at the moment, she

was appealing. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him

for a quick, perfunctory kiss. His mind was totally on finding Amanda.

"I think we've lost him," Amanda said, breathless from running to

escape Hank.

"Is he your watchdog or somethin'?" Sam asked.

" Something is right. He thinks he owns me."

"But I heard you were engaged to some guy that lives with you."

Maybe it was the wine, but Amanda's memory of the humiliating scene

with Taylor in the library came back vividly. If he was a red-blooded

normal male, maybe it was just she who nauseated him. Dr. Montgomery

didn't seem to find her physically repulsive but then he seemed to like all

women. He flirted with Lily Webster in the park, he took Reva to a dance.

There didn't seem to be a woman he didn't like.

She leaned a little bit toward Sam. "Tell me, did you ever notice me

when we were in school together?"

"Sure. You were Caulden's daughter. You were the richest kid in

school."

"Oh," she said flatly. "Is that why you came up to me at the dance? My

father's money?"

Smiling, he took her hand in his and led her to the edge of the road. "I

didn't know who you were at first. I just thought you were the prettiest girl

I'd seen in years."

"Really?" she whispered up at him, eyes wide. If she was pretty, why

didn't Taylor want to touch her? She wondered if Sam would be repulsed

if she kissed him. She put her face up toward his and she was pleased to

hear his breath taken in sharply.

"Let's go look at the hop fields in the moonlight," he said and pulled her

behind him. When they came to the fence, he swept her into his arms and

lifted her over.

The sudden movement made Amanda feel a little dizzy, but the

moonlight, this big, handsome man, the wine and his obvious interest in

her were making her skin glow. She watched as he climbed over the fence

and she saw a big muscle outlined in his thigh. When she looked up at his

face, she saw he had seen her look.

"Come on, sugar," he said softly and caught her hand and began leading

her under the overhead curtain of hop vines.

Amanda followed him, feeling good about herself, feeling that she, for

once, wasn't a freak. Here was a man who liked her, a man who didn't

want to teach her anything or give her a test. Here was a man who wasn't

angry because she was displeasing him.

Suddenly, Sam turned and pulled her into his arms and began to kiss

her. It felt so good to be kissed. He wasn't Taylor, who hated her kisses; he

wasn't Dr. Montgomery, who only kissed her when he was proving

something to her.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back, her arms going around his

neck.

His lips went to her cheek, her ear, her neck. His hands began to roam

all over her body, clutching her buttocks and jamming her hips against

his.

"Oh yeah, honey, give me," he murmured, his mouth moving down to

her shoulder.

She felt his hand on the filmy shoulder of her dress, then she heard a

little tear.

"Sam," she said, pushing at him, but he didn't budge. His mouth was

making her shoulder wet and the grinding of his hips into hers was

beginning to hurt. "Sam, please let me go."

"Not yet, honey. Not till I get what you been promisin'."

Amanda was beginning to get concerned. His arms were tightening; his

hands were moving. One big hand grabbed the side of her breast.

"No!" she cried, but he put his mouth over hers again. She didn't like

his kisses. They weren't nice like Dr. Montgomery's kisses. She moved her

head away. "Stop it! I want to go home."

"You are home, girlie."

He put one arm under her knees and lifted her as he sank to the ground.

She was frightened now and she began to struggle in earnest, but she

was half his weight and she had no effect on his strength. "No!" she

screamed, pushing at him, pummeling any part of his body she could

reach with her fists.

He grabbed her sleeve and she felt the fabric tear away as he began to

run hot kisses down the front of her. She leaned her head back to scream

for help but he put a thumb to her windpipe.

"No reason to make a fuss, baby," he said. "I'm just givin' you what you

been wantin' all evenin'."

His mouth fastened on her breast and all Amanda could do was fight for

air. She knew she was losing consciousness.

And then, all of a sudden, the thumb was removed. She opened her eyes

to see that Dr. Montgomery had Sam by the hair.

"You bastard," Hank said, seething. "You're just what I thought you

were."

Sam jerked out of Hank's grasp. "She wanted it. She's been askin' for it

all night. You mad because she won't give it to you?"

The next second Sam was on his back, blood running from his split

upper lip where Hank had hit him.

"I'm gonna massacre you, old man, then I'm gonna take her," Sam said,

coming to his feet and preparing to run at Hank.

"You and what army?" Hank said softly before sidestepping Sam's

head-down charge. He laced his fingers and brought both fists down on

the back of Sam's head.

Sam kept going for a second, then fell facedown in a hop plant.

"So much for old men," Hank said from above Sam's inert body, then he

turned to look at Amanda. Her face was whiter than the silk of her dress

and she was holding the bodice together with her hands.

"Come on, let's go," he said as gently as he could, considering the fact

that he could easily wring her neck. He put out his hand to her but she

walked past him, her little nose in the air. All right, if that's the way she

wanted it, she could have it. He wanted to comfort her but she didn't look

like she needed any comfort. He didn't glance at the unconscious football

player but rubbed his aching hands and followed Amanda back to the

road.

Reva was waiting for them, but Amanda walked right past her and

started back toward town and the car.

"Sam do that?" Reva asked, referring to Amanda's torn dress.

"Yeah," Hank mumbled, watching Amanda as she stalked ahead.

"I guess our date's over," Reva said. "It sure has been interesting."

Hank wasn't listening to her. He'd barely heard Amanda's cry of no. If

he'd been two hop rows farther away, he wouldn't have heard her.

Thinking about seeing that jerk's body wrapped around Amanda made

him want to go back and kill him.

Amanda didn't stop until she was at Hank's Mercer, then she stepped

inside, sat down and looked straight ahead.

"Move over and let Reva in," Hank said with more anger than he meant.

"No thanks," Reva said. "I think I'll go back to the dance. But thanks a

lot, Doc. Maybe we can get together again sometime." She practically ran

across the street to the steps of the Opera House.

Hank started the car, got in the driver's side and turned toward the

Caulden Ranch without saying a word to Amanda, but he silently cursed

her all the way back. She had no sense about men, or sense about anything

else for that matter. All she knew about were books and schedules. Why

did she think she could handle some lusty young man like that Sam? And

Hank didn't really blame Sam after the way Amanda had thrown herself at

him.

He turned an angry look toward her just as another car passed them,

and when he saw Amanda's face, his anger left him. She looked scared to

death, as if her life were over. He pulled the car down a side road, stopped

under an oak tree, then went to her side of the car.

"Get out," he said.

"I want to go home," she said in little above a whisper.

He put his hand on her arm but she flinched away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she said in a high-pitched half-scream.

"Amanda, I'm not a rapist and I'll be damned if I'll let you think all men

are." He put one arm behind her back and another under her knees and

scooped her out of the seat and into his arms.

When he touched her, she came alive, pounding his chest, kicking,

pulling his hair. But he held her tightly, only grunting a few times when

she hit some sensitive spot. After a long while she began to cry, and Hank

moved with her to sit under the tree, where he held her close to him and

stroked her hair while she cried.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

Amanda was beginning to recover. "My pride."

Hank handed her a handkerchief. "Nothing else? Just an ugly dress

torn?"

"It's a beautiful dress. The prettiest one at the dance."

"Think so?" Hank said happily.

Amanda blew her nose again. "I don't know what happened. He was so

kind at the dance. And it was nice to have a man want to kiss me."

Hank felt personally insulted. "I keep kissing you and you don't seem to

think it's so nice."

"Yes, but you just want to teach me a lesson. You want me to change

myself into what you want me to be, and Taylor wants me to be whatever

he wants. Sam just thought I was… that I was pretty."

Hank knew there was more truth in her words than he liked to admit.

"But you flirted with him and made him think you were easy."

"I just wanted to feel wanted."

"I see. You want to tell me what happened today with you and Taylor?"

She shuddered at the memory of the scene in the library. "No, I don't."

"That bad, was it?"

She sat up in his lap, and for all the intimacy of their contact they may

as well have been sitting in a parlor on chairs.

"Something I'd like to know is, if you wanted a man to make you feel

desirable, why didn't you come to me?"

"You?" she asked. "But you don't make me feel desirable. You make me

feel stupid. You make me feel that everything I do is wrong. You yell at me,

ridicule me, threaten me, tell me I have no idea what life or love is. Taylor

may not make me feel like a femme fatale but he thinks I'm smart."

She got off his lap, stood and tried to pull the torn parts of her dress

together. "Taylor chooses my clothes; you pick out a dancing dress for me.

I really don't see any difference except that Taylor does it without

shouting. I must say, though, Dr. Montgomery, I do like your food better

than Taylor's, but as for day-to-day contact, I much prefer Taylor's

quietness, and after tonight I am further convinced that he's the man for

me. Tell me, are dates always this much 'fun'? I think I'll stay home next

time if you don't mind. Now, may we return to my home where I'm safe?"

She turned away and got in the car, trying to conceal that her body was

still trembling from Sam's attack. During the years she'd stayed at home

with Taylor as her tutor, she seemed to have missed out on part of her

education. Taylor never kissed her, but then along came Dr. Montgomery

and he did. Yet Dr. Montgomery didn't maul her or hurt her, nor did his

hands feel like slime on her skin like Sam's had.

She turned her face to the wind and tried not to cry. For the thousandth

time she wished she had never met Dr. Montgomery. If Taylor rarely

kissed her, it wouldn't have mattered because she never would have known

about kissing or fast little cars, or dancing, or succulent food if she hadn't

met Dr. Montgomery. And she wouldn't have become reacquainted with

Sam or Reva, who had given her dagger-looks all evening. How different

her life would be now if he'd never come.

And now she needed to get it back where it had been. She had to get

home, sneak into the house (something else she'd never done before he

came) and get to her calculus book so she could pass her test in the

morning.

Hank stopped the car some distance from the house so no one would see

the lights or hear the motor. "Amanda," he said, turning toward her, "you

really can't blame me for what happened tonight."

"Of course not. I asked you to please take me to the dance. I even

begged you to buy me a dress with half the bodice transparent. And I've

told you how much I love your little picnics and all the other

entertainments you've planned for me. Why should I blame you for any of

the dreadful things that have happened to me since your arrival? My

fiancé can barely stand the sight of me; I'm attacked by an old friend. But

I'm sure it's all been my fault, not yours."

Hank didn't answer her but turned and started walking with her back

to the house. He knew that what he was doing was right, but sometimes

she made him doubt himself. Maybe he should take her at her word and

leave her alone.

At the door to her bedroom, Hank took Amanda's hand and kissed her

palm. "Good night, Miss Caulden," he said softly, then went into his room

before she could speak.

He didn't sleep well that night but kept hearing over and over Amanda's

words that he had no right to interfere in her life. She was right when she

pointed out that all the bad things that had happened to her had been

caused by him. Tonight she had been nearly raped, and if she had been, it

would have been his fault. She had not wanted his help, yet he had forced

himself on her.

At three a.m. he got out of bed and walked to the balcony outside. He

could see Amanda's light still on and see the shadow of her bent over her

desk. She was no doubt studying her calculus, trying her best to please the

man she loved.

Hank walked back into his room and began to pack. He wasn't sure

what he'd been trying to prove with Amanda, but right now he felt like a

complete failure. The missionaries who went to Hawaii had felt they were

right, but in the end they had brought disease and destruction to the

Hawaiians—just as he was destroying Amanda, the woman he— He

stopped. He didn't know how he felt about Amanda but he did know he'd

do most anything before he hurt her. Maybe it had all been vanity, to see if

he could take her away from Taylor Driscoll. And what if he'd won? Would

she become another Blythe Woodley, who thought he should marry her?

Would Amanda also tear up wallpaper samples and throw them at him?

She was better off where she was, with Taylor, and if she wanted every

minute of her life put on a schedule, then it was her choice.

He wrote a thank-you note to Mr. and Mrs. Caulden for their

hospitality, although he'd never seen her and rarely seen him, then he

tried to write to Amanda but couldn't. What could he say? Forgive me for

trying to take control of your life when you have given control to someone

else?

At 5:30 he heard movement upstairs and knew that it was nearly time

for Amanda's punishment test. He swallowed his anger at such an

injustice and closed his suitcase. It wasn't his problem any longer—never

had been, for that matter—and went downstairs. As he left his thank-you

note on the hall table, he noticed a light on in the library and that the

sliding doors weren't quite closed.

Telling himself it wasn't any of his business, he peeped inside. Amanda,

looking small and fragile, sat behind the massive desk, a paper and pen

before her. But her head was on the desk, her hand palm up beside her.

She looked like a sleeping child.

He felt a pang of remorse. She was asleep because he'd kept her out late

and she'd spent the rest of the night studying. Silently, he slid one door

open, then shut it and went to her. She was so soundly asleep she didn't

hear him and didn't move as he took the test paper off the desk and looked

at it. It was a difficult, complicated test and Hank cursed Driscoll once

again.

It didn't take Hank but a moment to decide what to do. He took

Amanda's pen, some pieces of Caulden's expensive stationery for scratch

paper, sat down in a leather chair, a book for a desk, and began to work

the problems. Thirty minutes later, he had finished and Amanda hadn't

moved. He put the paper on the desk just as he'd found it, then, on

impulse, wrote Amanda a short note and put it in her lap. Also on

impulse, he kissed his fingertips and touched her hair, which was once

again tightly drawn back. "Goodbye, Sleeping Beauty," he whispered and

left the room and the house.

Chapter Eleven

« ^ »

"Well, Amanda," Taylor said loudly, startling her awake so that she

nearly fell out of the chair. "It looks as if my assignments bore you, as if

you do not care whether you pass a test or not. Perhaps it's me who does

not matter to you."

Amanda took a moment to adjust to where she was and what was

happening, then she felt a sense of panic. She'd so wanted to do well on

this test that she'd stayed up all night studying, which had caused her to

fall asleep the moment she'd sat down to take the test.

Her fists clenched at her sides and she once again knew that Taylor's

anger was caused by Dr. Montgomery. If he'd never come to Kingman

she'd never have ended up going to a dance and being nearly raped, nor

would she have had a test at six o'clock on Sunday morning. Nor would

she have to see Taylor picking up the blank test paper.

"I can explain," she began, then fell silent. Explain how? she thought

desperately, trying to make up a story other than the real one. "I…"

Taylor turned surprised eyes on her. "You have done very well," he said

quietly. "I had no idea you were so good at mathematics." He had never

given her much tutoring in mathematics, not because she wasn't good at

numbers but because he'd never done well at the subject himself. He much

preferred the arts and literature. He'd been so angry at her for her

disgusting sexual display that he'd wanted to give her the most difficult

assignment possible. Her study assignment had been from a beginning

book of calculus but her test had come from a third-year book, yet,

according to his answer sheet, every answer was perfect. According to this

test, she was well past his knowledge of any form of mathematics.

"Good?" Amanda asked stupidly. "But I didn't even understand the

questions."

He gave her a cold look. Was she making fun of him? "You have proved

your point," he said. "Now go and change your dress. Wear the mauve silk.

I do not like that dress at all. And fix your hair. It is coming undone. After

breakfast I will inspect your sewing."

He put her test paper on the desk, then turned and left the library so

abruptly that Amanda thought he was angry about something other than

her sleeping. He hadn't said a word about her blank test paper.

She reached across the desk and took the test paper, then stared at it in

astonishment. Neatly, concisely, each problem was answered in what

looked to be her own handwriting. Even the fives were made the way she

made them. Had she answered the questions in her sleep?

Even as she thought that, she knew it was impossible. It was while she

was staring at the test in bewilderment that she saw the folded paper in

her lap. She opened it.

Dear Miss Caulden,

Forgive me for interfering in your life; I was wrong. The test can

in no way make up for my presumption but I hope it helps.

I wish you and your fiancé the best in the future.

Yours very sincerely,

Henry R. Montgomery

P.S. My doctorate did not come from a mail-order catalog.

It took Amanda a few moments to realize that Dr. Montgomery had

saved her with Taylor and that the tone of the letter said that he was gone.

At once she felt a great sense of relief. He had somewhat redeemed himself

for the horror of last night, but nothing could fully make up for all he'd

done to her in the past days.

She leaned back in her chair for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief.

Now she could get her life back to the orderly, calm pattern it had been.

Now she could make Taylor want to marry her. She'd follow his directions,

keep to his schedule and study without stop, and before long he'd mention

marriage again, and after their marriage they'd… What? she thought.

Continue following Taylor's schedule? Study forever? Would she be

delivered of a baby in the morning and have a French test in the

afternoon?

Stop it! she commanded herself. She'd marry Taylor and live happily

ever after is what she'd do. And she'd start right now by going upstairs

and changing her dress and pulling her hair back into place.

She slipped Dr. Montgomery's note into her pocket and meant to tear it

into a hundred pieces and flush it, but when she was alone in her room she

found herself carefully folding the note and putting it in the very back

corner of her top drawer, in with her underwear. She told herself she could

use it as evidence if needed. Evidence of what she didn't know, but she

kept the letter just the same.

She went to her closet and took out the mauve dress and frowned. It

was a color she did not like. The pale bluish purple made her skin look

sallow and her eyes colorless. On impulse, she took down a hatbox from

the top of the closet and removed tissue paper until she reached the

beaded white-satin gown she'd worn last night, then held it up before her

to see herself in the mirror. The fringe of beads would have been lovely if

she'd danced.

Her heart nearly stopped when Mrs. Gunston gave a perfunctory knock

on the door and entered. Amanda was standing in her slip and she hastily

thrust the beaded dress behind her.

"You are not dressed," Mrs. Gunston said, looking shocked. "You were

to have been downstairs three minutes ago."

"I was busy," Amanda said, holding the white dress at arm's length

inside the closet. "I will be down as soon as possible."

"As soon as—¡"Mrs. Gunston gasped, her big ugly face looking even

uglier. "You are not on schedule. The master shall hear about this." She

turned on her heel and left the room, nearly slamming the door behind

her.

"The master?" Amanda said, then recovered herself. She had to get

ready to go downstairs to breakfast and she had to get back on schedule.

Then she remembered she hadn't even looked at her schedule that

morning.

She dressed rapidly, tried to memorize the schedule and get downstairs

as soon as possible, but something seemed to be slowing her down. Maybe

it was the heat; maybe it was the fact that it was Sunday, but something

was making her late.

Taylor was standing at the doorway to the dining room, his pocket

watch out, a scowl on his face. "You are very late, Amanda."

"Yes, I know, but I was up all night studying and everything has been off

since then. What's for breakfast?" She sailed past him and didn't see the

way his mouth dropped open as he watched her.

Taylor closed his mouth. Yesterday the kissing and now she was off

schedule. He had to get her back under control.

Amanda looked down at her poached egg and dry toast and nearly

recoiled. She was so very, very hungry and this wasn't enough to fill a

rabbit's belly. But she wanted to get back to her safe little world and this

meager breakfast was part of it. She picked up her spoon.

"Well, Amanda, are you going to start this morning's conversation or

must I?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say? Oh yes, the conversation. I'm afraid I

forgot what's on the schedule. It has been a most hectic morning." She

looked up as the maids began carrying in one covered dish after another

for Dr. Montgomery's breakfast and set them on the sideboard. Amanda's

stomach let its yearning for the food be known to her. She gazed at the

silver dishes with longing.

"Amanda!" Taylor said. "What do you mean, you didn't read this

morning's schedule?"

"I read it; I just don't remember it. Perhaps if you told me what was

planned I could start the conversation."

Taylor didn't have time to recover from his astonishment because J.

Harker burst into the room, a cigar jammed into the corner of his mouth.

"He's gone," Harker announced without greeting. "That professor and

his fancy car are gone."

Both Taylor and J. Harker turned toward Amanda, their eyes accusing.

"I did the best I could," she said. "He didn't like having his days

scheduled for him."

Harker turned to Taylor. "You put him on one of those damned

schedules of yours? What'd you do? Tack it to his door? You tell him when

he was allowed to pee?"

Taylor kept his back rigid. "I did not. Amanda was to stay with him,

that is all. I merely suggested a few amusements for them."

J. Harker switched the cigar to the other side of his mouth. He'd always

been in awe of Taylor's education, but right now he wondered if Taylor's

brain was a book, with no common sense in it. "What kind of

amusements? Libraries? Museums? He have to listen to Amanda reeling

off facts?"

Amanda's face turned red at this, but neither man looked at her.

"Dr. Montgomery is a professor. I'm sure he enjoyed—"

"Enjoyed, hell!" J. Harker spat. "I was afraid to trust you on this. I

didn't think you knew what you were doing. I told you not to send Amanda

out with him. Montgomery is a big, strapping stallion, not a broken-down

old gelding. Damn! Why did I trust you? Now he's gone, and instead of

getting him on our side, he'll probably run to the unionists."

"I doubt that. We have shown him every hospitality. He had someone of

intelligence to converse with. Just this morning Amanda made a perfect

score on a calculus test."

For a moment, Harker could only sputter. "You expected a young

animal like Montgomery to sit around with a pretty girl and talk about…

about book learnin'? Have you got ice water in your veins? For God's sake,

I can't stand to be around a little prude like Amanda for more than ten

minutes, and she's my own daughter, so how can I expect a hot-blooded

man like Montgomery to be able to stand her?"

No one saw the way the blood left Amanda's face.

"I'm sure Amanda made every effort to entertain Dr. Montgomery.

Perhaps some family emergency drew him away."

"Yeah, some emergency like fear of dying of boredom." Harker put his

cigar between his fingers and pointed it at Taylor. "You want this ranch,

boy, you gotta do somethin' besides run my daughter's life. Those

unionists cause me the loss of even a penny and I'll set you out of here on

your ear. You understand me?" He stormed out of the room.

Taylor stood where he was, while Amanda remained seated, looking at

her empty cup. Now Dr. Montgomery had caused her father to say these

awful things about her. In the short time since that man had arrived,

Taylor had shown he had no physical desire for her, and her father had

admitted he couldn't stand to be near her. Some part of her had wondered

why her father never ate breakfast with her and Taylor or why he never

joined them in the parlor after dinner. But she'd never dreamed it was

because he didn't want to be near her.

She looked up at Taylor as he stood paralyzed, staring at the doorway.

Was he upset at what Harker had said to his daughter? Amanda didn't

think so. She knew that it was fear on his face, fear of losing the ranch.

But Dr. Montgomery would be angry about J. Harker's words about his

daughter, she thought, then squelched the thought.

She stood. "I am going to my room," she said softly and started toward

the door, but Taylor beat her there.

He closed the door, then put his back to it, barricading them in. "What

did you do to offend him? Why did he leave?"

Amanda's head reeled with answers. She offended him by doing what

Taylor wanted her to do. She pleased Dr. Montgomery only when she ate

what wasn't on the schedule, went places not scheduled and did

scandalous things like attend a dance. But she couldn't say any of those

things to Taylor.

"I am waiting, Amanda," Taylor said.

"I tried my best to keep to the schedule, but Dr. Montgomery doesn't

like museums."

Taylor's eyes were cold and angry. "Perhaps you didn't make them

interesting to him. Perhaps you weren't concerned enough with the

welfare of the ranch to study enough to make the visits interesting."

It was all so very unfair. If Taylor loved her, didn't he care what her

father had just said to her? She had rarely been allowed out of her room

before Dr. Montgomery came, and then, without asking her, they had

thrust him upon her and expected her to know how to handle a man who

stared at her legs and kissed her and shoved chocolate cake in her face.

How was a lifetime of study supposed to prepare her for this man?

"Your laziness is going to cost us the ranch," Taylor said. "The unionists

will take it away from us. The hops will rot in the fields with no one to pick

them, and it will all be your fault."

"I did the best I could." Tears of frustration sprang to Amanda's eyes.

She hoped Dr. Montgomery ran off a cliff in that car of his and no one ever

had to see him again.

"Your best was not good enough," Taylor said with a half sneer on his

lip. "I want you to spend the day in your room. Do not come out until

tomorrow morning, while I try to think of some remedy for what you have

caused. And since you seem to find calculus so easy, let us see how well you

remember your Greek. I want you to begin translating Moby Dick into

Greek." He stepped away from the door. "Now go, and do not let me see

you again for twenty-four hours."

Amanda went, but instead of feeling contrite she felt angry. Taylor had

not been fair at all. He didn't know what Dr. Montgomery was like. He had

no idea what she'd been through with that dreadful man.

But wait! she told herself. Taylor was good; he wasn't wrong. She had

failed in the task he'd given her. For whatever reason she'd failed, the

result was the same, and he had a right to punish her.

By the time she got to her room she had convinced herself that Taylor

was absolutely right, and she did her best not to think of what her father

had said. But as the day wore on, some of her original conviction left her.

It was hot in her room, and her dress of heavy silk broadcloth was stiff and

made her even hotter. Lunch time came and went and she was famished.

Twice she glanced toward her windows as if she expected Dr. Montgomery

to come into her room bearing canvas bags full of food. But the house was

quiet and no one came to interrupt her study.

By two o'clock she was faint with hunger and she was oddly restless. She

couldn't seem to keep her mind on her translation. Instead, she kept

remembering last night at the dance. She remembered the music, the

champagne, the couples dancing. She pushed her chair back and began to

try to imitate the dancers' steps. What would she have thought if she'd

gone to a dance alone or with a woman and met Dr. Montgomery there?

When he wasn't being an utterly obnoxious man, he was awfully

good-looking. Would he have asked her to dance? Would he have been

interested in her as a woman and not just as a specimen to study and

change?

She whirled about the room, then felt so dizzy she had to sit down on

the bed. She put her hand to her head for a moment as the dizziness

passed. This is ridiculous, she thought. As Dr. Montgomery said, she was

twenty-two years old and she was still being punished as if she were a

schoolgirl.

She kept her head high and ignored her pounding heart as she left her

room and went down the stairs to the dining room. Perhaps she could find

a maid to bring her a sandwich that she could secrete back up to her

room. To her chagrin, her father sat alone at the head of the dining table,

a huge meal of roast beef, about eight vegetables, a pork pie, three kinds of

bread and two salads spread before him. Amanda stared at the food for so

long she didn't have time to get away before J. Harker saw her.

"Well?" Harker said belligerently.

"May I join you?" she heard herself saying, then practically floated to

the table before he could answer. A maid set a plate and utensils before

her.

"Did you come to explain or apologize?" he asked.

"I merely wanted to eat," Amanda said, heaping her plate full. She

wanted to eat with her hands from the platters, but she managed to

control herself.

Harker watched her for a moment, and for the first time in years he

looked at his daughter as a human being. She usually acted like such a

little know-it-all and this made him feel every year of his neglected

education. "So why did the professor leave?"

Amanda dug into candied carrots. "He didn't like being put on a

schedule. He likes motion pictures and dances and picnics. He did not like

museums or lectures on Eugenics. Nor was he impressed by the size of our

house or cars." Amanda couldn't believe she was talking this way to her

father, but perhaps it was the delicious food that was her main interest.

Harker considered this for a moment. "And you couldn't bring yourself

to go to a dance with him?"

"I am an engaged woman and, besides, I had enough trouble fitting the

museums in with my other studies." The peas with little pearl onions were

heavenly.

Harker was watching her. Usually the meals he'd seen her eat were tiny

and extremely unappetizing, but today she was eating like a mule train

driver. Taylor had blamed Amanda for Montgomery's leaving, but at this

moment Harker wondered whether Amanda had perhaps been responsible

for the young professor staying as long as he had. As a child she'd been

headstrong and willful—just like her mother—but he'd hired Taylor and

within months Amanda had settled down. At first Harker had been

relieved, but as the years went by and he saw Amanda turn into a prim

and proper little machine, he began to wish she'd pull some prank. But he

had too much work to do to concern himself with the education of a

daughter. It was only when she got to be about twenty and she was still

reciting verses like a ten-year-old that he was unable to bear the sight of

her.

Now as he watched her eat like a field hand, he sensed that something

was different. This morning Grace, who usually avoided him like the

plague and had pretty much hated him since Taylor had arrived, smiled at

him. And Harker had been looking at Taylor differently lately. He was no

longer in awe of Taylor's education and had begun to wonder if the man

knew as much as either one of them thought he did. Years ago, when

Grace had demanded that Harker get rid of Taylor, Harker had refused on

sheer principle if for no other reason. He'd made his decision and he was

sticking to it—right or wrong—and even if Grace did refuse to sleep with

him until Taylor was gone, he wasn't going to let that influence him. But

this morning, when Grace had smiled at him, he'd remembered what a

damned good-looking woman she was and he'd wondered at the way he'd

chosen Taylor over a beautiful wife.

"Bring some of that peach pie," Harker said to the maid. "My daughter

is hungry."

Amanda gave him a weak smile. "You don't think I'll get fat?"

"I like women with a little meat on their bones."

"That's what… I mean…" she stumbled, remembering what Dr.

Montgomery had said. "Thank you, I'd like some pie."

Involuntarily, Amanda looked at the empty seat opposite her and

thought, I miss him. She told herself that was a stupid thought and utterly

incorrect but remembered the punishment work she had upstairs, and she

wished she could go on a picnic with Dr. Montgomery. No! with Taylor,

she corrected herself.

She tried to imagine Taylor stretched out on a cloth on the ground,

tried to imagine him driving a car like the Mercer. She wanted to think of

Taylor washing her hair, then kissing her, but none of the images would

come to her.

J. Harker saw her looking at the empty chair as if she were seeing a

ghost. "You, ah, like that professor?"

Amanda straightened in her chair. "He was a—" She started to say that

he was a frivolous man, but he had cared about her and the way he'd

answered the mathematics questions showed he wasn't uneducated. "He

was an unusual man," she said at last. "Completely unpredictable. One

never knew what he'd do from one moment to the next."

"No schedules, huh?" J. Harker asked, watching her.

Amanda smiled in delight. "Dr. Montgomery doesn't even understand

the concept of schedules. He believes in personal freedom for everyone."

When she smiled like that Harker was reminded so strongly of Grace

that he felt quite weak-kneed. He had carried a grudge against his wife for

so long that he'd been able to almost forget about her. How dare she tell

him who he could and could not hire! Especially after she'd betrayed him

by not telling him she'd been a dancer before they'd married. And he'd

bragged all over town about how her family had come across on the

Mayflower, then they'd all laughed at him.

But now, looking at Amanda, he remembered Grace's lean, firm body in

his bed. She'd been wonderful in bed but he'd given it up when she'd

demanded he fire Taylor. Right now he felt that his stubborn pride had

cost him his wife and his daughter.

"Do you know where your mother is this afternoon?" he asked abruptly.

"Why, no, I don't see her too often." Not since I asked her advice when I

kissed Taylor, she thought, and the memory made her face turn pink.

J. Harker pushed back his chair and stood. "I think I'll go find her." He

started for the door, then turned. "Maybe you'll have dinner with me

tonight."

"Yes," she said, astonished. "I would like that."

When she was alone in the room, she gave a puzzled look at the empty

chair. Somehow, this invitation was caused by Dr. Montgomery. He had

caused her to be nearly raped, true, but he'd also brought about her father

seeking out her mother and her father asking his daughter to dinner. Of

course, she thought with a grimace, he was also the cause of her having to

translate Moby Dick into Greek. At least now, with a full belly, she'd be

able to get something done. Slowly, she went upstairs to her hot room.

"And you found this in her room?" Taylor asked Mrs. Gunston as he

held the torn white satin dress in his hands, the crystal beads glistening in

the sunlight.

"I knew she was hiding something," Mrs. Gunston said in a

self-righteous way. "I saw her arm inside the closet, so when she went

downstairs I searched. She had it wrapped in tissue paper and hidden

inside a hatbox. It's not a dress you bought her, and you can see that it's

torn right across the front. She's been doing something she's not supposed

to, and it's my guess it has to do with that Dr. Montgomery. There's been

strange things going on in this house since he came. I found a dirty plate

hidden in her room, and one day—"

"That's enough!" Taylor said sharply, wadding the dress up in his

hands. "You may go now."

"But there's more."

Taylor was getting sick of her sneaking ways. "That's all. Go now."

With a grimace of disgust, the big woman left Taylor alone in the

library, sliding the door closed after she left.

Taylor stood still for a long while, staring sightlessly out the windows,

and all his old fear came back to him. It was as if everything he'd ever

worked for was collapsing about his head. Harker was threatening to kick

him off the ranch; Amanda was doing things in secret, possibly with

another man.

He looked at the satin dress. When? How? Where? What had she done?

Was she so miserable before that she wanted to get away from him?

Yesterday she'd kissed him and he'd been very angry about it, but today

he wondered if he should have been. Maybe she needed a different kind of

attention than he was giving her. Maybe she needed to be… to be courted.

Amanda was a sensible young woman and she'd never be fooled by the

bravado of someone like Dr. Montgomery, but then she was, after all, a

woman, and women did like that sort of thing.

What sort of thing? he asked himself. Exactly how did one court a

woman? With flowers and candy? He swallowed. Certainly not with Greek

translation assignments. Was Montgomery courting her? Was the white

dress part of his courting? Perhaps Amanda had ripped it apart, then

hidden it until she could find time to discard it.

The more he thought about courting, the more sure he was that he

should do it. In fact, he should have done it long ago. He would court

Amanda for a few weeks—flowers, candy, hand kissing, all that—then

they'd set the marriage date, which would be as soon as possible. After

they were married the ranch would safely be his and Amanda would also

be his. He'd keep her in his room where he could watch her all the time

and she'd never be able to receive beaded dresses from other men.

He wrapped his fist around the dress and the tension began to leave his

body. He hadn't planned on the courting, since Amanda was already

engaged to him, but now he seemed to remember that men were supposed

to court women, so perhaps Amanda was somewhat disappointed that he

hadn't done so.

When he thought of the engagement, he remembered that he'd never

bought her a ring. He thrust the dress in the bottom drawer of the desk,

then went outside to the garage. He'd have the chauffeur take him into

Kingman and he'd buy Amanda a diamond, nothing gaudy, but something

refined and elegant.

Reva Eiler was still smoldering about the dance. It seemed that Amanda

Caulden was put on this earth to make her life miserable. Reva'd had a

chance at a dream like Hank Montgomery and who shows up but Miss

Lady of the Manor, acting as if she didn't even want to go to a dance with

Hank. Ha! Reva thought. Amanda would have done everything she could

to get his attention, such as throwing herself at a drunken Sam Ryan, then

acting like Sam was trying to attack her. Dear Hank had fallen for all of it.

As Reva started to cross the street she saw one of the Caulden

limousines stop in front of the jewelry store and the chauffeur get out and

open the back door. Out stepped the man Amanda was supposed to be

engaged to—when she wasn't chasing after Hank, Reva thought bitterly.

She watched as the tall, thin, dark man tried the jewelry store door then

looked puzzled when it was locked. He went to look in the empty window

where Mr. Robbins displayed the jewelry during the week. He was awfully

good-looking, Reva thought, and grudgingly admired Amanda's taste in

men.

Quickly, Reva crossed the street. "It's Sunday," she said, and the man

turned to look at her. Reva felt a little chill run down her back. He was a

haughty-looking man, almost as if his spine were steel instead of flesh and

blood, but there was something else in there, too, that Reva recognized as

a kindred spirit. He looked cold on the outside but she imagined there was

passion underneath. He was trying his best to look down his nose at her

bright lipstick and the brilliant turquoise hat she was wearing, but she felt

his interest in her. Wouldn't it serve Amanda right if she had a fling with

her boyfriend?

"It's Sunday and the shop is closed," Reva said again.

"Yes, of course," Taylor said and looked away from the woman. She was

making him feel quite strange. He started back toward the car.

"Mr. Robbins lives just a block over and he'll be home from church now.

I could take you to him and maybe he'd open the store for you." She looked

up at him. "That is, if you wanted to buy something important—like, say, a

diamond engagement ring, maybe." She'd noticed that Amanda wore no

ring, and it made sense that he'd want to put his brand on her after seeing

the way Amanda came home last night. Reva saw a flicker in those dark

eyes and knew she'd guessed right.

"If you'll give me directions," Taylor began.

"No, we'll walk. Give your driver the day off. Besides, you'll need

somebody to try on the ring. Amanda and I are about the same size."

Taylor frowned. This young woman was entirely too forward, too

garishly painted, and obviously not of his class, but he allowed himself to

be led away toward the jeweler's house. Getting the ring was very

important to his future.

Two hours later, when he left the jewelry store, he was smiling. Miss

Eiler really was a vulgar, loud, uneducated person, but there was

something about her…

"You want to get somethin' to eat?" Reva said. "Maybe as a celebration

of your last day as a free man? The diner always has chicken-fried steak on

Sunday night."

Taylor started to protest in horror, but the words didn't come out. "It

sounds delicious." He held his arm out to her and together they crossed

the street.

Chapter Twelve

« ^ »

Amanda sat on the seat of the gazebo in the darkness and listened to the

night sounds. She'd had a delicious dinner with her father and it had been

pleasant even if neither of them said much. She was afraid to open her

mouth after what he'd said that morning about her boring him to death.

She somehow didn't think he'd like to discuss the President's new tariff

laws. As the meal progressed, she found herself wishing Dr. Montgomery

were there. He would know what to talk about. He'd be able to talk about

the weather without comparing cirrostratus clouds with cumulonimbus

clouds, as Amanda would do. In the end, all she'd said was, "It's hot," and

J. Harker had said, "It sure is." But even without conversation, it had been

nice sitting with her father and eating real food.

After dinner she hadn't gone to her room to do more Greek translation

but instead had turned and walked outside in the growing darkness, and

now she sat in the gazebo looking at the stars. She began to remember the

times she'd sat here with Dr. Montgomery. She remembered watching

him eat three slices of cake; she remembered his kissing her and asking to

see her hair down. She remembered how he'd returned to the house one

night and seen just the shadow of her dress yet he'd still come to her.

She straightened on the bench and told herself she should be thinking

about Taylor, not Dr. Montgomery, but right now all she could think about

was the unfairness of Greek translation. Taylor had merely blamed her for

Dr. Montgomery's leaving without allowing her to explain, and not

believing what little she had told him.

A car pulled into the garage and for a moment Amanda held her breath.

It wasn't Dr. Montgomery returning, of course, and she certainly didn't

want him to return, but just maybe, perhaps it was him.

By the time she heard five footsteps on the gravel, she knew it was

Taylor. Dr. Montgomery's footsteps were heavier, more… more predatory,

while Taylor walked light and quick, almost as if he were running.

He didn't see her, as she knew he wouldn't, and he went on into the

house. She was supposed to be in her room, having had only one tiny meal

all day, deep into Moby Dick, but instead she was outside enjoying the

quiet darkness.

She listened as doors inside the house opened and closed and she knew

her absence had been discovered. Thank heaven no one had wanted her

last night when she'd been at the dance.

After a while the house quietened and the back door opened and closed

and she could hear Taylor's footsteps on the gravel. "Amanda?" he called

in a reserved way.

For some reason, Amanda almost didn't answer him. She told herself it

was because he'd been unfair, but part of her said that Taylor was not the

sort of man a woman wanted to sit under the stars with. This feeling was

Dr. Montgomery's fault, she reminded herself. If he hadn't come…

"Here," she called to Taylor, then watched as he approached.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Of course not," she answered, then began to explain. "It was so hot in

my room that I couldn't seem to think. I was just taking a break." She

stood. "I'll get back to work now."

"Wait," he said, and when she paused at the doorway, he continued.

"Amanda, maybe I was a little harsh this morning. You have always done

your best with any assignment I have given you and I suppose Dr.

Montgomery was no different. I'm afraid I was angry at myself as much as

at anyone else and I took it out on you."

Amanda stood motionless where she was. Taylor had never admitted to

any fault before. "I understand," she whispered. "Dr. Montgomery has

made us all on edge."

"I think I sent you off with him because I quite frankly couldn't abide

him."

"Oh?" Amanda said, turning back into the gazebo. Taylor had never

been this personal with her before.

"Such an insolent, lazy man. He's obviously never had two nickels to rub

together, and I guess I resented his being in your father's fine house. Can

you forgive me?"

"Why, yes, certainly." She hesitated. "Do I have to do more translation

of Moby Dick?"

Taylor winced. "No." They were quiet for a moment. "Amanda," Taylor

said at last, "I have something important to say to you."

Amanda prayed it was no more calculus. Since "she" had made 100%

on the test she was afraid Taylor would want her to take up mathematics

full time.

"I think it's time we talk about marriage."

"Oh," Amanda said, not having expected this, and sat down heavily on

the bench on the other side of the doorway.

"You're becoming a young woman now and it's time to seriously

consider when we'll be married. I have given it some thought and I believe

we should be married two months from today. If that suits you, of course."

Amanda's mind was reeling. This morning her father had threatened to

throw Taylor off the ranch and tonight he was proposing that they marry

very soon. She couldn't help wondering if this was an attempt to secure his

place on the ranch.

"You have nothing to say?"

Amanda almost answered that it didn't seem to be up to her. "That

sounds fine to me."

Taylor frowned in the darkness. This afternoon had been so pleasant

when he and Miss Eiler had chosen the engagement ring together. She'd

said how overjoyed Amanda would be and how lucky Amanda was to

marry someone like Taylor, but right now Amanda didn't look overjoyed.

He took a breath. "Amanda, perhaps you don't want to marry me."

Before she allowed herself to think, Amanda blurted, "Do you want me

or the ranch?" She put her hand to her mouth in horror.

"Oh, so that's it," he said and sounded relieved. "Has this man

Montgomery put such thoughts in your head?"

"I apologize, sir, it was an awful thing to say. Of course I'll be most

happy to marry you any time you say. If you will give me a date I will begin

preparations, or no, you will want to do that. But the groom isn't supposed

to see the bridal gown beforehand, so someone else had better choose it,

but you can if you want. I'll do what I can to help. My lessons keep me

busy, but I'll—"

"Amanda!" Taylor said sharply. "Of course you may plan your own

wedding. Sometimes you make me feel like a jailor, that I keep you under

lock and key. I have merely tried my best to give you an education. I

apologize if you have felt yourself to be a prisoner."

Only since Dr. Montgomery arrived, she thought, but murmured, "Of

course I haven't been a prisoner."

Taylor reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew the little ring box.

"May I have your left hand?"

Amanda had no idea what he was going to do. She was afraid she'd get

a ruler in her palm, so she was speechless when he slipped a ring on her

third finger. The diamond sparkled in the moonlight. She could only stare

at it blankly.

"Does it fit?" he asked anxiously. "We tried to get the size right."

"It fits perfectly." Amanda still could barely speak. This was an

engagement ring. Now it was official and she was committed to marry

Taylor. So why wasn't she feeling like running and shouting for joy? "Who

is 'we'?" she asked idly, stalling for time.

"A friend of yours, Reva Eiler, helped me pick it out. Actually, I wouldn't

have the ring if it weren't for her. It's Sunday and the jewelry store was

closed, but Miss Eiler took me to the jeweler's house and got him to open

it. Miss Eiler said the ring would fit."

It was all Amanda could do to keep from pulling the ring off her hand.

Another woman had worn her engagement ring before she had! Wasn't it

enough that Reva had Dr. Montgomery? Did she want Taylor and

Amanda's ring also? "How helpful of her," Amanda managed to say and

stopped looking at the ring. She wanted to throw it into the dark night.

"Amanda," Taylor said after a while, "about yesterday evening, when

you… when you kissed me."

Abruptly, she stood. "I'm sorry. I apologized then and I apologize now."

She felt herself getting irritated and the ring was burning her finger.

Taylor stood also. "That isn't what I meant. It's just that I sometimes

have a difficult time thinking of you as an adult. I still tend to remember

you as that gawky girl I first met."

Amanda began to relax somewhat. This made sense. Perhaps she wasn't

repulsive to him after all.

"If I may?" he said and held out his arms to her.

Amanda was hesitant but she went to him and put her cheek against

his chest. He was thin and she could hear his heart pounding against her

face, and instantly she began comparing him to Dr. Montgomery. Dr.

Montgomery was bigger, stronger, and his arms and body seemed to

envelope her, and by now his hands would be all over her, with his lips on

her hair and neck, moving down to her mouth.

Taylor moved away from her to look down at her, then he pressed his

lips to hers.

Nothing, she thought. I feel absolutely nothing. I don't feel warmth or

interest or an inclination to do anything more. I might as well be kissing a

statue.

Taylor pulled away to look at her. "There, does that convince you that I

want you and not the ranch?"

She gave him a little smile and a nod. What was wrong with her? This

was Taylor, the man she loved. Perhaps if she tried kissing him again, this

time she would feel something. She stood on tiptoe and put her face up to

his, but Taylor drew back and gave what to her was an infuriating little

chuckle.

"I think that's enough to begin with, don't you?" He dropped his arms

from her. "Too much excitement and you'll not be able to sleep."

Anger choked Amanda so she couldn't speak, but she wanted to say that

his kisses certainly weren't going to excite her.

"Now, Amanda, it's time for you to go to bed. Tomorrow is a workday

and you have a history test. I do hope you've studied for it. Tomorrow,

perhaps we can talk again." He smiled at her, then put the tip of his finger

to her nose. "And if you're a good girl maybe there'll be more kisses. And,

best of all, as soon as the hops are in, we'll start planning our wedding.

That should make you smile."

Amanda didn't dare open her mouth for fear of what would come out.

Now Taylor was making her feel stupid. Did all men, at some point, turn

into patronizing, overbearing know-it-alls? Every man seemed to think he

knew exactly what was right for her. Her father took her out of school and

kept her at home with a tutor. Her tutor took her away from her mother

and put her on a schedule. Then along comes Dr. Montgomery and he

makes her stop studying and start eating.

"Yes, I'm going to bed," Amanda said and turned away quickly before

she said something awful, such as asking Taylor if he meant to grade her

paper with kisses: You miss four questions on Edward I's Scottish

campaign and no kisses for you, Amanda.

Once in her room, she burst into tears. She wrenched the engagement

ring from her finger, tossed it onto the bedside table, then flung herself

onto the bed and cried desperately. Everything in her life was so confused.

A month ago she'd known everything she wanted out of life. She'd wanted

Taylor and nothing else. But now she'd met Dr. Montgomery and nothing

seemed to be the same. She was discontent about everything. Instead of

feeling as if she were educating herself with her studies, Dr. Montgomery

had made her feel like an aging schoolgirl.

Toward midnight, she got up, put on her nightgown and went to bed,

but she didn't sleep much. If only she had any idea what to do. If there

were only some way she could get rid of the confusion in her mind.

Morning came and Mrs. Gunston gave Amanda Taylor's latest schedule,

but Amanda hardly looked at it. And she realized that she didn't like Mrs.

Gunston's attitude either. After all, who was the employer and who the

employee?

Amanda felt very discontent with the meager breakfast she shared with

Taylor and the equally meager lunch. He sent her back to her room after

lunch to get her engagement ring which she'd forgotten to wear. At two

o'clock she'd barely passed her history test and Taylor had said nothing at

all. His cold silence was worse than his berating her. "I guess this means

no more kisses," she murmured under her breath as he returned her paper

with its low grade.

She went back to her room and glanced at the rest of her schedule, and

a great, heavy sinking feeling overtook her. If she wasn't a prisoner, she

certainly felt like one.

At 3:30 she walked to the window and saw her mother sitting in the

shade of two almond trees, reading the newspaper. Amanda didn't even

think about what she was doing but left her room, right in the middle of

when her schedule said she was supposed to be studying Vermeer's

paintings, and went downstairs and outside to her mother.

"Hello," Amanda said softly.

Grace looked up from her paper and saw immediately that her daughter

had been crying, and crying quite a lot from the look of her swollen face.

She wondered what that bastard Taylor Driscoll had done to her now.

"Have a seat," Grace said, "and the lemonade's cold."

Amanda poured herself a cool glass of lemonade, sat down and sipped

it. There was a pile of cookies also and she ate two of them before she

spoke. "Have you ever been so confused that you had no idea what to do?"

"Daily, but why don't you tell me what's confusing you? That is, unless

it's Latin verbs. I'm no good at schoolwork."

"It's men," Amanda said, blinking back tears.

"I might be able to help you there."

Amanda didn't know where to start. "I'm afraid that dreadful Dr.

Montgomery has ruined my life."

Grace's eyes bugged and she envisioned her first grandchild being born

out of wedlock. She'd take Amanda to Switzerland. She'd—

"He seems to have made me—well, restless," Amanda was saying. "I love

Taylor, I always have, and I know I want to marry him. He gave me an

engagement ring last night. Oh drat! I've left it upstairs again. Anyway, I

know I love Taylor, but ever since Dr. Montgomery came I can't seem to

enjoy anything. My studies are harder for me now. My mind keeps

wandering."

"That sounds normal," Grace said.

"Normal? Normal for an engaged woman to think about another man?"

"Yes, of course. You know what you really need is to get Dr.

Montgomery out of your system. You see, he's a novelty to you, that's all.

It's like when a child first eats ice cream. The child should be allowed to

eat until he makes himself sick, then the next time he'll use some

judgment and not gorge himself."

"You think I should get more of Dr. Montgomery? I thought it would be

the best thing for me when he left."

"Just the opposite," Grace said. "You saw him just enough to be

fascinated with him. After all, you have led a rather sheltered life, and this

kind of man is different enough to intrigue you. If you were to spend more

time with him you'd soon see that he really isn't half the man Taylor is.

After a few days of parties and dances and whatever else young people do

today, you'd be back here hungry for Taylor and the way of life you've

always loved."

All Amanda wanted was the confusion to stop. She didn't want to look

at an empty chair and wish Dr. Montgomery were in it. She didn't want to

compare Taylor with another man and have Taylor lose.

"Dr. Montgomery is a frivolous man," Amanda said. "He goes to motion

pictures instead of lectures and he'd rather go on a picnic than to a

museum."

"He sounds awful," Grace said, her eyes sparkling. Now she knew for

sure that she'd lost her chance to get into heaven.

"But how do I see him again? Should I invite him to dinner? I don't

think Taylor will like that."

And Taylor must always be appeased, Grace thought, rather like an

ancient hungry god. She folded the newspaper back. "I just happen to have

noticed an ad in today's paper." She handed the paper to Amanda and

pointed.

Translator Wanted. Needs to speak and/or write as

many languages as possible. Needed to help with

incoming hop pickers. Five dollars a day. Apply

Kingman Arms. Dr. Henry R. Montgomery.

"How many languages do you speak, dear?" Grace asked.

"Four," Amanda answered, "and I write three others. Mother, do you

think I should apply for a job? I don't think Taylor would approve of—"

"But you'd be doing it for Taylor. As soon as you spend a little time

around this riffraff and see what wasteful lives the others in the world

lead, believe me, you'll come running back to the serenity of life with

Taylor. You'll be glad to get back on a schedule and study something that

has some meaning. And then, too, you'll be sure of your love for Taylor.

You'll get this restless feeling out of your blood. You'll be a better wife and

mother when you're ready to settle down."

Amanda wanted to believe her mother because the idea of the job

excited her. And, also, what her mother said made sense. She would be a

better person if she got Dr. Montgomery out of her mind. As it was, she

found herself getting more impatient with Taylor by the hour.

She sighed. "I don't believe Father or Taylor will allow me to do this."

Grace clenched her fists. Years ago she'd lost out to Taylor, she'd lost

her husband and her daughter to that man's need for possession, but she

wasn't going to lose again. This time she'd fight until she was bloody.

Amanda was beginning to love her again, beginning to come out from

under Taylor's rule, and Grace wasn't going to let this transformation

stop. Thank you, Dr. Montgomery, she thought, thank you for breaking the

spell over our house. "I'll take care of your father," Grace said, "and your

father will take care of Taylor."

"Are you sure?" Amanda whispered in awe.

Grace leaned forward and clutched her daughter's hand. "I'm very

sure."

"A job?" Taylor gasped. "Amanda is to work outside her home? As a

translator for those… those…?" His upper lip curled into a sneer.

J. Harker chewed on his cigar. Less than an hour ago Grace had come

to him and talked about Amanda working for that Dr. Montgomery. Grace

had looked so good and smelled so good, fresh out of a bath, and as she'd

sat there her dress kept creeping up over her legs. "If we can't get the

professor to stay here where we can keep an eye on him, we can send

Amanda there."

Taylor seemed to hear crashing in his ears and knew it was more

building blocks of his life falling down around him. He wished he'd never

heard the name Montgomery. And to think! He was the one who had

wanted him to come to the Caulden Ranch in the first place. "But field

workers," Taylor said in disgust. "A woman of Amanda's sensibilities

couldn't deal with such men."

"I'm beginning to think my daughter has more of me in her than I

thought. She'll go to see about whatever the professor's doin' and she'll

come back and report everything. We'll always be two steps ahead of the

unionists. I'll get my hops picked and I won't have any union problems.

She's goin' first thing in the mornin' to get that job." Harker didn't give

Taylor time to reply before he turned away. "And she'll be havin' breakfast

with me in the mornin'. I want her to have some strength tomorrow." He

left the room.

Taylor sat down and put his head in his hands.

Amanda had never been so nervous in her life. She gave a quiet burp

from the enormous breakfast her father had insisted she eat and looked

out the car window. She hadn't seen Taylor since yesterday, and she knew

his absence meant disapproval of what she was doing. She would have

liked to have explained to him that she was doing this for the good of both

of them but he'd never given her the chance.

Her father had certainly seemed pleased, though. He'd smiled at her

and given her second helpings of everything. Perhaps her mother had

explained what Amanda was doing.

"We're here, miss," the driver said.

Amanda looked out the window and saw the long line of people

standing in front of the Kingman Arms. She'd never spoken to the

chauffeur before, except to give directions (Taylor said that one did not

speak to underlings unless absolutely necessary), but now he seemed

almost like a friend. "Why are all those people there?" she asked.

"Five dollars a day is a lot of money and an awful lot of people speak

more than one language."

Amanda was surprised that he seemed to know exactly why she was

there.

"Shall I get you to the head of the line, miss? I could go in and tell Dr.

Montgomery you want the job. I'm sure he'll give it to you."

Amanda wasn't as sure. He'd already said some awful things about her

money and her snobbery. "No, thank you, I'll just wait in line with the

others." She grimaced at that because most of the people in line looked as

if they hadn't had a bath in all their lives. A man with a missing front

tooth grinned and winked at her.

"I'll just wait over here for you, miss, and I'll keep watch that no harm

comes to you."

"Thank you very much, uh…"

"James, miss."

"Thank you, James." She waited while the chauffeur came around to

open the door for her, then she got out and walked to the back of the line.

The people in the line weren't very pleasant to her and said several

unkind things about her clothes, the car she came in, and whether she

needed a job or not.

"The lady's come down to us," one overpainted young woman behind

Amanda said. "Think a silk dress will get you the job, honey?"

Amanda said nothing. What had made her think she wanted to do this?

"Maybe it's the handsome college professor she wants," another woman

said with a smirk.

Amanda turned to face the jeering women. "How many languages do

you speak?" she asked coolly.

"It's none of your business," the first woman said.

"I speak four and can write three more," Amanda said quite loudly, so

that most of the people in the line could hear her. James, waiting in the

car, smiled encouragement at her.

"What's that?" said a young man with a notebook who was moving

down the line. "Did someone here say she could speak four languages?" He

looked at Amanda and the other three women.

"I do," Amanda said.

The young man looked her up and down. "What are they?"

"French, Italian, Spanish and German. I can read and write Greek,

Russian and Latin."

He was writing as she spoke but he crossed the Latin out. "Any Oriental

languages? Hindu?"

"I have only a rudimentary acquaintance with Chinese but I'm afraid

I'm not fluent in it."

The man gave her a quizzical look. "Any other 'rudimentary

acquaintances'?"

"A bit of Japanese, a bit of Hungarian."

People in the line were beginning to leave as they gave malevolent looks

to Amanda.

"Come with me, honey," the man said and grabbed Amanda's arm and

began pulling her into the hotel.

The lobby was a mess, with people running everywhere, people

shouting, people sitting on every available surface. There were bundles

and suitcases piled along the walls. Children were screaming; men were

smoking and frowning; women were looking exhausted and ignoring the

demands of husbands and children. The air was blue with smoke; the

noise was deafening and it must have been a hundred and twenty degrees

in the airless room.

"Stand right there," the young man said to Amanda. "And don't leave.

Whatever you do, don't leave."

Joe Testorio pushed his way past the people in the line and into the

room that was supposed to be Dr. Montgomery's bedroom. Hank, in shirt

sleeves that he'd sweated through, was interviewing one applicant after

another. Reva Eiler, his secretary, stood behind him—or maybe hovered

was a better word.

"I found her," Joe said, putting his head between Hank and the

applicant. "She speaks four languages, can read and write three others

and knows 'a little' of three more."

"Yeah?" Hank said. "So where is she? You should have tied her to the

door to keep her from getting away."

Joe ran back into the lobby. Amanda had not only not walked away, it

didn't look as if she'd moved a muscle. Can follow orders, he thought.

"He's waiting for you," Joe said and took Amanda's arm and began

pushing people aside to get her into the hotel room.

Amanda's breath caught as she saw Dr. Montgomery bent over some

papers and asking questions of a nervous, dirty little man. It seemed like

ages since she'd seen him.

"Here she is, Doc," Joe said.

Hank looked up and saw Amanda, resembling a spring flower growing

out of a dung heap. She looked cool and fresh and pretty and oh so

wonderfully desirable. "No," Hank said, then turned back to the man on

the other side of the desk. "And what do you speak besides Italian and

English?"

"My English not so good but my Italian is very good," the man said with

a heavy accent.

"But what other languages do you speak?" Hank asked angrily, knowing

too well that his anger was for Amanda. Why couldn't she just get out of

his life altogether?

No, Amanda thought, he was not going to dismiss her just like that

after all she'd gone through to get here. She couldn't bear the idea of

facing either of her parents if she failed to get the job.

"But, Doc," Joe wailed.

Amanda stepped forward. "May I be of assistance?" she asked. She

could feel Reva's eyes boring into her but she wasn't going to let herself be

defeated. In perfect Italian she said to the little man, "Dr. Montgomery

would like to know if you speak any languages other than Italian or

English."

Grateful to at last be able to understand someone, he poured out his

problems to Amanda: that he had seven children to feed and he needed a

job and five dollars a day was an enormous lot and he hoped he could get

the job but he only spoke Italian and English only a little bit.

Amanda thanked him and wished both him and his family well. She

turned to Hank. "English and Italian and that's all. Shall I help with the

Mexican family next in line?"

"You can't help at all. Joe, take Miss Caulden out of here."

"Caulden?" Joe gasped and looked at Amanda as if she were the devil

himself. "Come on, let's go."

Amanda moved away from Joe and put her hands on Dr. Montgomery's

desk. "I thought you needed help. I thought you believed in equality and

fairness, but I guess you have to be poor to deserve fairness. One set of

laws for the rich and another for the poor. Pardon me, I didn't

understand." She straightened. "I wish you luck, Dr. Montgomery, in

whatever you're trying to do." She began to make her way through the

crowd to the door.

Hank watched her go and he was torn between wanting someone to

help him translate and never wanting to see Amanda again. He'd thought

of nothing but her since he'd left her house. He could see her, feel her,

smell her.

"You're right, Doc, we don't need no Caulden working for us," Joe said.

"She'd probably give away all our secrets to her old man."

"What secrets?" Hank muttered and then he was running after her. He

caught up with her before she left the hotel, grabbed her arm and pulled

her into the first door he saw, which happened to be a tiny, smelly broom

closet with one bare, weak light bulb overhead.

"Dr. Montgomery," Amanda said, rubbing her arm, "I would have

known your grip anywhere."

"What do you want, Amanda?" Hank demanded.

"A job. I saw your ad in the paper and I do have some knowledge of

languages. I've always been rather good at languages. Of course I probably

should have spent my life learning the latest dances instead of wasting it

learning what's inside books, but now I seem to be cursed with knowledge,

so I thought I might put it to use."

"And help me start a union? Do you realize that I'm trying to get the

people to join the ULW? I want them to join together to demand better

working conditions. The enemy is people like your father."

"Is that what you tell them? To personally hate anyone who owns land?

They wouldn't have jobs if it weren't for my father."

Hank hated her attitude. She didn't have any idea what poverty was.

Except for self-imposed hunger, she didn't know what it meant to go

without a meal. "Did Taylor give you permission to apply?"

"I didn't ask him," Amanda answered truthfully. "Dr. Montgomery, do I

have the job or not? If not, I'd like to go home."

"You won't last a day," Hank said.

"And what sort of wager do you want to make that I will last, and that

I'll do a good job?"

"Amanda, you make it through today and you can have anything of me

you want."

"Oh?" she said, one eyebrow raised. "I'll take you up on that, but you

should worry that what I want will involve guns and knives and incendiary

bombs."

He opened the door to the broom closet. "I'll chance it," he said softly.

"But you won't last past noon."

He was almost right. Many times during the day Amanda wanted to go

home. She was given fifty jobs at once. She was to write translations and

do oral translations at the same time. Every hour more people arrived on

trains into Kingman, and Dr. Montgomery had hired people to meet the

trains and tell them to come to him so he could explain what a union was.

At eleven a.m. they moved out of the Kingman Arms and into a house

that Joe had rented. There were big signs in front saying that this was the

union headquarters.

All day long Amanda told people that they had rights, that if they

bonded together they could peacefully make changes. Peace was the key

word, she began to realize. Taylor and her father had said that the

unionists wanted to burn and kill, but nowhere did she hear mention of

violence.

By three o'clock she was very tired and she wanted a bath and a cool

drink, but she kept going. Twice she looked at Dr. Montgomery and he

looked more tired than she did.

The people were making her feel awful. Their eyes were hungry and

tired. One woman's baby cried from hunger, and Amanda opened her

purse and gave the woman the little bit of pocket money she had. She gave

another woman the enameled comb in her hair. At four o'clock she sent

Joe to get her chauffeur, then sent James to the diner to order three

hundred sandwiches and distribute them—and to send the bill to her

father.

Repeatedly, she felt Dr. Montgomery's eyes on her but she looked away.

The children were what upset her the most. How could toddlers be

expected to pick in the fields? How could she bear to see them hungry?

The children wanted to touch her because she was so clean and pretty, and

several times Amanda held a baby in her arms while she explained to a

father what a union was. Two babies wet on her, one threw up on her

shoulder.

By eight p.m. the house began to clear out. The workers were beginning

to find campsites along the roadsides or wherever they could.

Amanda just sat in her chair behind the little table that was littered

with papers and pencils and stared dully around her. She didn't seem to

have any thoughts at all. Today she had been through hell and back—or

maybe she wasn't fully back.

"Let's get something to eat," she heard Reva say to Dr. Montgomery.

Dully, without conscious thought, Amanda stood. Home, she thought,

home to a hot bath and a hot meal.

Hank was watching Amanda and he knew what she was feeling. The

first time he'd worked with field workers he'd felt the same way. The

poverty was stunning, and he had been as ill prepared for it as Amanda.

Maybe this is what he'd first sensed about Amanda, that she was a person

who cared. She cared about Taylor; she cared about her father, about her

mother. She didn't stand up for herself because she believed that other

people were more important than she was.

"You go with Joe," Hank said to Reva. "I have something I have to do."

Reva knew he meant he had something to do with Amanda. "I could

have sent sandwiches if I had a rich father," she said bitterly. "She just has

the money to do what we all want to do."

"I don't see any kids' vomit on you," Hank said and walked toward

Amanda. He put his hand on her arm. "Come with me."

"I have to go home," she whispered, not looking at him. "James will be

waiting for me."

James, he thought, not "my chauffeur" or "my car."

"I'll tell him to go. I owe you an apology and I want to give it."

She looked up at him and she saw understanding in his eyes. She

nodded. "I want to go somewhere clean and quiet," she whispered.

He took her hand in his, not the formal taking of her arm, but the more

intimate palm and fingertips entwining, and led her to his car. He told her

chauffeur, who'd spent most of the day sitting in the car waiting for her, to

go home and that Miss Caulden would be returning later.

Chapter Thirteen

« ^ »

Hank drove Amanda to the secluded area inside the trees around the

little pond where he'd taken her on a picnic. He had to almost pull her out

of the car, then she just stood there.

"Amanda," he said, but she didn't respond, so he took both her hands in

his. "Talk to me, Amanda. You've never seen poverty like that, have you?

You've been isolated in your pretty house and you never knew people like

them existed. They're the people who pick the crops that put food on your

table. It's the sweat of these people that puts silk on your back and

diamonds on your fingers."

She tried to pull away from him but he held her hands. "I want to go

home and burn my clothes and I want my schedule back." Tears were

coming to her eyes. "Let me go, I said! I want to go home!"

As she struggled, he pulled her into his arms. "Go ahead and cry,

Amanda. Cry all you want. You deserve it."

She fought against him. She didn't want to cry and she didn't want to

ever see him again. "Let me go. I want to go home!"

"I think maybe you are home," he said, holding her to him, pinning her

arms as she struggled. She didn't have the strength to fight, and after a

while she clung to him. He seemed so healthy. She'd seen sick people

today, people who couldn't afford a doctor. She began to cry in his arms,

and he sat down, his back against a tree, and held her.

"I worry about test scores while they have no food," she said through

her tears.

He unpinned her hair and stroked it as it hung down her back. "You

can't blame yourself."

"But my father—"

He touched his lips to hers to quieten her, and to the astonishment of

both of them, it was like the setting off of a bomb. Amanda opened her

mouth under his and pressed her body against his. Neither of them

thought as Hank's hand sought her breast and found it, and as Amanda

felt his hand, her body went limp in his arms, opening herself to him.

"Amanda," he whispered against her lips, "we have to stop or I won't be

able to."

"Please don't stop," she said desperately. "I couldn't bear it if another

man turned me away. Make love to me. Make me feel whole and clean and

as if I'm worth more than a test score."

Hank started to say no. She was upset and emotionally spent and she

might regret this in the morning.

"Please, Hank," she whispered. "Please."

He had once thought that if Amanda ever asked him "please," he might

do anything she wanted. He'd guessed right. He couldn't deny her

anything, and all rational thought fled.

He stood with her in his arms and walked toward the spring-fed pond.

"How about a bath, baby?" He moved with her into the pond, clothes,

shoes, wallet and whatever else was on their persons and all.

The cool water sobered Amanda. "Dr. Montgomery," she said nervously,

"regarding what I said a moment ago—"

He kissed her. "You can fight me or help me, but the result will be the

same. You won't be the same when you leave here tonight, Amanda."

She was standing on the bottom, the water to her waist, and she knew

by the look in his eyes that he was telling her the truth. She wondered if

she'd wanted him from the first moment she'd seen him. Tonight she was

going to do what she wanted to do. Tonight she wasn't going to rely on a

schedule or someone else to tell her how to act.

"Yes," she whispered and began unbuttoning her filthy dress.

Hank pushed her hands away and deftly unfastened the buttons, then

slipped the dress off her shoulders. There was an intensity in her eyes that

seemed to go through him like a knife.

"I've never wanted anything in my life like I want you right now,

Amanda," he said and grabbed her to him, her feet coming off the bottom

of the pond. Neither of them noticed her dress catching water and sinking.

Hank opened his mouth over Amanda's until he almost swallowed her,

as his hands pushed the straps of her undergarments off her shoulders,

and when they wouldn't slide, he tore them off.

Amanda was too bewildered to think. There had been an absence of

passion in her life and she responded to him with all her pent-up desires.

He was every flirtation she'd ever missed, every dance, every social, every

romantic novel she hadn't read; he was every piece of cake, every glass of

champagne, every handholding she'd never experienced. "Yes, yes," was all

she could say, her head leaning back, her hands in his thick hair.

When her breasts were bare, he fastened his mouth on the pink tip,

drawing her into the hot, wet cavity of his mouth.

Amanda's knees gave way and he supported her, one hand clutching her

firm, round buttocks. He picked her up and her loose, torn garments fell

away into the water. She was wearing only black silk stockings and black,

lacy garters.

Hank put her legs about his waist, his hands cupping her buttocks as

his mouth stayed on her breast, sucking, his tongue hard and firm,

running across her hard nipple. He set her down in the grass, her back at

an angle against a mound of earth. He ran his tongue down her belly,

nipping with his strong teeth at the fleshy part around her navel.

"Let's see how all of you tastes," he said, and he buried his tongue in the

most intimate part of her.

Amanda's eyes came open; she grabbed the hair of his head and started

to push him away, but then his tongue was moving, his lips sucking. She

arched her back and clasped his ears with her silk-clad knees. His hands

came up to clutch her breasts, his thumbs flicking at her nipples, which

were hard and sensitive.

Just when she thought she might die, he moved his mouth down to her

inner thighs and his hands were rubbing on her skin, making her skin feel

hotter and hotter and hotter. She moaned under him as he ran his hands

down over her legs, over the silk of her stockings. Silk and skin.

He paused with his hands on her ankles, then withdrew them from her

body.

Amanda opened her eyes in horror. Was it over?

"Just a pause, baby," Hank said huskily, reading her mind. He was

removing his clothes, and Amanda turned her head away.

"No you don't," he said and leaned into her, his body between her bent

legs. She could smell herself on his face, and instead of repulsing her, it

made him seem more intimate. "You don't turn away from me," he said.

"You look at me like I look at you. You kiss me where I kiss you."

Amanda opened her mouth to say no to that, but he put his tongue in

her mouth, ran it over her teeth, pulled her tongue into his mouth. She

wasn't going to say no to anything he said.

He came out of his clothes quickly, and if Amanda thought she was

going to die before, the feel of his bare skin next to hers almost did her in.

His ribs were between her thighs as he once again kissed her breasts then

began moving up. She kissed his lips, his chin, his neck, the soft spot in his

collarbone; then the hair of his chest was in her face, and she turned her

face back and forth, feeling the maleness of him, smelling him. His strong

arms were by her head, big enough to crush her. He made her feel so small

and yet so powerful because she could feel his heart pounding.

He moved up and her mouth opened onto his hard, flat belly. She could

feel his manhood prodding her throat, so smooth, so strong. And then it

was at her mouth.

"No," she whispered and turned her face away.

"I don't believe in double standards," he said throatily. "Taste me,

Amanda."

She grabbed him in her hands and sucked him down her throat. He was

hard and smooth, like hot marble, and she sucked on him until his skin

nearly came off.

She groaned when he moved away from her, but she felt his frenzy as

well as her own.

She was wet when he entered her, wet and ready, and he slid into her

like a hand into a glove. Amanda bucked under him but he calmed her as

he held himself back. He didn't dare move because he was ripe to

bursting.

Amanda found her rhythm and began to move slowly while he held

above her, supporting himself on his arms, his eyes closed and an

expression of pain-pleasure on his beautiful face. Amanda was like a child

with a new and wondrous toy, sliding up and down, in and out, gliding,

silk and satin, hard and soft.

And then her body began to tighten and her fingers clawed into his

back and she pulled him down to her. She wanted him closer and closer to

her. She wanted his hot, tawny, male skin next to hers. She wrapped her

legs around his lower back, the black silk on his skin, and pulled him

deeper and deeper into her.

His reserve left him and he became an animal: a wild, violent, mindless

animal as he thrust into her, holding her to him as if his life depended on

her. Only she could give him what he had to have.

He came in one blinding, debilitating flash that made him shudder as if

he might come apart, and Amanda clung to him as he lifted her with him.

They were one.

It took long, long moments for Amanda to come to herself. She held him

fiercely, with her arms, her legs, held him inside her with muscles she'd

just discovered tonight. She buried her face in his neck, touching him as

much as she could.

Hank held her just as tightly. Never had he had an experience like this.

No woman had made him come so hard, as if his whole body were pouring

into her. When she began to relax her grip on him, he couldn't bear to

release her. He pushed her legs down beside his and, doing his best to stay

inside her, he rolled to his back and held her hot, delicious body on top of

his. He wouldn't even let her foot hang off his body. He wanted all of her,

every hair, every pore.

He thought maybe she dozed. She was as limp as… as a woman who was

sated, and she fit every plane of his body, as if they had been carved out of

one piece of flesh and somehow accidentally separated. But now they were

together again.

He caressed her hair at her temple and lay as still as he could to let her

sleep. If anyone deserved rest, she did. Ever since he'd met her he'd wanted

to open her eyes to the world around her, but today, when he'd seen her

eyes opening, he'd wanted to take her out of that dingy little rented house.

She'd been so horrified at the poverty of the people. And he'd seen the way

she had blamed herself. Why did she think the world's evils were her fault?

Why did she think it was her responsibility to give Driscoll what he

wanted? Or Caulden? Didn't she ever do what she wanted?

He pulled her closer, felt her snuggle near him like an infant— his baby,

his precious, darling, beloved baby.

Amanda roused and looked up at him. "I think I fell asleep."

He pushed her head back down to his shoulder. "Sleep all you want."

Amanda was returning to being Amanda and not some blind machine

of passion. She was also beginning to remember some of what she'd done.

"Dr. Montgomery, I—"

"Hank," he said and held her head down. He never wanted to break this

moment. Never wanted to leave here. Here was where he was meant to be,

where he never wanted to leave.

"I think I should go home," Amanda said softly.

"Not yet," he answered and put his leg over hers, and at that moment

their most intimate entanglement was broken.

Amanda knew she needed to get away from him. She had to go

somewhere and think about what had happened to her tonight. And she

was beginning to be embarrassed by where she was and what she'd done.

She pulled away from him, turning her back to hide her breasts from

his view. "I think I should get dressed."

The spell was broken for Hank. She was Miss Caulden again. If she

wanted to play formal, so could he. "The last I saw your clothes they were

on their way to the bottom of the pond."

Amanda felt a little like a reveler the morning after. Now she was going

to pay the price. Was she supposed to enter her father's house stark

naked? Dr. Montgomery and I were talking and one thing led to another,

she'd say. She took his shirt from the grass and slipped it on. "Now what

do I do?" she said, mostly to herself.

Hank sat up, trying unsuccessfully to control his anger. Her only

concern was how she was going to conceal what she'd done from Driscoll.

Sympathy for another person only went so far. There came a time when

Amanda was going to have to think for herself, a time when she was going

to have to say this is what I want. "I'll take you home," he said flatly. "We'll

sneak you in like we did the night of the dance."

No word of, Stay with me, Amanda thought. No words of love. No words

of, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Just an animal coupling,

then she was to go home. She deserved it, didn't she? She'd gone after

him, sought him out. He'd left the Caulden Ranch, yet she'd followed him,

had climbed into his car with him and had asked him to make love to her.

What was that old saying? Beware of what you ask for, you might get it.

Well, she'd got what she asked for, all right, and now she was going to

have to pay the price.

She stood. "I'd be grateful if you'd return me to my house," she said

coolly. She was very close to tears. Would he go back to Reva now or would

he maybe visit that pretty little Italian girl she'd seen him looking at

today? She couldn't bear to look in his eyes. For all Amanda's strict

upbringing, she wasn't really any better than the women who lived on the

edge of town. "I will find a way to get inside."

He drove her back to her house in silence, neither of them speaking,

each of them occupied with his own thoughts, both of them angry and

hurt.

Amanda sat in the passenger side of the car, wearing his shirt and her

black silk stockings that stopped just above her knees.

"Stop here," she said, indicating the end of the long Caulden driveway.

"I'll walk."

He was further angered that she wanted to get rid of him as soon as

possible. Would she go tearing back into her fiancé's cold arms? "He won't

forgive you for this, you know," Hank couldn't resist saying.

"No, I guess not." She didn't know who he meant, but it didn't matter,

because she doubted if anyone would forgive her. She got out of the car

and he didn't bother to help her out, nor did he say a word before he sped

away, leaving her standing in the darkness.

Amanda walked slowly up the long driveway and at the house she saw a

light on in the parlor and her mother sitting alone reading. Amanda put

her head up to the window. "Psst!" she said.

Grace Caulden looked up, saw her daughter, then went to the window.

"Amanda, are you all right? You look as if you've been in an accident."

"Worse than that," Amanda said. "Mother, could you get me some

clothes? I seem to have… well, lost mine."

"I would be glad to, dear," Grace said and left the room. Moments later

she was outside in the darkness of the trees, a dress over her arm. "That

dragon, Mrs. Gunston, was hovering about your room. I had to sneak past

her."

"She is a bit of a dragon, isn't she?" Amanda said, staying in the

shadows so her mother couldn't see the extent of her nudity.

"Would you like to tell me why you've come home wearing only a man's

shirt? It wouldn't by chance be Dr. Montgomery's shirt, would it?"

Amanda didn't want to answer her mother. She just wanted to go to her

room and be safe.

Grace watched her daughter for a while then smiled. "Whenever you

want to tell me what happened, I'll be here to listen."

Amanda nodded. She was afraid she might cry if she started to talk.

They walked together into the house. Taylor was standing at the head of

the stairs, as if he were waiting for Amanda. He was formidably tall, his

face as dark as a thundercloud.

"You are very late, Amanda," he said.

"And very tired," she answered.

"You are to come to the library. I want to talk to you. There was an

exorbitant bill sent here today for sandwiches. You must explain yourself.

And also explain why your hair is down."

Amanda couldn't bear any more. "I am too tired to go to the library,

and the bill for the sandwiches can be taken out of the money that's been

saved over the years from all the meals I've missed. Now, please excuse

me, I am going to bed."

Amanda was too tired to think how revolutionary her words were.

Behind her she left a stunned Taylor and a mother who was smiling

broadly. Once inside her room, she pulled off her dress and hose and fell

into bed, not bothering to put on her nightgown.

Mrs. Gunston gave her usual quick knock the next morning and walked

into Amanda's bedroom. The room was a mess; clothes on the floor, shoes

kicked into far corners, hose draped on a chair. The bedclothes were half

on the floor, and sprawled in the middle of the bed was a nude Amanda,

on her stomach, one foot hanging over the side.

For a moment Mrs. Gunston was too astonished to speak. "Get up from

there!" she shouted at last. "How dare you throw your clothes about? How

dare you—"

"Go away!" Amanda said angrily, turning over, the sheet pulled across

her breasts. "Go on, get out of here, and tell Martha to bring me some

coffee. Strong coffee."

Mrs. Gunston obeyed.

Amanda sat up and put her hand to her head. It was aching, and the

woman's shrill voice hadn't helped any. She looked up to see Taylor

standing in her doorway. Now he comes to my bedroom, she thought. Not

when she begged him to pay attention to her, but now when another man

had… had touched her.

"I do not like this," Taylor said. "Ladies do not shout."

Amanda at last saw some interest in his eyes as she sat in her bed with

just a sheet under her arms. And something about his interest made her a

little sick. "I need to dress to go to work. Would you mind closing the

door?"

Taylor stepped further into the room. "Amanda, I cannot allow you to

go back to that place today. The chauffeur said it was full of filthy people."

"The chauffeur's name is James and yes they are filthy people, but it's

because they have no money—or food or a place to sleep."

"Amanda," Taylor said firmly, "I forbid you to go. Last night you looked

as disreputable as one of the field workers, and this morning—" He broke

off and stared at her.

"And this morning, what? This morning I don't look like your pupil? Oh,

Taylor, please go before we have a fight. I must get dressed, and please

don't say you forbid me to go because then I'll have to defy you. Wait until

the hops are in, when everyone is gone, then we'll talk again, but please

don't make me say something now that I'll regret later."

Taylor didn't seem to know what to say as he backed out of the room

and closed the door.

Amanda leaned back against the headboard. It was as if another person

were inside her body. She'd yelled at Mrs. Gunston, who'd always terrified

her, and told Taylor she was not going to do what he told her to do.

She reached over to her desk and there lay a new schedule, freshly made

out by Taylor. Right now she was supposed to be downstairs wearing her

pink-and-white-striped silk that made her look as if she were eight years

old and eating two poached eggs and one piece of dry toast.

She tossed the schedule back on the desk. It seemed so frivolous to stay

here studying when so many people needed help. Frivolous, she thought, a

word she'd often used to describe Hank.

"Hank," she said aloud, trying it on for size. It didn't seem to suit him.

It was too new, too modern, too unromantic. What was the name on his

books? She took one out of the bookshelf beside the bed and opened to the

copyright page. Dr. Henry Raine Montgomery.

"Raine," she whispered. It sounded like a knight of old, a strong, virile

man who might fight for the common people. Raine, she thought, Sir

Raine. Better yet, Lord Raine.

She got out of bed, scratching and yawning, and put on a blue suit. It

was too dark, too severe for her taste, and she thought that today she

might stop by her dressmaker's and choose a few new pieces of clothing,

something Raine, er, ah, Hank might like.

She went to the bathroom—at the wrong time according to today's

schedule—and on impulse, knocked on the door to the room where her

mother spent her days and invited her mother to breakfast. "Father eats

about this time. Perhaps we can eat together, just the three of us."

"Like we used to, before—" Grace said but broke off. She didn't need to

add, before Taylor came.

It was a pleasant breakfast, and Amanda didn't say much as her parents

seemed to have hours' worth to say to each other. Amanda occupied

herself with thoughts of last night. Perhaps she'd been hasty in her

judgments; maybe Raine—she meant Hank—did want her. Maybe she

wasn't just another woman to him.

With her mind occupied, she bid her parents goodbye, unaware of how

different she seemed with every step. Taylor was waiting for her by the car

and she braced herself for the coming argument.

"I would like to ask you not to go," he said softly.

"I'm needed there," she answered.

"And you're needed here."

"Here no one knows I'm alive. I stay in my room all day with my books

and papers. I've hardly seen my own parents in years. Please don't make

this harder for me, Taylor. I want to feel that I'm useful to someone."

Taylor put his hands on her upper arms. "You are useful to me," he said,

and there was desperation in his voice.

Amanda almost said she'd stay with him but the memory of the hungry

children stopped her. If she could help them in any way, she was going to

do it. "It's just until the hops are in," she said. "I want to help see that

there is a peaceful unionization."

"Unions!" he said, dropping his hands, the pleading look leaving his

eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. Those people want to

take the food out of our mouths. They want—"

"So you beat them to it, is that it? You take their food first, before they

can do it to you? Oh, Taylor, come with me. See these people. They aren't

thieves. They're just—"

He took a step away from her. "You forget that I've run the harvest for

eight years with your father. I've seen them. They're filthy—"

"Good day, Taylor," she said and walked away from him.

On the drive into town, her mind seemed to whirl with a thousand

conflicting thoughts. So much had happened to her in the last few weeks.

Before Dr. Montgomery came she was content and happy, and now

everything was confused. She didn't know if Taylor was her teacher, the

man she loved or her enemy. And Dr. Montgomery! Lover? Friend?

Teacher? Enemy?

It was already chaos at the union headquarters. Joe told her the mess

was her fault because they'd heard free food was being passed out. He

didn't trust Amanda because she was a Caulden and he let her know it.

Amanda went up the stairs to the room that she'd shared yesterday

with Dr. Montgomery. In spite of telling herself that yesterday meant

nothing, her heart was pounding as she reached the doorway.

The man who'd made love to her last night was holding Reva Eiler in his

arms and kissing her.

It was as if the bottom of Amanda's world fell out. She had been right

about him. She was an experiment to him, nothing more. He'd wanted to

see if he could "unionize" her, to see if he could make her stand up for her

rights just as he persuaded the workers to stand up for theirs. Perhaps she

should have had a translator explaining things to her as they went along.

She thought of Taylor with longing. When the hops were in she'd be glad

to go back to her schedule and an orderly way of life.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully and took her place at her desk. She

heard Dr. Montgomery and Reva break apart but she didn't look at them.

"Good morning, Amanda," Hank said softly.

She didn't look up. "Dr. Montgomery," she said curtly, "shall we allow

the people in? Or perhaps you'd like to use this room for private meetings?

I could go down the hall. Yes, I think I'll do that." She started gathering

papers.

"Amanda, please let me explain."

She looked at him, and as her eyes locked with his she remembered

every caress he'd given her last night, every word he'd spoken. Blood

rushed to her face and she looked away. "Explain what, Dr. Montgomery?"

She thought she heard him groan. No doubt he was upset at having one of

his women see him with another of his women. "Explain these new

translations? Explain how I'm to tell the people this is a union and not a

soup kitchen? I'll do my best."

"Explain about Reva. She—"

"Threw herself at you?" Amanda's eyes blazed. "You poor man. That

seems to happen to you a great deal."

"Amanda, please, I—"

She grabbed a letter opener from the desk. "You take one step closer to

me and I'll use this."

His eyes were angry now too. Calmly, he reached out, grabbed her wrist

and squeezed until the opener fell to the desk. "Have it your way," he said.

"Let's get busy. We have people waiting."

Amanda was glad for the noise, the confusion and all the people. They

kept her from remembering last night. Reva kept smiling at her in an

infuriating way, and a few times Amanda caught Dr. Montgomery

glowering at her but she looked away.

At one o'clock Hank clamped down on Amanda's hand and said, "We're

going to lunch."

"No, thank you," Amanda said. "I'm not hungry."

"The day you aren't hungry is the day the world ends. Come with me or

I'll make a scene so bad you'll never be able to hold your head up in this

town again."

"I'm not sure I care, if it means being alone with you. Or do we take

your other lady friends? Your harem, to be precise."

"I'll carry you," he threatened.

Amanda stood and walked out with him but she wouldn't allow him to

touch her. He stopped at his car. "I will not get in that with you," she said.

"No matter what you do to me."

He almost smiled. "All right, then, we'll try the diner."

He didn't speak again until after they were seated and he'd ordered the

special for both of them.

"Thank you," she said nastily. "I'm accustomed to having my meals

chosen for me."

"What's eating you? Is it last night? Or is it this morning? If it's last

night, I—"

"I'd rather forget that, if you don't mind."

"I'll never forget it as long as I live," Hank said softly and started to take

Amanda's hand, but just then the waitress arrived with their food.

To the utter astonishment of both of them, Amanda burst into tears.

The waitress heard and gave Hank a dirty look for whatever he'd done to

cause her to cry in public. Embarrassed, Hank grabbed the tray from the

waitress's hand, put their plates of food and drinks on it, took Amanda's

arm and began pulling her toward the back of the restaurant. The kitchen

workers looked up in surprise, and Amanda tried her best to keep from

crying, but it wasn't easy. He didn't stop until they were outside, several

feet from the restaurant and in the shade of a big oak tree.

He half shoved her to sit down. "Okay, talk," he said, putting the tray

down and sitting in front of her.

"Dr. Montgomery, I—"

"Don't give me that doctor stuff, Amanda. After what happened last

night we're past the formal stage. I want you to tell me why you applied for

a job with me, why you wanted me to make love to you and why you're

crying now." Even as he said it, he knew that some part of him wanted her

to say that she'd come to him because she was in love with him. He wasn't

sure what he'd do if she did say that, but after last night he was close to

willing to ask her to marry him. To spend every night in ecstasy such as

he'd experienced last night…

"I was rude to Taylor this morning," she said, and Hank's shoulders fell.

"And to Mrs. Gunston."

"Pretty horrible," he said sarcastically. He'd hoped it was jealousy that

had made Amanda so angry this morning. Reva had thrown herself at

him, and Hank had wanted to see if another woman's lips made him

forget himself as Amanda's had. They hadn't. "So," Hank continued,

"you're mad at me and crying because you were rude to Taylor this

morning?" What about us? he thought. What about last night?

Amanda was trying to get control of herself. Hank handed her a plate of

food and she began to eat. She was beginning to associate food with this

man. "I came to work for you because I think I realized you were right

about something."

Hank gave her a hopeful look.

"I don't really seem to know much about life."

"Oh," he said flatly.

"I mean I do know about some aspects of life, but not about dating, and

—well, Dr. Montgomery, I don't seem to know much about love."

"You did all right last night," he said softly, his eyes hot.

She looked away. "In a way, it has been very kind of you to undertake

teaching me what you have. I know I've been resentful because I didn't

want you for a teacher, but then when Taylor first came to me I resented

having a schedule." She gave him a little smile.

"I can't imagine resenting something like that," Hank said.

"Please do not be rude to me, Dr. Montgomery. You are the one who

wanted to be my teacher, not the other way around."

"So what's your point?" he asked angrily. "You came to see how the

other half lives, right? So now you'll go back to your teacher/fiancé and

you'll be better for having had your little fling. Is that it?"

Tears came again to Amanda's eyes and she set down her plate.

"Oh damn," Hank said and handed her his handkerchief. "All right," he

said softly, "tell me what's bothering you."

"Everything!" Amanda said, and the word came from her heart. "I feel

so discontent, so restless. I used to be so happy before you came. I studied

all day, Taylor and I had such lovely evenings of poetry and music, but now

—" She blew her nose. "Now I hear ragtime music in my head and I don't

want to stay home all the time and I want to use my knowledge. And I

question what Taylor says and what my father says. And the poverty of

those people who came to pick the hops! I feel like a princess who has been

isolated in a tower all her life."

Hank wasn't going to lecture her, wasn't even going to tell her she had

been isolated. "So you came to work for me to see some more of the world.

Was last night part of the cure for your restlessness?"

"I don't know what last night was," she answered honestly. "Last night

just added to my confusion. I don't seem to know who I am or what I want

anymore. And Taylor seems so different. One minute he treats me as a

little girl—he said he thinks of me as a little girl—and the next he's

promising me kisses if I do well on my lessons."

"He what?" Hank asked, astonished.

Amanda didn't answer him directly. "I think Taylor may be as confused

as I am. I'm not sure he knows if I'm a schoolgirl or a woman. He's been

stuck with me so long that I'm not sure he remembers how to treat a

woman."

Hank didn't say that it was something one never forgot. He tried to look

at her problem from a distance, as if she were his student and not a

woman whose mouth had— Student! he thought. Think student. "Which

would you like to be, Amanda?" he asked in his teacher-voice. "A woman

or a schoolgirl?"

She picked up her plate of food again. "I have been attracted to you, Dr.

Montgomery, I can't deny that."

Hank gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything.

"But I don't think I would have been if I knew how to make Taylor think

of me as a woman." She glanced at him and saw he wasn't looking at her

with anger and it made her relax. "There is a great deal of truth in some of

what you've said to me. I am somewhat of a prisoner in my house, but it's

only because it hadn't occurred to me to break out. When I decided to stop

my studies and come to work with the union, I was able to do it. And this

morning, Taylor…"

"Taylor what?" Hank asked, keeping his voice cool.

"This morning I was—well, I slept without my nightgown on and the

door was open and Taylor walked by and he… he looked at me with

interest. He looked at me as if I were a woman and not a child."

Hank set aside his plate. He couldn't eat any more. "Oh?" he managed

to say. Was that what last night meant to her? That at last ol' steel-spined

Taylor had realized she was a woman? "So he looked at a half-nude

woman in bed and showed some interest, did he?"

"You always manage to make Taylor sound less than human. Don't you

realize that he's been my teacher since I was a child? Of course he'd think

of me as a schoolgirl. That's why when I kissed him he—"

"He what?"

"He was repulsed by me," she answered softly, remembering the hurt.

"He has kissed me since, but it wasn't the same."

"The same as what?"

"Well, you know," she answered, her face turning red.

"Perhaps you should tell me."

"Last night, what we did… It was as if I couldn't help myself. You are so

much more experienced than Taylor. I mean, women are everywhere

around you. Reva kisses you, Lily Webster looked as if she wanted to do

with you what we did, and I'm sure you have many women at your

college."

"Hundreds," he said. "Thousands. Everywhere I go women fall all over

themselves to go to bed with me." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his

voice. She was making him feel like a gigolo while Taylor was a respected

citizen with morals—someone worth having. "Where is this heading,

Amanda?"

"I wonder if maybe you'd teach me. I mean, you have been teaching me,

but I've been a reluctant student but perhaps I could become a willing

student."

"Teach you what? How to make love?" His eyebrows were nearly in his

hairline. This is how a prospector felt when he struck gold.

"No, of course not. You taught me that last night, and I'm grateful. I

won't be afraid of my wedding night now and I'll know what to do."

"You're welcome," Hank said, and refrained from telling her he doubted

if Taylor knew about the things they'd done last night.

"Would you teach me the part of life that's not in books? Such as

dancing and motion pictures and whatever else men and women do

together? Maybe if I quit acting as a schoolgirl, Taylor will stop treating

me as one."

Taylor, Hank thought. He was beginning to hate the man. She looked on

last night as a prelude to her wedding night with Taylor. So what else did

Hank want? Did he want her to say that after last night she couldn't bear

to live without him? Did he want her to be another Blythe Woodley? He'd

wanted to sleep with Blythe, then have her find some other man to marry,

and now Amanda was offering him just that, but for some reason

Amanda's offer was making him angry.

"Motion pictures, huh? Anything else?" he asked at least. "No more sex

lessons?"

She looked away, blushing. "I'm sure we covered everything last night."

"Tip of the iceberg," he said, as if he were talking about the weather.

"There are many other positions, such as you on top or standing or sitting

or—"

"Standing?" she asked curiously. "I mean, how… ? I just wondered,

physically, how… ?"

"I'd stand and you'd wrap your legs around my waist and I'd support

your—" He cupped his hands as if to hold her buttocks. "And I'd set you

down on my old man."

"Your—?" Amanda laughed, then stopped herself. "I think last night was

enough teaching in that area. I think I'll wait until my marriage to

Taylor." Although she couldn't imagine Taylor setting her down on his…

"Dr. Montgomery," she said softly, "do you think I could have a baby from

last night?"

Hank choked on the iced tea he was drinking. "I hope not," he said

sincerely.

"But I thought that what we did was meant for procreation. I am

somewhat concerned about this."

"Amanda," he said, exasperated. She was talking to him as if he were

another woman. "I don't know too much about this kind of thing. I've been

to bed with many, I mean a few women here and there, and I don't think

any of them have had my children. In fact, I'm sure one of them would

have mentioned the fact to me. And lovemaking is for procreation but it's

also somewhat pleasurable. Didn't you enjoy yourself last night?"

Amanda couldn't look at him. Enjoy herself? She'd nearly died in

pleasure last night. This morning she could have taken a gun to both him

and Reva when she'd seen them touching. "Yes, I did," she whispered. "But

I thought one… mating equaled one child. Married couples…" She trailed

off as she had no idea what married couples did.

"Married couples," Hank said quietly, "make love often. For example, if,

say, you and I were married, I'd make love to you every night and in the

morning before I went off to teach and I'd probably come home to lunch,

too. You couldn't possibly have a child every time."

"I see," Amanda said. She was trying to keep this conversation on an

intellectual basis, but her skin was beginning to feel strange. At lunch? In

the daylight? She wondered what he looked like when he had no clothes

on. She knew the feel of him but not the look. Were those shoulders of his

as wide as they felt? Were his thighs— She cleared her throat. "I had no

idea. Thank you so much for telling me."

"Anytime," he said pleasantly. "I'll show you, tell you, whatever you

want."

"Very, ah, kind of you." She smiled weakly and looked at the dirty

platters on the ground. All she had to do was say she wanted a different

kind of lunch and he'd take her away in that little yellow car of his and

then his hands would—

"You ready to go back?" Hank said.

"Yes," she answered, swallowing and starting to rise.

Hank put his hand on her arm. "You want to tell me what happened

between you and Taylor the day you lost the bet? What happened to cause

him to be repulsed by you and to punish you with calculus?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," she answered.

"Maybe I could help you prevent its happening again, but I can do

nothing if you don't tell me what went wrong."

She didn't like to remember that afternoon. "I kissed him. He was

standing in front of me and I stood on tiptoe and kissed him."

"Just like that."

She didn't know what he meant. "What other way is there? We had that

awful wager, and I thought I was doing it for the ranch, because you said

you'd leave if I could make Taylor show passion, so I kissed him. How else

was I to do it? If I kiss you, you—" She stopped. "You understand what I

mean."

"I understand perfectly. You acted like a schoolgirl and he no doubt

treated you like one."

"Schoolgirls don't kiss their teachers. Or perhaps your female students

do."

"Never, but if one did, I'd treat her just as Taylor did you."

"Oh," she said, feeling that all the pain of the last few days really was

her fault. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Come on, let's go back. We can spare a few minutes and I'll show you

how to seduce a man. The proper way to do it."

She hesitated.

"I thought you wanted me to teach you about being a modern woman."

"I had motion pictures in mind or maybe that you'd teach me to tango."

"Reva knows about men. I'll bet if Reva kissed Taylor he wouldn't

punish her with calculus."

Amanda felt her ring finger with her right hand, meaning to feel her

engagement ring, but she found she'd left it at home again. Reva had

helped Taylor choose her ring. "Let's go, Dr. Montgomery," she said. "I'm

not good at many things but I am an apt pupil."

He watched her pick up the tray of dirty dishes and walk toward the

back of the restaurant. So far he hadn't found much of anything that she

wasn't good at. Grinning, he followed her. He had a lesson to teach.

Chapter Fourteen

« ^ »

They walked across the dusty, hot street of Kingman in silence. Amanda

found she couldn't speak in anticipation of what was to come. It was just a

lesson, she told herself, a lesson she could transfer to Taylor. After all, it

was Taylor she was interested in, wasn't it? Taylor was the man she'd

loved for years. Taylor was the man she was going to marry. She needed to

learn how to change herself in his eyes from a child to a woman. And Dr.

Montgomery was kind enough to teach her.

"In here," he said, opening the door to the broom closet.

"Here?" she asked.

"Only place private. Come on, we've been away too long as it is."

She had the distinct impression he wanted to get this duty over with.

The problems of the people upstairs were of course much more important

than hers. She stepped inside the closet and he locked the door behind

her.

Hank turned a big bucket upside down and sat on it. "First of all, you're

at a disadvantage if he's standing, because he's taller than you. Wait until

he's sitting down, then you have the upper hand. Now, pull the string and

kill that light and come sit on my lap."

"But—" she began.

"Pretend I'm Taylor. You can do that better in the dark. Amanda, if you

want a schedule after you're married, then don't learn what I have to teach

you. It's up to you."

She pulled the string on the light and the room was absolutely dark, but

Dr. Montgomery's hands found her and guided her to sit on his lap.

"Amanda! What are you doing? You should be studying your Latin."

"Yes, I— Oh, I see, you're Taylor."

"Pretending to be," Hank corrected. "Amanda, if I were me, I'd put my

arms around you like this," he said, his arms caressing her back, "and my

hands would do this." He ran his hands down her arms, his thumbs

touching the sides of her breasts. "And I'd kiss you like this." He kissed her

softly, lingeringly, in such a way that made her remember last night. Her

arms went around him, her tongue entwined with his. She moaned when

his hand cupped her breast. Sitting, he'd said. People could make love

while sitting down. She turned more fully toward him.

He pushed her away. "But I'm not me. I'm Taylor." Hank was

swallowing and he was painfully uncomfortable. She was going to drive

him mad. "Taylor would sit here like this." He put his hands beside his

thighs, not touching her. There was a little light coming in around the

door and he could see enough of her to again realize how beautiful she

was. There seemed to be less sadness in her eyes. "Now what are you going

to do?"

"I don't know. With you I don't have to do anything. You always seem to

be ready." She could feel how ready he was now, against her left thigh. Her

heart was still pounding, but he seemed to be so cool and unaffected by

their kissing—well, maybe not all of him was unaffected. "I guess I would

kiss him," she said, leaning toward his lips, but he turned his head away.

"No, start more subtly. Here, kiss my neck a little and maybe use this

hand to unbutton a few buttons and this one you can put in my hair."

"Oh," she said, "I see." This was the easiest assignment she'd ever had.

His hair was soft and clean and seemed to twine around her fingers. The

buttons of his shirt opened easily, and she slid her hand inside to touch his

bare flesh. "Like this?"

"Exactly," he whispered.

She put her lips to his neck. Hot, smooth skin with just the faintest

trace of whiskers. She touched her tongue to his whiskers. His skin tasted

good.

"Ear," Hank said, and could hardly hear himself above his heart's

pounding.

Amanda thought she was maybe getting the hang of this. She put his

earlobe in her teeth and pulled it gently. He moved his hands from his

thighs to hers. She ran her tongue around the rim of his ear, her breath

warm against it. "Am I doing all right?" she whispered.

"Fine so far," he managed to say.

She began to get creative as she kissed his temple then his eyes and

down his face to his cheeks. She had unbuttoned most of his shirt now,

and she wanted to feel her bare breasts against his hot, dark skin, feel the

hair of his chest against her smooth skin.

"This ear?" she whispered, and used her tongue to caress his left ear.

She had to stretch across him a bit and her breasts felt so good where they

touched him. She wanted to open her dress and feel his mouth on her.

She kissed his lips. As if she were dying, she kissed him, plunging her

tongue into his mouth, ravishing him, attacking him, sucking at his lips,

biting his lips; then her mouth and teeth bit at his jawline, down his neck.

Her hands began tearing at his clothes.

Hank quit playing a game. He turned her to straddle him, treating her

as if she weighed nothing, as he shoved her dress up over her hips. Her tap

pants tore at the crotch so that she was bare against him, the cloth of his

trousers against her soft inner thighs and her engorged womanhood.

His left hand clamped down on the back of her head, turning her so he

could invade the deepest recesses of her mouth while his right hand

unbuttoned his trousers, his knuckles caressing her. She rubbed against

the skin of his hand.

Someone started trying the doorknob.

"I think it's locked," Reva said from outside. "You have the key or does

Hank?"

"I think there are some keys upstairs," Joe said. "I'll go look."

"I'll go with you," Reva said, then to someone else she said, "You stay

here. You can clean up your own kid's vomit."

Inside the closet, Amanda and Hank became aware of who they were

and where they were.

"We better go," Amanda said. "I don't think they would understand."

Nor do I, Hank thought as he mechanically began to refasten his

trousers.

Amanda at last found the string to the light and pulled it on, and for a

brief moment their eyes met, but she didn't dare look at him for too long.

It seemed that all he had to do was pull her string and she lit up like an

electric light bulb.

Hank unlocked the door and looked out. Reva and Joe were still upstairs

but standing quietly was an Italian woman holding the hand of a

green-faced little girl. "Hello," Hank said. "We, ah…"

Amanda began to talk to the woman, making up a long excuse as to

what they were doing in the closet as they passed her to go upstairs.

Hank paused on the stair landing. "What language was that?" he asked.

"Italian. Isn't she Italian?"

"I think she is, but I'm not sure what your language was."

"Oh. Greek, perhaps," Amanda said helplessly. "Maybe Russian. Maybe

Latin."

He looked at her and it was all he could do to not touch her. He could

feel her tongue in his ear. "Go fix your hair," he said, "then come back to

work. We have another train arriving at two. Your father advertised for

workers in three states. The more people he gets, the greater the

competition for the jobs. He can fire hundreds and still have enough

workers to pick the crops. Go on now. One look at you and everyone will

know."

Amanda hurried up the stairs to the restroom. The mirror showed her

flushed face, her hair about her shoulders and puffy lips from having

kissed so much. She did the best she could to repair the damage. At least

no one would be able to see her torn underwear. For a moment she leaned

back against the door. It seemed that all he had to do was touch her and

she came apart. She did outrageous, shameless things.

Taylor, she tried to remind herself. She was in love with Taylor and she

wanted him to think of her as a woman. That was her goal.

She left the restroom and went back to the hot office which was filled

with people who were trying to understand what a union was. Amanda

was to explain to them that they would not lose their jobs if they asked for

a drink of water.

She glanced at Dr. Montgomery before she took her seat. The back of

his hair was mussed and she wanted to smooth it down, but as she

watched, Reva's hand ran over his hair and straightened it. As Reva

walked past Amanda she whispered, "Why do you have to have two men?

Give me one of them, will you?"

Guiltily, Amanda gave her attention to the Hindu family before her. She

needed to find a common language so she could talk to them. She didn't

look at Hank again.

But Hank couldn't keep his eyes off Amanda. There were times when he

couldn't remember what a union was. He thought of how he'd believed her

to be a prig, an anxious, nervous, judgmental little prude. But then he'd

touched her.

Reva annoyingly kept reminding him of his work and Hank had to stop

daydreaming.

"Is anything going on around here?" Hank asked. "Something I could

take a girl to?"

Reva gave him her most becoming smile. "There's a fair outside of

Terrill City, and I've been dying to go," she said as a hint.

"A fair. Great." Hank wrote a note to Amanda, slipped it in between

some other papers and had Joe put it on her desk.

Amanda was talking to a Spanish family when she saw the note and,

after days of translating everything she read, she read Hank's note aloud

in Spanish.

The pretty young mother smiled while the handsome father said he'd be

glad to go to a motion picture with her tonight and a carnival tomorrow

night. Amanda blushed to the roots of her hair.

At 4:30 Hank stopped by her desk. "Well?" he asked.

"I'm engaged to someone else. I can't date you."

"I thought I might teach you how to act on a date so you won't make a

fool of yourself with Taylor by lecturing him all evening."

"Oh," she said. She wanted to go with him, wanted to see a motion

picture, wanted to sit next to him. And she was very aware that in another

few days he'd be gone. "Yes, I'd like to go."

"And the carnival tomorrow?"

"Yes," was all she could answer.

Reva stood not far away, watching and listening. It really wasn't fair

that Amanda should have so much while she had so little. Then she

smiled. She wondered what Amanda's fiancé would have to say if he knew

where Amanda was spending her evenings.

For the rest of the day Amanda felt as if something wonderful were

about to happen. A few times she reminded herself of Taylor, but she told

herself she was doing this for him.

At six, Hank came to her desk. "Ready?" he asked. "There's a show

starting at 6:30."

Amanda picked up her handbag and left with him.

Reva stood staring at the door.

"Jealous?" Joe asked, laughing at her.

"Yeah, maybe I am," Reva said. "The rich get everything."

"You think the Doc likes Amanda because she's rich? Then you haven't

seen him look at her when she walks across the room. He's more interested

in what she has than what her daddy has."

"Who asked you?" Reva snapped. "I know somebody who will be very

interested in those two." She left the union headquarters and started

walking toward the Caulden Ranch.

Hank walked beside Amanda toward the Opera House, where the latest

motion picture was being shown. He didn't touch her—but he wanted to.

"If we were an engaged couple, you'd take my arm now," he said, holding

out his arm for her.

Amanda smiled up at him. "Anything else?"

"There's always the possibility that you might get frightened by the

picture. I hear that the heroine's life is in danger from beginning to end."

"And what do I do if I'm afraid?"

"Hold on to me," he answered and lifted her fingertips to his lips. "I'll

protect you."

She stared at his lips for a moment then recovered herself. "Please

remember, Dr. Montgomery, that you're my teacher and not my fiancé."

"I never forget it for a second." He led her into the darkened hall and

they took a seat in the middle close to the front.

Amanda wasn't sure what she had expected in a motion picture, but

she'd never dreamed how gripping one could be. The dangers that

threatened the pretty young actress were so real. The villain was so awful,

always plotting to get the young woman, always sneaking and skulking,

looking for opportunities to steal her away.

Hank watched Amanda, saw the way her emotions played across her

face as a child's would. She grabbed his hand once when the villain made a

play for the heroine, so he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged

her to him. He was rewarded by Amanda burying her face in his shoulder

when the heroine nearly got run over by a train. He had never enjoyed a

film so much in his life.

When it was over and the lights came on, he was reluctant to leave,

reluctant to stop touching her. From the way she continued clutching his

arm, he thought she felt the same way.

"What would an engaged couple do now?" she asked at last, holding the

hand of the arm he had around her. He had only asked her to the motion

picture. Would he take her home now? Would she go home and find that

Taylor had scheduled a poetry reading for this evening? How could she

read poetry after seeing a woman nearly severed by a train?

"I'd probably take you to a quiet, intimate dinner somewhere,

someplace with candles and violins, then maybe we'd go dancing."

He was just telling her, not asking her to go with him, she thought. "I

don't guess I could do that. I don't know how to dance."

"You could be taught. You do seem to have a capacity for learning."

"I guess it depends on the teacher." His lips were very close to hers and

she hoped he was about to kiss her.

"Hey!" a man yelled from the back of the hall. "You two gonna pay for

the second show?"

Hank and Amanda untangled themselves from each other and started

out of the hall. Once outside, Amanda was reluctant to speak. Now she

should ask him to take her home to Taylor.

"You know," Hank said, "you really should learn how to dance. What if

you and Taylor are asked to the White House and the President asks you

to dance? What will you say? That you don't know how?"

Amanda's spirits began to lift. "I suppose you're right. But I can't learn

to dance wearing this." She looked down at her severe navy-blue suit. "My

dancing dress was torn and it hasn't been repaired."

He took her arm. "We can fix that. There are more dresses where that

one came from."

"I believe you asked to see me," Taylor Driscoll said, looking at Reva as

she stood in the fading sunlight of the Caulden parlor. He told himself she

was garishly made-up and her dress was dreadfully gaudy, but he still felt

attracted to her. He'd like to see her with her face washed and wearing

something simple and expensive, perhaps in a light blue. "How can I help

you?"

Reva could feel this man's desire for her. He was a stuffed shirt, of

course, but she was sure she could unbend him. She would very much like

to kiss him, like to see him lean down to put his lips on hers. She turned

away from him.

"I feel a bit like the school tattle," she said. "I came here to tell you

about Amanda, but now I'm not so sure I should. Perhaps I should leave."

He didn't want her to leave. He didn't like to admit it even to himself,

but he'd been lonely in the last few weeks. Amanda was always gone, he

never saw J. Harker, and of course Mrs. Caulden didn't speak to him even

when they happened to meet. "Wait," he said to Reva. "Won't you stay and

have some tea, or some sherry, perhaps?"

Tea, Reva thought. No doubt served in a silver pot. She looked at Taylor

and saw the yearning in his dark, handsome eyes. Watch out, girl, she

cautioned herself, he's not for you. She had a feeling that outside of this

house he was as poor as she was. He'd only have money if he married

Amanda. "Yes," she heard herself saying, "I'd like to have tea."

An hour later Reva was warming to her subject of telling Taylor about

Amanda. He seemed to take it in stride, but she could see pain in his eyes.

And bewilderment. Amanda didn't know how to fend off a guy who got too

fresh, she didn't even know how to dance. Was her fiancé as backward as

she was?

"So, you seem to think there is a growing attachment between the two

of them," Taylor said, trying not to allow his feelings to show. Amanda was

the first woman he'd ever allowed himself to trust and she was betraying

him.

"Can I be honest with you? Hank's a dream of a man but, between you

and me, you're not putting up much of a fight. You're handing Amanda to

him on a silver platter."

Taylor stiffened. "I did ask her to escort Dr. Montgomery, but I thought

—"

Reva set her cup down with a clink. "Why don't you go punch Hank?"

"I beg your pardon."

"I guess that's not a good idea," Reva said. "After the way he took out

Sam Ryan, I don't guess you'd stand a chance. But, you know, you do have

an advantage—you are engaged to Amanda. Tomorrow night she's

supposed to go to the carnival in Terrill City with Hank. Why don't you

invite her to the fair? She'd have to go with you since you two are

engaged."

"To a fair?" Taylor asked, aghast. "I hardly think so. There is, however, a

reading of Thackeray's work tomorrow night at—"

"Reading?" Reva gasped, then leaned toward him. "When you proposed,

how did you do it?"

"I believe, Miss Eiler, that such things are personal."

" Was it personal? Did you get down on your knees and swear undying

love to her and say you'd die if she didn't marry you?"

"I hardly think—"

"That's what I thought." She leaned back on the hard little couch.

"Hank would. If Hank proposed to a woman, believe me, it would be

romantic. He'd probably hire violins, have a tub full of champagne handy,

and he'd make the woman feel as if she were the most beautiful, most

desirable creature on earth."

"I see," Taylor said, and he did see somewhat. Romance was what Miss

Eiler was talking about. "Do you think Amanda would like that?"

" All women like to be courted. All women want a man to be passionately

obsessed with them. That's what romance is—a man showing interest in a

woman. It doesn't have to be flowers and violins, it could just be a man

wanting the woman to be near him all the time. Talking is romantic. A

man being jealous is romantic. If you love Amanda, then you have to show

her."

"I gave her a ring," Taylor said, defending himself.

"Which I've never seen on her finger since we picked it out. You didn't

by chance tell her I helped you choose it, did you?"

"I believe I did mention the fact."

Reva groaned. There was passion inside him, she could feel it, but he

had it locked somewhere deep down. He needed someone to help him

thaw out. "Mr. Driscoll, if I may be blunt with you, you are losing Amanda.

Unless you put up some fight for her, she's going to run off with Hank

Montgomery, or maybe with a traveling salesman."

Taylor just looked at Reva. How did one fight? Perhaps poems by

Robert Burns would do it.

Reva could see his confusion. "Invite Amanda to the carnival," she

repeated. "Take her to the carnival and show her a good time. Win her

some prizes. Take her on a ride or two. Take her through the Tunnel of

Love and kiss her wildly. Bring her home and try to force your way into her

room. Make her think you're going crazy with wanting her."

Taylor stared at Reva. He couldn't imagine doing any of the things she

mentioned with Amanda but he'd like to kiss Miss Eiler.

Reva saw his look, and more than anything in the world, she wanted to

touch this man. There was something about the way he was so stiff and

unbending that fascinated her. "Perhaps, Mr. Driscoll," she said softly,

"you haven't had enough practice in kissing women wildly."

"Perhaps I haven't," he answered just as softly.

They leaned toward each other very slowly and when their lips touched,

electricity shot through them. Taylor put his hand to the back of Reva's

head, holding her skull tightly.

She broke away first and looked into his dark eyes. Poor, she thought.

Remember that. He's as poor as a church mouse. Fall for him and you'll

end up with six kids and nothing to feed them. "Not bad," she said, "but

you need work. Take Amanda to the carnival and practice on her. I must

go now." She had to get out fast before she began "practicing" with him.

"Good evening, Mr. Driscoll."

"But the shop isn't open," Amanda said to Hank as they stood before the

dress shop window. Hanging inside was a gorgeous silk charmeuse

dancing dress with a bodice of Chantilly lace.

"You know the story of Aladdin? I happen to know the magic words to

open the door at any hour, day or night."

She looked up at him. When he was smiling at her she felt a little

weak-kneed. "And what are the magic words?"

"I pay cash," he said, and Amanda laughed. "Come on, the owner lives

upstairs. Let's get her to open the door and find you some clothes."

Amanda felt a little jealous at the way the store owner so readily agreed

to open the shop for Hank—again. He'd bought her other dancing dress

there too.

As they were walking down the stairs, the owner in front of them,

Amanda said, "You two certainly seem friendly."

Hank stopped on the dark stairs, then pinned her against the wall. "If

you and I were engaged or were really dating, I'd think that was a jealous

remark. Are you jealous, Amanda?"

"Certainly not. How can I be jealous of you if I am in love with another

man?"

"Who would you rather see kissing the pretty shop owner? Taylor or

me?"

"I am most used to seeing you kiss any number of women. It's a wonder

you don't put that as a requirement to join the union: All pretty women

must kiss Dr. Montgomery before being allowed to join."

He laughed at that and moved so she could continue down the stairs.

Inside the shop, Amanda forgot about men altogether. She hadn't been

inside a dress shop since she was fourteen and Taylor had arrived. She had

been so busy since then trying to keep up with her studies that she hadn't

given much thought to clothes Taylor had chosen sturdy, simple clothes

that covered most of her exposed skin. But here were dresses of fragile

fabrics, with laces and beading, beautiful transparent silk georgettes,

satins, crepe de chines.

She turned to look at Hank

"Go," he commanded, laughing at her expression. "Try on everything.

Buy whatever you want."

"Send the bill to my father," Amanda said before touching a sumptuous

blue satin dress.

"I'll pay for everything," Hank said quietly to the store owner. He very

much liked the idea of having purchased what touched Amanda's skin.

"And put a couple of those in with the dresses," he said, pointing to pink

silk crepe underwear sets that were trimmed with satin.

Amanda tried on the dresses and modeled each one for Hank. She

couldn't describe the way he made her feel, as if she were the most

beautiful woman in the world. She chose five dresses and wore the one

she'd first seen in the window. They walked together to his car, Hank

carrying her packages.

"Do I look all right?" she asked. It was very dark, especially dark where

his car was parked. "I mean, if you were a man and I were a woman, an

unattached woman, that is, would you be interested… I mean, would you

think I looked all right?"

Hank dumped the boxes in the passenger seat of his auto, then took

Amanda's hand and pulled her under the deep darkness of three palm

trees. "Amanda," he said softly, "if you were mine right now, I would be so

overcome with your beauty that I'd…" He lifted her hand to his mouth and

bit the soft, inside fingertip of her longest finger. It wasn't a kiss, it was

more as if he were on the verge of devouring her skin. He began gnawing

down her finger into her palm, biting the cup of her palm, sucking at it.

His teeth and lips moved to the inside of her wrist, then up and up,

pausing for a second at the inside of her elbow, then up again, kissing the

most delicate, most sensitive parts of her arm.

Amanda had her head back, her eyes closed as his mouth moved over

the lace on her shoulders then across her collarbone, over her right

shoulder and down her right arm. He sucked at the palm of her hand then

bit at her fingertips.

"Amanda," he said. He had two of her fingertips in his mouth and she

could feel his tongue, his teeth, the hot wetness of the interior of his

mouth.

"Yes," she said, and she meant yes to anything he asked of her.

"If you were mine, that's what I'd do to you," he said.

Amanda looked at him, and even in the darkness she could see the

hooded look of his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils. In fascination, as a

cobra watches a flute, she watched him move her fingers about in the

interior of his mouth. Her body was beginning to weaken, and just as she

was ready to fling herself at him, he dropped her hand.

"Let's get something to eat," he said and walked to the car to help her

in.

She got in, balancing the packages on her lap.

Hank didn't say much on the way to the restaurant. He knew he was

playing with a deadly substance, but he was like an addict and couldn't

help himself. He could take her away from Driscoll; he knew that. But it

wouldn't be fair to either of them. Under Amanda's beautiful exterior was

still the prim little lady he'd first met. She wasn't the woman for him, no

matter how sweet she tasted.

Amanda was thinking nearly the same thing. He was a poor

rabble-rouser and he wasn't the man for her. When he wasn't touching her

she could see him as he was. He was the sort of man a woman had a fling

with, but he wasn't a man a woman should love. The woman who loved

him would have a painful future.

She tried to keep that in mind as she watched him driving, his profile

outlined in the moonlight and the headlamps. But she kept watching his

strong hands on the steering wheel, the way he gripped the shift lever. She

saw the muscles in his thighs working as he moved from pedal to pedal.

Hank glanced at her, saw the hungry look in her eyes and forgot about

common sense. He put his right hand on her knee and touched silk. "Do

you ever wear anything except black silk stockings?"

"Taylor says black is the most refined, the most ladylike color."

Hank laughed. "He's either a fool or a connoisseur."

"I don't know which either," Amanda said into the wind.

The quiet little restaurant lay on the outskirts of town, and when Hank

stopped the car he paused a moment to look at her.

When he started to say something, Amanda put her fingers to his lips.

He looked as if he were about to say something serious. "Let it last while it

can," she said softly. She removed her hand. "How would a fiancé help his

intended from the car?"

He smiled at her. It seemed that she knew the rules, that it was a game

they were playing and nothing more. "First he might kiss her."

"Oh?" Amanda said and leaned her cheek against the leather seat.

Hank touched her face with his fingertips, moving back to her hairline.

Every day her hairstyle had become looser and softer. "And then again he

might not."

Amanda had been teased very little in her life and had never been

teased in a playful sexual way by a man. "You!" she gasped, then when

Hank put up his hands as if to protect himself from a blow, she lunged at

him, packages falling to the floorboard. She slapped at him while his

protecting hands kept coming in contact with some of the more delicious

parts of her body.

"I give up," he cried. "I'll kiss you."

"You will not, because I won't allow it," Amanda said haughtily and got

out of the car.

Hank bounded out his side, caught her and spun her about in his arms.

"Deny me, will you, wench?" he said, mocking the villain in the film they'd

seen. "Either you give yourself to me or I'll throw your old mother into the

snow."

"But, sir," she said, turning her head away, "it is eighty degrees

outside."

"Into the desert then. With no water. Now, wench, are you mine?"

Amanda gave one great twist, kicked him on the shin and started

running. "Not on your life," she called.

Hank caught her within a few feet, holding her, her back to his front as

she tried to twist out of his grasp. "I want all of you, your lips, your eyes,

your breasts. I want to kiss you and caress you, make love to you all night

long."

Amanda stopped struggling and turned in his arms. "To hell with the

hero, I'll take you, the villain." She kissed him deeply, plastering her body

close to his, feeling the hard maleness of him against her.

"Amanda," he said, crushing her against him, bending his body so that

she bent backward. His leg slipped between hers.

Her heart was pounding and she wanted nothing more than to

disappear into the darkness with him. "Are you trying to get out of feeding

me?" she said at last.

He pulled back to look at her. "You've been starving since the first day I

met you," he said, smiling at her. "Starving for more than just food."

"So you like to think," she said insolently and pushed him away. "I must

look a mess. Get my handbag and take me inside so I can do something

with my hair."

He obeyed her as if it were what he was supposed to do, and Amanda

smiled. How wonderfully pleasant to tease and laugh and to order a man

around. She smoothed her dress as he returned and they went inside.

It was the first meal they'd shared that they weren't fighting. In the soft

candlelight, he seemed almost as if he were the man she loved. For a

moment Amanda wondered what they would talk about, but then it

seemed as if there were a thousand things she wanted to know about him:

where he grew up, how he came to teach economics, where he'd learned

calculus, what his family was like, what he did when he wasn't saving

migratory workers.

"You race cars?" she said when they were on dessert. "Do you win?"

"About as often as I lose."

"Do you think I could come and watch you win, or lose?" she asked, then

remembered that soon he'd be gone and she would still be here. She

looked at her plate.

"Maybe you and Taylor can come and watch the races," Hank said. He

meant to sound unconcerned but his voice sounded bitter. "I guess I better

get you home."

Her head came up. "But you promised to teach me to dance. Remember

the White House? It's why we bought me a dancing dress."

He wanted to take her home, wanted to put some distance between the

two of them, but at the same time he couldn't bear to let her out of his

sight. "All right. Dancing it is, but I warn you, don't get too fresh."

"Or you'll what?"

"Do anything you ask of me," he said more seriously than he meant to.

He called for the check and they left the restaurant.

Chapter Fifteen

« ^ »

Amanda stretched in bed, then slid back under the light cover and closed

her eyes again. She didn't ever want to get up, didn't want to have to face

sunlight or other people. She wanted to stay in bed all day and think of

last night.

After dinner Dr. Montgomery had wanted to take her dancing, and after

a few inquiries they found that the only dance in the area was on a barge

floating down the Glass River near Terrill City. The barge had already left

and wouldn't be back until one a.m.

"We'll make it," Hank had said, and the two of them went on a wild ride

over dark, rutted roads until they'd reached the river, where he rented a

rowboat and started rowing toward the barge. He could row like a demon.

"Grew up in Maine, remember?" he said to her as she hung on.

As they neared the barge, the people stopped dancing and came to

watch them and cheer them on as they drew closer. There were many

hands to help them on board and tie the rented boat on the back of the

barge.

"The lady wanted to dance. What could I do?" Hank explained, making

everyone laugh.

They were the hit of the evening, and Hank was right—Amanda had no

difficulty learning the dance steps. By the end of the evening she was

dancing the waltz, the polka, the schottische, and square dances as well as

the tango. Amanda knew she'd never had so much fun in her life. For once

she wasn't a freak; she was no different from anyone else. The men liked

her because she was pretty and energetic, and the women liked her

because she laughed.

They ate oysters and drank champagne and danced until the barge

came back to home base and the band packed up and went home. By that

time everyone knew everyone else's name and they waved and called

goodnight to each other.

Hank helped Amanda over the side of the barge and into the rowboat,

then, slowly, in the moonlight, he rowed her back to the rental place.

"Tired?" he asked.

Her hand was trailing in the water. "I feel wonderful. I had no idea this

is what other people did."

"Instead of calculus tests on Sunday morning?"

"I wonder how many languages those women speak."

"Touché," Hank said, laughing. "Am I proving to be a good teacher?

You wanted to know something about the world."

She looked at him in the moonlight. He seemed to get better-looking

every hour. What a heavenly night it had been. "You're the best teacher in

the world," she answered softly.

He drove her back to the ranch slowly, as if he didn't want to part with

her, then stopped the car at the end of the long drive. No two people ever

walked more slowly as they made their way back to the house.

"I guess I better go in," Amanda said. She wasn't touching him but she

wanted him to take her in his arms. "If we were engaged, perhaps a

goodnight—" she began.

"I touch you, Amanda, and in thirty seconds our clothes would be off

and we'd be rolling around on your mother's lawn. You go inside and I'll go

to my hotel room. I'll see you at headquarters, and tomorrow I'll take you

to the carnival."

She stepped toward him. "Hank," she whispered.

He nearly jumped away from her. "Go on, Amanda, get out of here."

Reluctantly, she turned and went into the dark, silent house. Once

inside, she got into her nightgown, snuggled in her empty bed and wished

he were with her. When she went to sleep she didn't realize that it had

been hours since she'd thought of Taylor.

Now, awake, she wanted to stay in bed and think about every moment

of last night.

But it wasn't to be. After a brief knock, Mrs. Gunston barged into

Amanda's room. Her face showed her anger, but this morning Amanda

felt too good to care.

"Two a.m. ," Mrs. Gunston said. "You were out until two o'clock in the

morning, and I don't imagine I'm the only one who heard you come in. It's

disgraceful. I doubt that Master Taylor will want you after this."

"You think not?" Amanda said languidly.

"Look at you, you're a sight to behold. Lazing about in bed half the day,

your hair down like that. I know what's going on. I'm not blind. It's that

Dr. Montgomery. You're like all the women in this town, chasing after a

pretty face. Everyone in town knows he's been seeing one of those Eiler

girls. To men like him girls are just conquests to be made. And what has

he got from you, missy? Anything he wants? Did he buy you that dress?

Did you give him what he wants for the price of a dress? You—"

"You are fired, Mrs. Gunston," Amanda said, not even raising her voice.

"You can't fire me. I work for Mr. Driscoll."

"Who works for my father and therefore, in essence, works for me. I

repeat, you are fired. I will instruct Taylor to give you two weeks'

severance pay, but you are to be gone by this evening."

"But you can't—" Mrs. Gunston said, but her voice had lost its power.

She turned on her heel and left the room.

"Bravo!"

Amanda looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway and

grinning broadly. "Aren't you going to be late for work, dear?" Grace said

as she shut her daughter's bedroom door, and Amanda could hear her

whistling in the hall.

Amanda got out of bed and hurriedly rushed through dressing. She

didn't want to miss one minute of work. She supposed she should feel

awful about firing Mrs. Gunston, and perhaps she should worry about

repercussions from her father and Taylor, but all she felt was pleased that

she'd gotten rid of the tyrannical old witch.

She hurried down the stairs and rushed into the dining room. All that

dancing last night had made her ravenous. She stopped abruptly when she

saw Taylor sitting at the table, a newspaper in front of him. It seemed like

years since she'd seen him, but the moment she did see him she became

Amanda-the-student again. Her back seemed to remember that steel

brace he'd made her wear and she held herself rigid.

"Good morning," she said in a cool, remote voice, with no enthusiasm

or laughter in it.

Taylor put his paper down and looked at her as she seated herself beside

him. The maid appeared with a poached egg and a dry piece of toast.

Taylor waved it away. "Bring Miss Caulden bacon and scrambled eggs and

biscuits with butter and honey. Tea or coffee?" he asked Amanda.

"T-tea," she managed to say.

When the maid was gone, Taylor looked at Amanda. "I believe we need

to talk."

For some reason, Amanda felt a forboding about what was coming. She

wanted to postpone hearing what he had to say. "I need to get to the

Union Hall. The people will be arriving and I need to talk to them. By our

calculation there are sixteen languages spoken. I really don't know too

many of them, but sometimes we can find one person who speaks a

language I do know and we can tell the person about the union.

Sometimes it's almost humorous. It will take as many as five of us to reach

a man who speaks, say, some Chinese dialect. It's really very interesting,

and I'm needed—"

Taylor put his hand over hers. "Amanda, I love you."

"Oh," Amanda said. "Oh."

He removed his hand when the maid placed the heaping plate of food

before her. Amanda began to eat, but the flavor of the food made her think

of Dr. Montgomery. Usually, when she was eating delicious food, she was

with him. Dry, tasteless food was what she ate when she was with Taylor.

Taylor started talking again when they were alone. "I don't think I've

done very well in changing from being your teacher to being a suitor.

There are things in life that are difficult for me, and one of them is

expressing my feelings."

She could see how difficult this was for him, and part of her wanted to

tell him not to express himself. She wished she could get away and go to

the Union Hall, then to the carnival tonight. Please, she prayed, don't let

anything ruin the carnival tonight.

"I was awake all night," he said. "I heard you come in."

Who didn't? she thought.

"I don't know and I don't want to be told what kept you out so late last

night, but I can't help but feel that some of it is my fault. I don't know if

you realize that the reason I have kept you under such strict discipline is

because I have been afraid of losing you. I know you believe the ranch has

a great deal to do with why I asked you to marry me and, to be honest,

financial security is important to me, but I asked you to marry me because

I love you."

He looked at her, and his dark eyes that Amanda had always feared

were full of hurt and pain. "You have given me back my faith in women,

Amanda. My mother—" He stopped and turned his head away.

Her eyes widened. Amanda knew nothing about his family. "Your

mother?" she asked softly.

He looked back at her, and Amanda thought perhaps she saw tears in

his eyes. She put her hand over his.

"My mother betrayed me, and I thought all women were like her, but

you're not, Amanda. You're good and kind, and I… I have treated you

abominably."

"No you haven't," she protested, squeezing his hand. "You have taught

me so much. I am probably the best educated female in America."

He gave her a grateful little smile. "Then you don't hate me?"

"Hate you? Of course not. We're engaged to be married, remember?"

She started to hold up her ring to show him, but she'd left it upstairs

again.

His smile broadened. "Amanda, I'm going to be honest with you. I don't

really know much about courting, but I'm going to try. From now on

you're not my pupil and I'm not your teacher. No more schedules; no more

lessons. We'll just do what other engaged couples do. Amanda, I want us

to be happy."

So why aren't I happy? Amanda thought. Why do I want to run into my

room and cry for about four years? "Th-that sounds wonderful," she said.

"You don't look very happy," he said teasingly. "Maybe you need some

proof." He turned in his chair and patted his knee. "Come sit on my lap."

Horror was the only word to describe what Amanda felt at his

suggestion.

"Don't look so shocked, Amanda. It's a perfectly proper thing for an

engaged couple to do."

Stiffly, she stood, and he reached out his hands and pulled her onto his

lap.

"Now, doesn't that feel nice? Amanda, you really are beautiful." His

hands went up her arms and he began trying to pull her toward him to

kiss her.

Images were going through Amanda's head: She was sitting on Hank's

lap in the cleaning closet. "I guess I would kiss him," she'd said. "No,"

Hank had answered, "start subtly. Kiss my neck, unbutton my shirt, put

your hands in my hair."

Taylor kissed her, but nothing about the kiss made her relax at all.

He pulled away and looked amused. "I can see it's going to take some

time. Amanda, I know that you'd probably prefer to be in your room

studying, but there's more to life than books. After we're married, there

are certain duties a wife performs for her husband. Not duties, exactly,

but I do believe you could come to enjoy what happens between a man and

a woman."

Amanda sat rigidly on his lap and remembered Hank saying, "Taste

me."

"I believe I could learn," she said.

"Then relax, Amanda," he said in the voice of Taylor-the-teacher.

Acting out of reflex from years of being obedient, she slumped against

him and put her head on his shoulder.

He snuggled her against him, seeming to be content, while Amanda had

the absurd idea that they didn't fit together. She thought she might be too

heavy for Taylor's thin body, and she also sensed that, although he said he

wanted her to relax, he'd be appalled if she turned to him and caressed his

ear with her tongue. She couldn't help thinking of Hank: she seemed to

weigh nothing to him as he tossed her over fences and lifted her in and out

of cars, and nothing shocked him.

"Are you willing to give me a chance at being your lover instead of your

tutor?" Taylor asked.

"Of course," Amanda said. "If we are to be married—"

"If!"

" When we are married, we will be l-lovers."

Taylor chuckled. "My shy little flower. I will introduce you to love. I

don't mean to brag, but I have had some experience."

Me, too, she wanted to say, but she was sure that wouldn't go over too

well.

He held her away to look at her. "We'll start tonight. I'll pick you up at

your Union Hall—I should see where you have your little job—and we'll go

to the carnival in Terrill City."

"The carnival?" Amanda gasped. "But—"

"Is there something wrong with the carnival? Perhaps you'd rather go

somewhere else. A dance, perhaps. A motion picture? We could just walk

in the moonlight. Perhaps a moonlight picnic? That would be nice. We

could take a chocolate cake. I know how you love chocolate."

Amanda could bear no more. She got off his lap. "The carnival will be

wonderful. I really must go now to my"—she hesitated—"to my little job. I

will see you tonight."

"No kiss goodbye?" he asked lightly.

She bent forward to kiss him and he put his hand to the back of her

head and turned her head to give her a hard, openmouthed kiss while his

other hand moved down her arm to touch the side of her breast.

She jerked away from him abruptly.

He chuckled. "See, I can be something besides a teacher. Go on now. I'll

see you this evening."

Stiffly, Amanda left the dining room. Moments later she was in the back

of the limousine on the way to the Union Hall. Now she had everything she

wanted out of life: Taylor loved her; he was treating her as an adult and

not a schoolgirl, and tonight she was going to a carnival with a man she

had loved since she was a child. She was the most fortunate, the luckiest

woman on earth.

So why did she feel as if her life were over? Why did she feel like hiding

in her room and never coming out?

By the time she got to the Union Hall, her body and face were rigid with

unshed tears. The first person she saw was Hank, and for a moment his

eyes met hers and caught fire. She looked away.

He came to her desk and leaned over her. "You're late," he whispered.

"Out late last night?"

Just his breath on her ear sent chills along her body. "You may take the

time out of my wages," she said coolly, moving to the other side of the

desk. "Wages which you haven't paid me, I might add."

Hank moved next to her. "Has something happened? If that bastard

Taylor did anything to you, I'll—"

"Taylor told me he loves me and he's taking me to the carnival tonight,

Dr. Montgomery. I really do thank you for your tutoring of me. It looks as

if it's worked perfectly." She held out her hand for him to shake. "I will

owe you my undying gratitude."

He looked at her, then at her hand. "You're quite welcome," he said just

as coolly. "If you need any more… help"—he looked her up and down in an

insolent way—"let me know." He took his wallet from inside his coat

pocket and pulled out two fives and slapped them on her desk. "For

services rendered. Now, are you planning to work or has the rich Miss

Caulden more important things to do today?"

"I can do more work in a day than you can in a week," she said, wishing

he'd just get out of her sight so she wouldn't have to remember kissing

him or dancing with him, or making love with him.

"We'll see about that." He turned away and went to his own desk.

Everyone in the hall had heard, of course. Joe looked at Reva and shook

his hand as if to say, hot one. Reva looked away and smiled, but the smile

didn't last long. She'd got Amanda away from Hank, but she didn't like to

think of that lovely Mr. Driscoll with Amanda. Either man, Amanda

couldn't lose. The fact that she had both of them enraged Reva.

Hank knew he was being childish but he couldn't contain his anger at

Amanda. She'd always told him the truth, that she only wanted Taylor.

She'd wanted to learn about sex so she could entice her fiancé. It was just

that it had somehow not seemed real. He'd never actually believed she

meant to marry that cold, sanctimonious bastard.

He was slamming papers on his desk and snapping at everyone when

Reva glared at him. "What did you want?" she asked. "Did you want to

marry Amanda? If so, why don't you go ask her and stop making the rest

of us miserable?"

"No, I don't want to marry her," he snapped. "She's in love with that

cold fish Driscoll and besides, she's a little—" Prig? That was no prim and

proper miss who danced with him last night. It was no prig who sat on his

lap in the cleaning closet. And the woman who begged him to make love to

her…

"Haven't you got any work to do?" Hank snapped at Reva, then when

she turned away he grabbed her arm. "Go to the carnival with me

tonight?"

Reva rolled her eyes. "Amanda is going to the carnival with her fiancé,

so you just happen to show up with another woman. Right?"

"You want to go or not?"

"Why not?" she said in disgust. "It can't be worse than my other dates

with you. Hank, when you leave, this town is gonna curl up and die from

boredom."

Amanda was glad for all the work Dr. Montgomery piled on her, and she

was sure some of it was contrived, but at least it kept her from thinking.

She went to lunch by herself, and for the first time since she'd met Hank,

she wasn't hungry.

When she got back to the Union Hall, two men had got into a fight over

a very pretty young woman and one man had plunged a knife into the

other one. There was an hour's chaos while the doctor and the sheriff were

summoned.

The sheriff wanted to put Hank in jail.

"He caused it and he's gonna pay," Sheriff Ramsey said, reaching for

Hank's arm.

"Unless you have some proof—" Hank began.

Amanda stepped between the two. The sheriff was a short, thick man

with a neck as big around as his head and he'd had the nickname

"Bulldog" since he was a child. Amanda had often seen him talking to her

father. "Dr. Montgomery had nothing to do with the fight," she said.

Sheriff Ramsey gave the utmost respect to Amanda because her father

secretly paid him a monthly stipend for "extra" protection. "Miss Caulden,

I don't know what you're doin' here, but this man is a menace to our

peaceful community. He wants to start a war between the pickers and the

ranchers. I hear he's givin' out guns, and here's proof he's supplyin' 'em

with knives."

Amanda was a bit bewildered at this, her first real taste of prejudice.

"No one has supplied any guns or knives, and I can assure you that all

we're doing is telling people that they have a right to join a union."

"Miss Caulden, if you'll pardon me for contradictin' you, all these people

want is bloodshed." He looked at Hank and pointed. "And yours'll be the

first blood that's shed." He looked back at Amanda. "I advise you to get

out of here before somethin' awful happens. I'm goin' right now to speak

to your daddy. I'm sure he don't know what you're gettin' yourself into."

He turned and stomped out of the hall, two men carrying the wounded

picker behind him.

Amanda turned to Hank. "What did he mean, bloodshed?"

"Some people believe that the only way to have a union is with violence.

They think no one in the world listens to problems until you first get their

attention, and the best way to do that is with a little blood being spilled."

He was watching her intently as he saw her digest this information.

She'll probably run back to her books and her safe little world now, he

thought.

"But if we explain to these people about unions, we can form one

without violence."

"Forming a union is easy. It's when the unionists present their

grievances to the owners that the anger starts. How do you keep the

owners from laughing at a petition?"

"Strike," Amanda said.

Hank laughed at her. "Strike and they can have their maids serve their

meals in their rooms for a few days?"

Amanda saw that Joe and Reva were smiling at her too, as were a

family of workers who spoke English. Once again she was a freak and an

outsider, someone who didn't belong. She had begun to feel that she was

part of something, that she was helping, but they'd never considered her

one of them. They thought she was the rich Miss Caulden who didn't

understand that not everyone had servants and unlimited budgets.

"They really should have saved some of their money," she said as

haughtily as possible. Let them believe what they would. "Perhaps they

waste it on drink and motion pictures. Perhaps I should translate the story

of the grasshopper and the ant." She flicked an imaginary speck off her

silk dress. "Couldn't we get one of these women to clean this place?" She

sat down at her desk, her back to them.

No one said anything for a while, and Amanda was torn between rage

and tears. All of them thought they were so enlightened, but they judged

her by the circumstances of her birth, not by what they could see to be

true about her.

Behind her, Hank was puzzled by her outburst. He had snapped at her

because he'd disliked the way she'd stepped between the sheriff and him,

and the sheriff's attitude had reminded Hank that she was the daughter of

the enemy. But her words were like nothing he'd heard from her before.

She'd worked hard the last few days and she had never shown any distaste

for the workers.

At six o'clock, Taylor Driscoll walked in, and Hank felt a surge of

irrational hatred for the man. And as Taylor looked down at Amanda with

soft, loving eyes, Hank broke a pencil in half.

"Are you ready?" Taylor asked quietly.

Amanda straightened her desk and left without saying a word of

farewell to the others. She still hadn't spoken when she and Taylor were

seated in the back of the limousine.

"So, that's where you work?" Taylor asked. He wasn't used to making

conversation. For the last eight years he'd talked to Harker about the

ranch and to Amanda about what she was studying.

"Where I work, but not where I belong," Amanda said with some

bitterness.

Taylor smiled. In his new position of not being her teacher, he was

determined not to tell her what he thought of that filthy house filled with

those filthy people. He reached across the seat and took her hand. "No,

darling, you don't belong with them. You belong with me and people of

your own kind."

Amanda looked at him and wondered if she were like him. She didn't

feel much like going to a carnival but she didn't want to go home either.

Maybe she did belong with Taylor. Of course she belonged to Taylor!

The carnival was loud and dirty; it stunk; it glittered; it was garish—

and Amanda loved it immediately. It was what she needed to forget people

who thought she was a spoiled little rich girl.

Taylor stepped out of the limousine and wanted to get right back in.

The place was as hideous as he remembered. There was a sign looming

over his head:

Princess Fatima, a full-blooded Bedouin

from the fabled City of Nineveh, will dance

the mystic anaconda dance exactly as danced

by Hypatia in the Holy Writ.

Next to the sign was a fifteen-foot-high picture painted on canvas of a

plump, scantily clad woman with a snake wrapped around her. This is

what he went to college for? he thought. This is what he went to college to

escape.

"Amanda, we can leave if this place offends you."

Amanda's eyes were wide in wonder as she looked about her at the skill

booths, the rides, the exhibits, the food vendors. Everyone seemed to be

yelling at once. "No, it's wonderful, isn't it?" She took his hand. "Oh,

Taylor, thank you so much for bringing me. What shall we do first? Are

you hungry? How about some popcorn? I used to eat that when I was a

child. What do you think a corn dog is? Shall we find out?"

"Oh yes, please let's do," Taylor said, thinking he just might get sick.

Did other men go through this for the women they loved? If so, it's a

wonder anyone ever got married.

An hour later Taylor was sure he was going to be sick. He'd eaten

popcorn, peanuts, a nasty thing called a corn dog and, feeling that he'd

done his duty, he had politely refused the chocolate-covered caramels

Amanda had offered him. He had even acted awestruck when a fat, dirty

fortune-teller had looked at Amanda's palm and said, "You will dance with

a queen and have a son who will become king."

Now she was looking longingly at a booth in which a vile-smelling young

man in a red satin shirt was trying to get Taylor to throw a ball at wooden

milk bottles in order to win a hideously ugly doll covered in pink and

purple feathers.

"Amanda, what if a person were to win?" he asked, aghast.

"It's just for fun," she said.

"Come on, mister," the young man called. "Three balls for a nickel. Ain't

a lovely lady like this worth a mere nickel?" He looked Amanda up and

down. " I'd pay a nickel to win her."

Amanda looked at Taylor with pleading eyes, and while he was trying to

think of a reason why he couldn't participate in this ignorant, loutish

game, they were shoved aside by another couple as if they weren't there.

Amanda's good mood left her when Dr. Montgomery and Reva stepped

in front of them. She saw Hank slam the first ball into the milk bottles, all

of them falling.

"Shall we go?" Amanda said to Taylor.

Hank turned around with a false surprised look on his face. "Well, Miss

Caulden, fancy meeting you here. Driscoll," he said, nodding at Taylor.

"You gonna throw again, mister?" the barker asked, still eyeing

Amanda.

Hank threw another ball and knocked more milk bottles down, then

turned to Taylor. "Didn't they teach pitching where you went to school?"

"I think we should go," Amanda repeated to Taylor, but he didn't move.

Hank knocked down a third set of wooden bottles.

"Your choice," the barker said to Reva, motioning to the kewpie dolls

hanging from the ceiling and walls of the booth.

Reva's face lit up as she pointed to a pink feathered doll.

Something primitive broke open inside Taylor, and he realized that it

wasn't the vulgar prizes that were to be won that made men play this

game but it was a man exhibiting his skill to win a woman. In the years

since coming to the Caulden Ranch, Taylor had almost forgotten his past,

all those years of struggling to put himself through school. One of his early

jobs had been working at night in a carnival just like this one. He would

take over for anyone who, for some reason or other, couldn't work that

night. He'd worked in every booth, on every ride, in every fake exhibit.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel.

"Taylor," Amanda said, "you really don't have to do this. I have no

desire to own one of those… those…"

"Kewpie dolls," Hank supplied. "Afraid he'll lose and embarrass you?"

he asked softly.

"He hasn't lost anything to you yet," she answered, but she held her

breath. She didn't really want Taylor to make a fool of himself.

Taylor knew the trick was that the bottom row of bottles were weighted

heavily. When he'd worked for the carnival, he'd had to demonstrate to the

audience that the bottles could be knocked down.

Easily, he knocked all three sets of bottles down, and Amanda, with a

triumphant look at Hank, chose a purple-feathered doll.

"Shall we try the shooting gallery?" Taylor asked Hank. "Or do you use

only brute force and not skill?"

"Try me," Hank said.

"I'm not sure—" Amanda began, but the two men stalked ahead of the

women. Amanda gave Reva a weak smile and looked at the garish, fragile

doll. "It is kind of cute, isn't it?"

"Which? Their idiocy or the doll?"

"Definitely the doll," Amanda answered.

The men went from one booth to another. Hank had to work harder,

because he had no inside information on how to win the games, but he

tried as if he were competing for his life. Taylor won at the booths that

required skill and knowledge, but Hank beat him badly at the strength

test. He made the bell ring, shoved a stuffed animal into Reva's full arms,

then rang it a second time to win an animal for Amanda—but she refused

to accept it.

By nine o'clock the women were weighted down with dolls, stuffed

animals, plates, ugly little cups and saucers, and "surprise" packages. The

two men prowled ahead of them like lions on the hunt.

When they'd covered every booth, the men turned and glared at each

other.

"May we please take these things back to the car?" Amanda asked. "And

if it's all the same with you, Taylor, I'd like to go home. I can feel a raging

headache coming on."

Reva stood there, her arms full to brimming, and looked from one man

to the other. She didn't think that Amanda had any real idea of what was

going on, but Reva did. She was sure that Taylor had been winning prizes

for her—not Amanda. She'd seen the way Taylor had glanced in her

direction every time he won. He'd shoved the prize into Amanda's arms

but it had been Reva he had looked at.

I think I may be in love with him, Reva thought with horror. He was

completely wrong for her—he had no money at all—and she figured he'd

never in his life marry someone like her, but right now she wanted to leave

the carnival and be with him. Don't do it, she told herself. He needs money

as much as you do, and he'll sell himself by marrying Amanda so he can

get the Caulden Ranch. But before he married Amanda, she meant to have

him.

Reva doubled over as if in pain, dropping most of the gaudy prizes.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked, trying to free an arm to help Reva.

Taylor was there instantly, his arms supporting Reva.

"Just a stomachache. I think I better go home."

"Come on, then," Hank said reluctantly.

Reva groaned and clutched her stomach. "The ride in that little car of

yours! I hope it doesn't make me sicker." She looked at Taylor, saw the

interest in his eyes.

"I'll take her home," Taylor said. "She can stretch out in the back of my

car."

"But I hate to ruin everyone's fun." Her eyes locked with Taylor's and

she sensed that he understood her meaning.

Taylor straightened, and when he looked at Amanda he was her teacher

once again. "Amanda, I am going to escort Miss Eiler to her home, but it

is not necessary to ruin your evening. You may stay, and Dr. Montgomery,

I'm sure, will drive you home." He didn't wait for an answer from either of

them. "Here, Miss Eiler, let me carry those things for you. Good night,

Amanda, and don't stay out too late." He started walking away with Reva

beside him.

Amanda gritted her teeth. "I should have blackened both her eyes when

I had a chance," she said angrily.

Hank was laughing. "What's the matter? Somebody steal your

boyfriend?"

"Would you mind taking me home now? This minute?"

"How about a trip through the Tunnel of Love?"

"I'd as soon walk through a pit of snakes," she said and began walking

ahead of him.

He caught her arm. "What's wrong with you? It looks to me like we have

a splendid opportunity here. Reva has run off with your ice man boyfriend

—what she wants with him, though, beats me—and here we are alone. You

want to go somewhere private?"

"Not with you I don't."

He spun her about so that two animals and one plate went flying.

"What's wrong with you? Last night you danced in my arms so close we

were like lovers. We have been lovers. All I have to do is touch you and—"

"Right!" she hissed at him. "I'm no better to you than… than a paid

woman, but when it comes time to defend me, you're a stranger. You may

know about my body but you know nothing about me. "

"Amanda," he whispered, "we're drawing a crowd. Let's go somewhere

quiet."

She started walking, him beside her. "Your room, perhaps?"

"What's eating you? What's made you so all-fired mad at me? Was it

showing up here with Reva? Is it jealousy that's making you so mad?"

Amanda opened her arms and dropped all the prizes. "Men!" she

gasped. "Do you think that every time a woman gets angry she's jealous? I

don't care if you date Reva Eiler; I don't care if you date a hundred

women. What I'm so mad about is what happened this afternoon. I may

not know all the ways a union works and I may be naive about a lot of the

ways of the world, but I'll be damned—yes, you heard me— damned if I'll

let you or anyone else treat me like an empty-headed society girl. I had

never participated in society until I met you. I happen to care about those

people I've met at the Union Hall. I've defied my fiancé and embarrassed

my family in order to help with something I've come to believe in, yet you

and the rest of them treat me as if I have no conscience or no brain. Now,

Dr. Montgomery, take your prizes and your fast little car and put them

someplace not many people see. I will walk home."

She turned on her heel, nearly tripped over a stuffed duck, then kept

walking.

Chapter Sixteen

« ^ »

Hank managed to get her into his car. It wasn't an easy task. He wasn't

really sure what she was so angry about, but it seemed her feelings had

been hurt today at work. Twice on the drive to her house he tried to talk to

her, but she wouldn't speak to him. Maybe she was feeling rotten because

she was finally realizing that she didn't love that emotionless Driscoll. It

was good she was at last coming to her senses, but Hank saw no reason for

her to take her anger out on him.

"Look out!" Amanda screamed.

Hank saw the two men standing in the road just when Amanda did.

There was no way he could stop the car in time, so he swerved to the left to

avoid hitting them. Even as he was pulling on the hand brake, he knew

who the men were and what they wanted. "Stay in the car, Amanda," he

said softly. "Whatever you do, stay in the car. And don't tell them who you

are. I don't want the Caulden name mentioned in front of these men.

Understand me?"

Amanda realized that something serious was happening and now was

not the time for petty private quarrels. She nodded at Hank.

The men had started running as soon as they saw

Hank's car and they reached it just as he was getting out.

"Hello, Doc," the taller one said. He had prematurely white hair and

bright blue eyes that the car headlamps showed to be glittering. "You

know Andrei, don't you?"

Hank didn't smile. "Your last partner was killed down in San Diego,

wasn't he? Whitey, we don't want you here."

"That's no way to talk to an old friend," Whitey Graham said.

"We're forming a union," Hank said, "and we want no bloodshed."

Whitey put his palms on the back of the Mercer and leaned toward

Hank. "Violence is the only way to get the world to look at us and you

know it. Nothing will happen unless we spill a little blood—and Caulden's

will be first. I've heard of the way he treats his pickers. This year we'll get

the bastard."

Hank held his breath and hoped desperately that Amanda would sit

silently in the car and not let these men know who she was. These men

were fanatics, dedicated to a cause, and the cause meant more to them

than their freedom or their lives or the lives of anyone else for that matter.

They meant to show the world what was wrong with it and they had

decided that the only way to do that was by first getting the world's

attention. They believed that Americans would overlook a thousand stories

about the sad plight of the migrant worker but they would listen to stories

of death and violence and bloodshed. Whitey Graham and one partner

after another had traveled around America inciting different groups of

migrant workers to rage against the treatment they were receiving. The

rages had cost the loss of property and lives but they had forced reforms to

be made. Whitey believed the solution was worth the cost.

"Caulden has the local sheriff in his pocket," Hank said. "He's a

treacherous little man named Bulldog Ramsey and he'll break you in half

with his bare hands."

"If he catches me," Whitey said. He glanced at Amanda. "I hear

Caulden's daughter works for you."

"She does and she's a good worker. She's helped a lot in forming the

pickers into a union."

"Forming them into a union." Whitey laughed. "They have to take care

of their bellies and Caulden knows it. Caulden holds all the cards. He can

treat the pickers like scum and they can't afford to do anything but take

it." Whitey's eyes burned in the lamplight. "Someday we're going to take

the power away from people like Caulden. Someday a union will speak for

the workers. But before that happens we have to light some fires."

"Your fires burn people!" Hank half shouted. "Go back to where you

came from, Whitey. The ULW has sent half a dozen organizers and I'm

telling the pickers what a union is. We don't need you and your guns."

Again Whitey turned to look at the back of Amanda's head. She didn't

look as if she'd moved a muscle since the car had stopped. "I hear

Caulden's daughter is real pretty. As pretty as this lady?"

Hank snorted. "Caulden's daughter is as pretty as he is. All she needs is

a cigar in her mouth and she could be his twin. This lady is Miss Janet

Armstrong."

"Too bad," Whitey said. "I'll bet Caulden would do a lot to protect his

daughter."

As Hank looked at the wild, glittering eyes of Whitey, those eyes

combined with the unnatural glow of his white hair, Hank felt chills along

his spine. Amanda would be a prime target of their fanaticism. Kidnap

her and they could blackmail Caulden into doing what they wanted. Kill

her, Hank thought, and they would get the world to look at the problems

of the migrant pickers.

"I can handle this, Whitey," Hank said, doing his best to keep the fear

out of his voice. "Go back to where you came from."

Whitey stepped out of the circle of light made by the car headlamps.

"Sure, Doc. I'll leave as soon as I see there're no problems. As soon as I see

that my people are treated right, first by Caulden then by the other hop

ranchers, I'll go home. I won't cause no problems." His voice began to fade

as he moved farther away from the car. "And you say hello to that Miss

Caulden for me. What's her name? Amy, is it? No, it's Amanda. You tell

her Whitey Graham says hello to her." There were footsteps, then it was

quiet.

Hank stood where he was, and in spite of the heat even at night, he felt

cold. He didn't speak to Amanda as he started the car and got back into it.

He went from being cold to sweating, so that by the time he reached the

Caulden Ranch he was sweltering.

He stopped the car and turned to Amanda. "I don't want any argument

from you, but tomorrow I want you to stay home. In fact, don't even go

outside. Have Taylor give you some lessons and spend the day in your

room."

Amanda didn't bother to answer his patronizing tone. "Do you think

they mean to kill my father?" she whispered.

Hank just wanted her safe. He cursed himself for allowing her to work

at the Union Hall, for exposing her to what could be a violent situation.

"Whitey isn't really sane. He believes himself to be on the side of the

workers, but I think it's an excuse to justify violence. Last year in Chicago

he beat up an eighty-year-old—" He stopped abruptly. He was so upset at

Whitey's threats to Amanda that he wasn't thinking clearly. "I don't think

he means to kill your father. More likely it will be innocent people who get

killed, some man who has six kids to support. Whitey just wants blood to

flow so the newspapers will write about it. It doesn't matter whose blood it

is." He lowered his voice. "Not even yours, Amanda."

"Innocent people," Amanda said. "My father may not be killed, but

'innocent' people might. Does this imply that my father is guilty."

"Amanda, I don't want to get into this. Your father is out to make a

profit any way he can. He doesn't care what he has to do to make a profit.

I told you that he'd advertised in three states for his pickers. That's so

thousands will show up. Maybe two thousand of them will agree to a union

and will walk out of the fields if the conditions are intolerable, but there

will be thousands more who are so hungry they'll work no matter what the

conditions."

"My father isn't an inhumane man," Amanda said softly.

Maybe it was having been near Whitey's intense emotions, but Hank

felt his own rising. "Your father shunned his own wife for years because

before they were married she danced on a stage. He turned his only child

over to a cold machine of a man who withheld food from her if she didn't

obey his every whim. I wouldn't say Caulden is a man who is capable of

putting himself in the place of others. Caulden decides what he wants and

goes after it. It doesn't matter how many people get knocked down on his

way to obtaining his goal. He wants profit from the hops and the hops

have to be picked. I don't imagine he ever considered that those are people

in his fields. They are profit-making machines to him."

"My father isn't like that," Amanda said. "You don't know him like I

do." She remembered their meals together for the last few days. She

refused to remember his words that he couldn't abide her. That was her

fault, not his. She got out of the car, not waiting for Hank to offer his

hand.

Hank jumped out of the car and ran after her. He stepped in front of

her, his hands on her shoulders. "Amanda, whatever you feel about your

father, that doesn't matter. What matters to me is your safety. I want you

to promise me that you'll stay home tomorrow and not come to the Union

Hall."

"What would you do if Reva were threatened?"

"Reva?" he asked. "What has she got to do with this? You still jealous of

Reva and Taylor leaving the carnival together?"

Amanda walked away from him but he moved in front of her.

"I want your promise, Amanda."

"If Reva's life were threatened you'd probably think she was courageous

enough to stand up to it. But me, I'm supposed to hide in my room

because I'm just a silly little society girl, is that right?"

Hank gaped at her. No man could ever live long enough to understand

women. "If Reva's life were threatened I'd want her to stay someplace safe

too."

"But Reva's poor and I'm rich and that makes all the difference in the

world."

Hank felt as if he'd just drunk a quart of whiskey and jumped on a

merry-go-round. "The unionists want you because you're Caulden's

daughter. Amanda, promise me you'll stay home tomorrow."

She walked past him. "Do not concern yourself with me, Dr.

Montgomery, I can take care of myself. If not, I'm sure I can buy my way

out of any situation." She hurried ahead into her house.

Hank stood outside, his fists clenched in anger. If he had to tie her to

the bed in her room, he'd not let her expose herself to the fanatics'

violence. He didn't understand just what she was so angry about but he

wasn't going to let some little feminine snit of hers endanger her life. He

went back to his car.

Amanda leaned against the front door of her house for a few moments.

She knew she hadn't made any sense, but lately it seemed that her

emotions were always ruling her brain. Those union men had scared her,

scared her a great deal. The man named Whitey had a voice that quivered

with emotion and it grated on Amanda like a metal file on her skin. The

man talked of murder the way a person would speak of reading a book.

Today when bloodshed in connection with the union was mentioned it had

seemed like something remote and not possible. But this man Whitey

made violence seem not only possible but likely.

If only there was something she could do!

Suddenly she stopped slumping against the door. All the talk of

bloodshed was based on the assumption that her father was going to force

the pickers to work under hideous conditions. If there was some way she

could persuade the unionists that her father was not the monster they

seemed to think he was, she could prevent violence before it started.

Even at this hour of the night her father was in the library. She had

never before dared to disturb him, but lately she seemed to be doing many

things she'd never dared before. She knocked on the library door, and

when he told her to come in she slid the door open.

When he looked up at her, a scowl on his face, she was ready to turn

and flee. J. Harker Caulden was not a man who liked surprises, and his

daughter's unexpected appearance was obviously unwelcome. Amanda

braced herself.

"Father, I would like to speak to you about an important matter," she

said, trying to still her pounding heart.

"If it's about your marriage to Taylor—"

"No, it's not," she said quickly. Did all men think that women only

concerned themselves with emotions like jealousy and romantic love? "I

have been working with the unionists, and the people seem to think you're

a… a tyrant and I would very much like to reassure them that you aren't. I

want them to know that you do care about your fellow man."

J. Harker put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and studied her.

Things were changing in his household and he didn't know what was

causing the changes. Some of them he liked and some he didn't like at all.

He liked his wife flirting with him and he liked his daughter showing a

little spunk. But he didn't like her thinking she had the right to ask what

he was doing when he ran his ranch. In the last few days Taylor had been

giving him problems too. What did people like Amanda and Taylor know

about running a ranch? They'd had their noses in books all their lives.

Harker was beginning to doubt his wisdom in choosing Taylor as a

son-in-law. Maybe he should find someone else for his daughter to marry.

But now Amanda stood before him looking like a scared rabbit who was

putting on a brave little face and demanding to know how he was running

his own ranch. He was tempted to tell her to get the hell out of his office,

but then he thought he'd be wiser to use his daughter's connections to that

unionist rabble. Perhaps he could help prevent any trouble. Not that it

mattered much to him. Bulldog was deputizing half a dozen more men

and they were going to be all over the fields during the picking. They'd

stop any trouble before it started.

"Have they told you that all I care about is profit?" J. Harker asked.

"Why, yes."

"That I don't care about the people in the fields?"

Amanda was beginning to lose her feeling of terror. "Yes, they have."

"I do hope, Amanda, that you didn't believe them. That you didn't side

against your own father."

"No, sir, I didn't. But I did want to hear the truth from you."

"I'm glad you came to me. It's time you learned a little about the ranch

that supports you. You see, this isn't the first year I've had problems. For

the last eleven years there have been rumblings of strikes and shootings

and I've borne it all without ever defendin' myself. Everyone thinks I make

an enormous profit on this ranch, but the truth is I barely pull through.

Those union men only think of what I sell the hops for, they never consider

the expense I have to put out. Amanda, it costs twenty-four dollars to grow

a bale of hops and twenty dollars of that goes to pay unskilled labor. Hell,

it cost nine thousand dollars a year just for the string to trellis the hops.

Nobody ever thinks of string, do they? I guess they think I get it free

somewhere. And then there's the cost of dryin' and shippin'. And this year

it's been so dry I have two thirds the crop of last year. All these things add

up." He stopped and stared at her.

"I'd like to pay these people twenty dollars a bale," Harker continued. "I

know they're poor and I know they think I'm rich, but I pay them as much

as I can. This year the price of hops is down so low that I'm havin' to cut

corners everywhere—but I'm not cuttin' in wages, Amanda. I'm cuttin'

everywhere else so I can still pay these poor workers top wages. For

instance, every year I've let the Kingman store owners set up little satellite

stores out in the fields. The workers spend their money with the Kingman

merchants while I provide the land as well as the opportunity, but I don't

mind—I share wherever I can. But this year I can't afford to be generous.

Taylor's settin' up stores full of supplies I've bought. That way, through the

stores, I'll be able to make a little profit, but I won't have to cut the wages

of the poor worker."

Amanda was feeling jubilant. Her father wasn't a monster as everyone

said. They just didn't understand. "If the union leaders came to you asking

for things such as water delivered to the fields, you'd listen to their

requests?"

J. Harker smiled at his daughter. "I've already arranged for lemonade to

be delivered to the fields. And food. And glasses of cool well water."

"Oh," Amanda said, smiling. She felt as if her whole body were smiling.

There'd be no need for the unionists to demand anything. The workers

would know they had a right to protest but they wouldn't have anything to

protest against. Who could get angry at a man who had lemonade

delivered to the fields? "Thank you," she said, smiling. "I shall tell the

unionists." She started backing toward the door. "Goodnight, Father," she

said and left the room.

She went up the stairs as if her feet weren't touching ground.

Everything was settled. There would be no violence. Actually, there would

not even be a need for a union. If every employer were like her father and

delivered lemonade to the fields, the workers would have no need to form a

union.

Amanda undressed and went to bed still smiling. Tomorrow she'd be

able to tell that smug Dr. Montgomery that he could eat his words. And

wouldn't that awful man Whitey be disappointed? It wouldn't do any good

to draw the newspapers' attention to a man who paid his workers top

wages and delivered food and lemonade to them in the fields. And there

would be no need to fear going to the Union Hall tomorrow. She was safe,

made safe by her father, who was, in spite of what others said, a good

man.

She went to sleep, never once giving a thought to Taylor. Nor did she

wake when, at three a.m. , he came creeping up the stairs, his shoes in his

hand.

"Lemonade!" Hank yelled at her. "You risked your life by coming in here

today because of lemonade?"

As soon as she'd walked into the Union Hall, Hank had grabbed her arm

and pulled her into the cleaning closet. Now he stood glaring down at her,

his eyes on fire with rage, cords in his neck standing out from the force of

his shouting.

"Why bother to try for privacy?" she said coolly. "When you shout like

that everyone can hear you."

"I don't give a good goddamn who hears me. Just where do you think

you're going?"

Amanda was trying to open the closet door but he'd locked it. "I won't

stay here and listen to such language."

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. "What your

father said to you was worse than any language I know. He lied to you,

Amanda. Out and out lied. If he were good to his workers there wouldn't

be any need for us to be here."

"That is what I have been trying to tell you. There isn't going to be any

violence. You can tell your friend, that awful man Whitey, to go home. He

can find some other rancher to harass."

Hank dropped his hands and his face changed. "Do you really believe

that, Amanda?" he asked softly. "Do you really see us as the villains? Do

you think the governor sent me here for no reason? Do you believe we are

just out to cause an innocent, loving man like your father problems?"

"I think you have misjudged him. I'm not saying other ranchers aren't

persecuting their workers, but my father is a good man. He does the best

he can. He has enormous expenses, and no one takes those expenses into

account. He—" She broke off when Hank pushed past her and unlocked

the door.

He held the door open. "Go home, Miss Caulden," he said tiredly. "This

is no place for you. You are merely a recording device and nothing more. If

I wanted to hear Caulden's platitudes, I'd have asked him. Now go home

and stay hidden inside until the hops are picked and what's going to

happen has happened."

Amanda walked past him into the hall. "You have made up your mind

and I can't change it," she said stiffly. "But you will see. I just hope you're

man enough to admit when you're wrong. Good day, Dr. Montgomery."

She turned away from him and left the Union Hall.

On the drive back to the Caulden Ranch, her anger rose to the boiling

point. The union organizers wanted to believe something was wrong,

wanted to sing their union songs, wanted to believe they were the

equivalent of slaves building a pyramid for a power-mad pharaoh. Today

the picking started and by tomorrow they would have had time to see that

at the Caulden Ranch human beings were treated as such.

She smiled to herself as she thought of how Dr. Montgomery would

react. Would he be disappointed when there was no reason for his union?

He wanted to present a petition for water to be delivered to the fields.

She'd like to see his face when he found water, food and cool, delicious

lemonade was being handed out to the workers. Perhaps she'd ask her

father if she could distribute the lemonade. She had a vision of offering

Dr. Montgomery a tall, frosty glass and smiling at him graciously. She

doubted very much that he would admit he was wrong.

She left the limousine to go into the house, and the first person she

encountered was Taylor. His eyes looked a little tired but he compensated

for it by holding his spine especially rigid.

"Amanda," he said sternly, "I was just coming to get you. Your job at

that place is now ended. The picking began today, and I see no reason for

you to further expose yourself to those people."

"They are not 'those people'; they are human beings. If you do not have

the courtesy to think of them as such, at least my father does."

"I will not be spoken to in such a manner, Amanda."

Amanda started to contradict him but she closed her mouth. In a few

more days Dr. Montgomery would go home, defeated, and she would be

left here alone with Taylor. She had better do what she could to placate

him. "I apologize. It's the heat. It makes me on edge. I have already quit

my job and I won't be returning."

"Good," he said quickly. "Now I think you'd better stay in your room

until this is over. You've been involved more than enough."

"Of course," she murmured and started for the stairs, but she paused

and turned back. "Taylor, I wonder if it might be possible for me to go to

the fields and help. I would like to distribute the lemonade, perhaps."

Taylor's eyes widened. "Distribute the—" He calmed himself. "The men

will be in the fields and I do not believe it's a place for a lady."

"But I worked with those men at the Union Hall."

"Amanda! Do not defy me. I cannot allow you to go into the fields. You

would be horribly in the way. Do you want to cause everyone more work?"

"No," she said and realized her hand was tightly clutching the banister.

It didn't seem that she was needed anywhere. They didn't need her at the

Union Hall and they didn't need her in the fields.

"I have written out a schedule for you and put it on your desk. I cannot

stay to test you as I am needed in the fields. And, Amanda, when the hops

are in, you and I are going to talk about your dismissal of Mrs. Gunston. I

could not persuade her to remain." He stood there and watched as she

climbed the stairs.

Once inside her room, Amanda realized that her jubilant mood was

gone. She held up the new schedule and remembered Taylor telling her

there would be no more schedules. She also remembered his talking about

their being lovers. But the Taylor who she had just seen was as formal and

cold as she had ever seen him.

She tossed the schedule, unread, on the desk and flopped across her

bed. It was so hot and she felt so restless. She tried to recapture her good

mood by imagining Dr. Montgomery when he realized how wrong he had

been, but she couldn't quite conjure the vision.

She stood, looked at the schedule, saw she was to translate Caesar's

Campaigns from Latin and groaned. Out the window she could see her

mother sprawled on a lounge chair under the shade of a tree, reading and

eating what looked to be chocolates. Amanda grabbed her writing

materials, her Latin book and went to join her mother.

She spent a very pleasant afternoon lazing about in the shade in the

company of her mother. Her mother gave her a fascinating novel written

by a woman named the Countess de la Glace. It was all about romance and

passion and a woman suffering over the love of a man who wasn't worth

suffering over. Amanda read it avidly and put away a pound and a half of

chocolates.

The next day her father and Taylor were too busy to notice that she

wasn't where she was supposed to be, doing what she'd been told to do, so

she spent more time with her mother. Amanda, feeling that she was

greatly daring, asked her mother about the time she'd danced on stage.

Grace talked for hours, and Amanda began to realize that what her

mother had done sounded more like hard work than sinful.

"But you had courage," Amanda said. "I wish I had courage."

"I think perhaps you do," Grace answered. "You just haven't found what

you need courage for."

"You mean like Ariadne?" Amanda asked, motioning toward the

Countess de la Glace's novel. "To decide I love a man and fight for him?"

"Who do you love, Amanda?"

"Taylor, of course," Amanda answered quickly, but her face turned red.

Her time with Dr. Montgomery had been an experiment, nothing more.

But part of her imagined how he'd act when he found out he was wrong

about the workers on the Caulden Ranch. Would he be so contrite that

he'd propose marriage? "I was wrong, Amanda, my darling," she imagined

him saying. "I want to spend the rest of my life with a woman as wise as

you are." She loved the idea of his admitting that she wasn't stupid—the

way he always made her feel. But did she love him? Would she marry him?

Leave Taylor and the parents she loved to travel about the world in his

little yellow car?

"Amanda," Grace said, interrupting her daughter's daydreaming, "is

that possibly your Dr. Montgomery?"

Amanda turned to look. It was he, coming from the direction of the

fields. This was it, she thought. He was coming to apologize and to… Dare

she hope for more?

"Amanda," Grace said, and there was concern in her voice, "I don't

know Dr. Montgomery personally, but it's my guess from the way he's

walking that he's angry."

Amanda smiled. "Angry at himself, perhaps. I think he's found out his

coming here was useless. He's a very proud man and I'm sure he'll hate

admitting he was wrong."

Amanda stood and smoothed her skirt. "I hope you won't mind if I

invite him to tea. I think I'll order lemonade. It's a little joke we share."

"Whatever you say, dear, but Dr. Montgomery looks to me to be—"

"There you are!" Hank yelled when he was several feet away. He was in

shirt sleeves and he was so soaked with sweat he looked as if he'd been

caught in a rainstorm. "I told you to stay inside for safety's sake but here

you are for anyone to see. You believe anyone who lies to you but you can't

believe me when I tell you the truth."

Amanda blushed crimson and refused to look down at her mother. She

opened her mouth to reply but Hank's hand clamped down on her forearm

and started pulling her. "Stop it!" she managed to say. "This is my mother

and—"

"How do you do, Mrs. Caulden. Amanda is coming with me. I am going

to show her how her father treats the people who work for him."

"By all means, do," Grace said, looking at this man with interest. No one

had told her Dr. Montgomery was such a handsome, virile young man.

"I do not want to go with you," Amanda said.

"You go on your feet or bottom end up." His eyes were blazing and he

hadn't shaved in days. He looked almost frightening.

"I will not—"

Hank bent, put his shoulder to her stomach and heaved her over his

shoulder.

"Release me!" Amanda yelled, beating his back with her fists.

Hank slapped her behind. "I'm too tired to be beaten."

"Mother, help me!" Amanda cried.

"Cookie, Dr. Montgomery?" Grace Caulden asked, holding out the plate.

"Thanks," he said, took a handful, then turned on his heel and left.

Grace went back to reading, and it was hours before she stopped

smiling.

"Put me down," Amanda said.

Hank set her to the ground then grabbed her forearm and began pulling

her behind him. "I want you to see something," he said.

"I was told not to go to the fields."

He stopped and turned on her. "You still won't think for yourself, will

you, Amanda? You believe what everyone tells you, no questions asked.

How your father has treated the pickers in the past years has been so bad

people are talking of murder in order to make it stop, but that doesn't

affect you. Caulden spends five minutes telling you he's a good man and

you believe him over hundreds of other people."

"But he's my father, he—"

"You can't make a person good because you want to believe it. You can't

will it to happen." He turned and started pulling her again. "I want you to

see why unions are being formed."

Amanda was as angry as he was now and thought she'd love to see him

drive off a cliff in his little yellow automobile. Her anger kept her from at

first realizing what was before her.

She smelled the place first. It didn't take a breeze to bring the smell to

her. It was a hundred and five degrees and the humidity was high as they

got closer to the irrigated fields. Suddenly she knew she didn't want to see

what lay ahead in the tented city on the horizon. "Wait," she said, jerking

back and halting. "I don't want to go."

"Neither do I. I want to take a bath and maybe get ready to go to a

dance tonight, but they can't and I can't and you can't." He began pulling

her again.

On the east end of the hop fields was an enormous flat meadow that was

now covered with tents and crude little shelters. There were also piles of

filthy straw here and there. Garbage was everywhere: bones, rotting meat,

horse manure. The flies were thick, and Amanda saw the skinned head of

a sheep at the door of one tent, maggots crawling over it.

Hank had her arm firmly in his hand. "Your father rents the tents for

seventy-five cents a day. Considering that a grown man works all day in

this sun and this humidity and makes about ninety cents, that's a little

steep, wouldn't you say? The ones who can't afford the tents buy straw and

live on it. There is no provision for garbage."

He pulled her down the road to the center of the stench, and for a

moment Amanda could only stare. Here were the outdoor toilets. There

was a line of fifteen to twenty people waiting before each toilet, and as

Amanda watched, one pregnant woman in the back of a line stepped aside

and vomited. Amanda's own stomach turned over and she was still yards

from the toilet.

"Your father has provided nine toilets for two thousand eight hundred

people," Hank said. "Each one's a two-holer. The men and women share

the toilets—they're only laborers, so who cares about privacy? They're just

animals. Yesterday the pickers tried keeping the grounds clean by

disposing of their garbage in the toilets, but the holes are only two feet

deep. They were full by last night. Caulden doesn't provide any cleaning.

Would you like to go inside one, Amanda? There's excrement on the floor

an inch deep. As you can see, the smell makes the people sick. Stay here

long enough and you'll get to see someone soil his pants or her skirt. The

filth is giving everyone dysentery."

Amanda's defiance was leaving her. She had never seen anything like

this, never imagined anything like this. Hank didn't have to pull her when

they walked away. He stopped by a well pump.

"There are two wells for all the workers, but they're pumped dry by

sunup, and the next closest well is a mile away. They don't get much rest

as it is, but they lose what little they have by going for water."

He began walking toward the fields, his hand still clutching her

forearm. He led her to the hop fields. On one side the workers had pulled

down the tall, steeplelike trellis that supported the hop vines and on the

other side the trellis was still up. The field was covered with men, women

and children hurriedly pulling down the vines and stuffing them into bags.

It was unbearably hot here and the heat waves shimmered in the

humidity.

"Would you like to work in that heat, Amanda? A man died from the

heat yesterday. So far four kids have been taken out on stretchers. There're

no toilets out here, so the pickers can either not go all day or take the hour

or so to walk back to the camp and wait in line for the toilet. And do they

drag their one-hundred-pound bag of hops with them or leave it and let

someone steal it? They go there," Hank said, pointing to the unpicked

rows. "Of course that means that when they reach that part of the field

they have to pick while walking in human excrement."

Amanda could say nothing. She could barely stand up in the intolerable

heat. She made no resistance when Hank began pulling her again. He led

her to a wagon, took money from his pocket and handed it to the man

standing at the back of the wagon. "How about a cool glass of lemonade,

Amanda?" he asked and handed her a filthy glass with a hot liquid in it.

She didn't dare refuse him. She took a sip, then grimaced. With great

difficulty she swallowed the awful-tasting drink.

"Citric acid," Hank said. "Lemons cost more. With citric acid your

father can make gallons for pennies, sell it for five cents a glass and make

hundreds of dollars of profit." He took the glass from her and offered it to

a sweaty, tired-looking little girl of about eight years. The child drank it

greedily and looked at Hank with adoring eyes before turning back toward

the fields.

"Your father sells food too, and the only water they get is one glass for

one bowl of stew. You want a second glass you have to buy another bowl of

stew. You can't buy the water by itself—and Caulden sure as hell doesn't

give away the water for free."

He began pulling her again, but this time Amanda walked beside him.

He didn't have to hold her to him. She had to see all of it, had to see part

of the world she had never known existed. She had sat in her room year

after year while the hops were picked and had never even wondered about

the people picking them.

Hank led her to the weigh station but they couldn't get close because

everywhere were men and women frantically dumping their heavy canvas

bags full of hops on the ground and stripping the vines and leaves off.

There was pain and anguish written on the faces of the people, as if they

were fighting for their lives.

"It takes a man many hours to pick a one-hundred-pound bag of hops,

and then he drags his bag to be weighed and have it credited to his name,

but your father has set up inspectors to tell the pickers the hops aren't

'clean' enough. So the pickers have to waste precious hours pulling off

vines and string and tossing out unripe hops. Usually a man can pick two

hundred fifty to four hundred pounds a day, but your father has it so a

man can only get a hundred pounds a day. He works all day in this sun, no

water, no toilet, and he earns from ninety cents to a dollar ten."

He turned to face her. "You know why your father demands such clean

hops? Two reasons: one, he doesn't have to pay for the weight of a few

leaves and string, but, most important, the second reason is because he

wants the worker to quit. Your father is awfully clever, Amanda. I wonder

if you got your brains from him. He came up with an ingenious way to

cheat these people. The going rate across the country for hop picking is a

dollar a hundred pounds. Your father, in his ads, promised top wages and

a 'bonus.' His wages are ninety cents a hundred-pound bale and a ten-cent

bonus for every bale picked. This 'bonus' is to be paid to the people who

stay the whole harvest time. If a worker quits before all the hops are in, he

loses his 'bonus.' Already a thousand Japanese have left. They wouldn't

work in this filth. For every person who quits, your father gains ten cents

on a hundred pounds. Multiply ten cents by thousands of bales by

thousands of people. What you'll get is one hell of a lot of cigars for

Caulden and"—he looked her up and down—"one hell of a lot of silk dresses

for you, Amanda."

Hank's fury was spent now and his shoulders slumped. "You can go

home now, Amanda. Go home and sit under a tree with your pretty

mother and enjoy what your father provides for you."

"Wh-what is going to happen here?" she managed to say. Her voice was

hoarse. The horror of what she was seeing was just seeping into her.

"I don't know. This is worse than I was led to believe. Whitey has been

doing a lot of talking. The workers are terrified of losing their jobs, but

seeing your six-year-old kid pass out in the heat does something to you.

And as hard as these people are working, what with the wages so low and

the food and water so expensive, they're spending what they're making.

Some of them are already in debt to your father. Tempers are beginning to

boil. I think they'll go to your father soon."

"He won't listen," Amanda said, watching a little girl pull vines off hops.

She was about three years old, and the seat of her pants, showing under

her dirty dress, was soiled. Amanda didn't feel like defending her father.

The man who could allow something like this year after year couldn't be

defended.

Hank lifted one eyebrow at her. "No, he won't listen, but I'm going to try

to persuade him. I worry what will happen if some changes aren't made."

"You?" Amanda said. "But this morning I saw Sheriff Ramsey come to

our house. Sheriff Ramsey will…" She trailed off.

"Shoot first," Hank said. "I'm aware of that. I want you to go back now,

Amanda. I don't want Whitey to know who you are. Stay in your room.

Better yet, why don't you and your mother go to San Francisco for a few

days?"

Amanda could only look at him. Coward, she thought, I have always

been a coward. At fourteen I was afraid to stand up to Taylor, and at

twenty-two I'm afraid to stand up to my father. She turned away from him

and started back toward the ranch house. Maybe she could make up for

lost time.

Hank watched her go. It wasn't her fault, he knew that, but he'd wanted

her to see what he was fighting. He made a little prayer that she'd take his

advice and go away somewhere. But he didn't have time to worry about

Amanda. He had to find Whitey and see what that fanatic was planning.

These people were just hot enough and angry enough that it wouldn't take

much to push them over the edge.

Chapter Seventeen

« ^ »

The door to the library was open, but it wouldn't have mattered to

Amanda if it were closed. She walked into the room. Her father sat at the

desk, papers before him, Taylor bent over him.

Taylor straightened and frowned at her. "Amanda, you are supposed to

be in your room. I told you—"

Amanda looked only at her father. "There is going to be violence if you

don't change what is happening in the fields."

J. Harker looked at her, his only movement his mouth working on his

cigar.

"Amanda, you are not to speak of things you know nothing about,"

Taylor said. "You are to go to your room this instant and—"

"Shut up, Taylor," Amanda said. "This is family." Her father leaned

back in his chair and Amanda met his gaze equally. The smells of the

toilets and the rotting garbage were still in her nostrils. "The union leaders

are talking about bloodshed, and your blood is whose they want to see

first."

"Amanda," Taylor said, recovering from his shock, "you cannot—"

She turned to look at him. "Sit!" she ordered, as if he were a pesky little

dog. She glared at him until he obeyed her, then she went to her father's

desk, put her hands on it and leaned forward. "You've got away with your

thievery for years now, but this year is different. I think the pickers could

put up with the filth and the lack of water, but they won't put up with the

way you're cheating them of their money. If you don't start paying, they're

going to start shooting." She looked at her father and their eyes were alike,

both angry and stubborn.

"Amanda, I—" Taylor began.

Amanda glanced at him. "You keep quiet or you leave." She looked back

at her father. "Well?"

J. Harker gave a snort of derision. "I have fifteen men working for me in

the fields. They tell me what's going on, and if they can't reach me to ask

permission, they carry guns and they know how to use them. Bull has

more men posted around the area. Let them talk all they want, but the

blood spilled will be theirs, not mine."

Amanda stood back. She had no intention of asking why he had so little

humanity and she could see it was no use trying to persuade him. She

would have liked to threaten him. But she knew of nothing that mattered

to him except the ranch. If she threatened to leave home if he didn't clean

up the camp, it would mean nothing to him. Hank had been correct: a

man who could shun his wife and exile his daughter was capable of

anything.

J. Harker's eyes looked triumphant.

"Winning is everything to you, isn't it?" Amanda said. "No matter who

gets in your way, who you have to step on to get there, you have to win.

You're not going to win this one. You may starve a few poor, uneducated

migrant workers today, but tomorrow you'll lose. Your day is over." She

turned on her heel and left the room. She couldn't bear to be near the man

any longer.

Taylor caught her on the stairs. "Amanda," he said softly, "I didn't mean

—"

"Yes you did," she said, glaring at him. "You meant every degrading,

humiliating thing you've ever done to me. For years you've tried to make

yourself just like my father. He has thousands of helpless pickers to

tyrannize while you had only one isolated, lonely girl who was eager to

please. Well, Taylor, just like those workers are fed up, so am I."

"But, Amanda, I love you."

"No you don't. You don't even know me. You love a wooden doll you've

carved into what you think a female should look like. When you want me,

you pull me out of my room; when you have no more need of me, you send

me back to my room with a little list to keep me busy." She didn't want to

waste more time talking to him but continued up the stairs.

"Amanda," he said, moving in front of her, "what are you going to do? I

mean, our engagement is—"

"Off," she said, then halted and gave him a look of great patience. "First

I am going to do what I can to help the pickers. I will…" She paused,

searching for an idea of what she could do. "I am going to make them

lemonade—free lemonade. And when the hops are picked I'm going away."

"With him?" Taylor shot at her. "I'm not as blind as you seem to think."

She looked at Taylor as if she'd never seen him before. "You may not be

blind, but I have been. If Hank will have me, yes, I'll go away with him, but

it's not likely he'll want me. Now, will you please move out of my way?

There are people fainting from the heat even while we stand here arguing

about inconsequential matters." She moved past him.

"Inconsequential!" he half shouted up at her. "My whole future is being

decided by the whim of a woman lusting after some two-bit—"

Amanda whirled to face him. "You'll get the ranch, I'm sure of it. Where

else is my father going to find a mirror image of himself? Neither of you

men need me. But let me give you some advice, Taylor. You ought to leave

here. You ought to leave today. Now. You should go get Reva and keep

going and never look back. Reva will be good for you. She's just loose

enough to counteract that piece of steel you call a spine. Now, I must go,

and to tell you the truth, Taylor, I don't really care what you do."

She hurried up to her room, tore off her heavy silk dress and put on the

lightest-weight white blouse and dark cotton skirt she owned. When she

was dressed, she pulled clothing from drawers and her closet. She had no

suitcase, so she went to her father's bedroom and pulled his from the top

of the closet. She stuffed her clothes into the case and went downstairs.

She didn't look at the house, for there was no feeling of sadness at leaving

it. There was only a feeling that there was freedom outside the door.

She set her suitcase down in the butler's pantry and went to the kitchen,

where she borrowed a tall, lever-handled juice extractor from the cook and

called the grocery in Kingman and ordered a truckload of lemons. "Then

send to Terrill City for them," she said into the telephone.

She went outside, the suitcase in one hand, the juicer in the other when

she stopped. She needed to say goodbye to her mother.

Amanda stood beside her mother's chair under the tree for a moment,

and everything that had happened came back to her. She felt

overwhelming anger at herself. Why had she allowed Taylor to deny her

mother? Why had she followed Taylor so blindly?

Grace looked up at her daughter.

"Mother, I—" There were tears in Amanda's eyes.

"Planning to leave?" Grace asked, nodding at the suitcase.

"I have been a terrible person to you, and I—"

Grace interrupted her daughter. "Mind if I run away with you? And

what's that for? It's not a cudgel for someone's head, is it?"

Amanda held the juicer up. "Father promised the workers lemonade

and I'm going to give it to them. I figure it will be a day or so before he

gets the bill for the lemons and stops delivery."

"And the suitcase? Does that have to do with the pickers or one very

handsome economics professor?"

"I…" Amanda knew she'd been so brave for the last few hours, but her

newly found courage was leaving her. She fell to her knees and put her

head in her mother's lap. "It was so awful," she cried. "Those poor people

are fainting from thirst because Father charges them for water, and I feel

like such a fool. I have spent years in my room and—"

"Hush, Amanda," Grace said sternly. "Lashing yourself isn't going to

help at all. You were a sweet little girl who wanted to please her father.

Now dry your eyes and let's get to work. It's almost sundown, so the

pickers will stop for the day, and the lemons will never get here before

tomorrow morning. You wait here while I pack a few things, then we'll

spend the night at the Kingman Arms and tomorrow we'll make lemonade.

Now dry your eyes so you'll look pretty for your professor."

"But, Mother, you can't leave Father just because I'm leaving."

"What's here for me? Your father and I haven't had anything between

us since he punished me for what he saw as a betrayal by taking you away

from me. I have just been waiting until you either married Taylor or came

to your senses. I couldn't leave before; we couldn't all desert you. But now I

can leave." She stood. "Stay here and I'll be back as soon as possible."

Amanda sat on a chair, her hands clasped in her lap. "If Hank will have

me," she'd said. It wasn't difficult to see that she'd loved him for a long

time. With a grimace, she thought that if nothing else about her was

strong her willpower was. She'd willed herself to love Taylor, and in spite

of his bullying her, in spite of his patronizing kisses and his punishments,

she'd remained loyal to him. Yet Hank had shown he cared about her, had

treated her as a person, but she'd willed herself to despise him. She'd

almost willed herself into a miserable life that she would surely have had

with Taylor.

Her first concern was the pickers, but when they were gone she'd go to

Hank and beg his forgiveness on bended knee if she had to.

Her attention was taken off herself as, through the trees, she saw about

ten men approaching the front of the house. At the head of the group was

the man with the distinctive hair, Whitey Graham.

Amanda was on her feet instantly. This was no doubt the presentation

of the grievances that Hank had said he was going to give to her father.

She began running and reached the house just as Taylor, J. Harker and

two of Bulldog Ramsey's deputies came out to stand on the porch.

Amanda stood in the deep shade to one side. She didn't feel that she fit

completely with either side.

"We have a list of grievances," Whitey said. "We ain't happy about

things in the fields."

Harker didn't give any indication that he heard the man. He just glared,

his eyes like coals.

Whitey stepped up on the porch so he was an equal height level with

Harker. Taylor started to protest this insolence, but Harker pushed him

aside.

"Say what you came to say," Harker grunted.

Whitey read a list of seven complaints that included a need for field

toilets, camp toilets, drinking water delivered to the fields, pickers

appointed as inspectors, lemonade made with lemons and, finally, one

dollar and twenty-five cents paid for one hundred pounds picked, with no

bonus.

Everyone held his breath as Harker made up his mind.

Please, Amanda prayed, please agree to this.

Harker at last spoke and he agreed to more toilets, water delivered

three times a day, real lemonade, and even to pay two dollars and fifty

cents a day to inspectors chosen by the pickers. But he refused to raise the

wages.

It was Whitey's turn to be stubborn. "You have just dug your own

grave," he said quietly.

Harker smacked Whitey across the face with the back of his hand. "Get

off of my land."

In the next moment all hell broke loose. One of the deputies lunged at

Whitey. Whitey ran down the steps, while the nine men with him didn't

seem to know whether to run or fight. The second deputy yelled that

Whitey was under arrest, to which Whitey said there was no warrant for

his arrest. With that, Whitey and his men ran from the property.

Amanda leaned back against the porch railing. It was done now. The

ball had started rolling down the hill. No humans could stand the

conditions in the fields for very long without exploding.

Suddenly, Amanda stood bolt upright. Where was Hank? He said he

was going to present grievances but he hadn't even been among the

presenters. Did he decide to keep out of it? Had he at last come to his

senses and realized it wasn't his fight?

She almost laughed at the idea. Hank Montgomery didn't have a

cowardly bone in his body. He'd single-handedly taken on J. Harker

Caulden, a man who terrified his own family yet Hank had always stood

up to him. Hank dealt with crazy men like Whitey Graham. Hank set up a

Union Hall in the middle of Kingman, California, and when the citizens

had painted GET OUT OF TOWN on the building, Hank had just

shrugged and had Joe paint over it.

No, the cause of Hank Montgomery's absence from the grievance

committee wasn't cowardliness or disinterest. So what had made him stay

away? Something awful must have happened in the fields.

Without another thought, she started walking rapidly toward the fields.

Her mother caught her arm before she was out of the cool, shady garden.

"Decide to leave me behind after all?" Grace asked, trying to sound

lighthearted, but her voice betrayed her concern.

"The union men gave Father an ultimatum," Amanda said.

Grace groaned. "I can imagine how well your father took that."

"He slapped the presenter, but, Mother, Hank wasn't with them."

Grace frowned, seeing her daughter's fear. "I don't understand. Do you

think Dr. Montgomery could have done a better job of the presentation?"

"Hank said he was going to present the paper. But he didn't do it.

Mother, there is something awfully wrong. I know it. I'm going to look for

Hank."

Grace Caulden set down the suitcase she was holding. "Then let's go.

We'll find him."

"The fields are awful," Amanda said, her eyes searching her mother's.

"The people are—"

Grace took her daughter's hand. "It's time we did something, don't you

think? It's time we both stopped hiding in our rooms."

"Yes," Amanda said and they started walking.

They searched for two hours. They walked around every tent, every

squalid little hovel, stepped over unspeakable piles of stinking garbage,

endured much abuse and lewd remarks. They asked everyone, used every

language Amanda knew. They communicated with hand gestures. They

asked any way they could, but no one had seen Dr. Montgomery for hours.

Whitey Graham blocked their path when they'd started on their third

hour of searching. "You two are Cauldens?" His eyes gleamed in the

growing darkness. "Feelings are running pretty high against the Cauldens

right now. You two better get out of here."

"I want to know where Dr. Montgomery is," Amanda said, swallowing

her fear of this man.

Whitey grinned. "Went off hours ago with a pretty lady. Haven't seen

him since. Maybe he's…" He trailed off, letting his face make his bawdy

suggestions.

Amanda hid her clenched fists in the folds of her skirt. "I'm going to get

him. I'll drag him… out of bed if I have to, and then he's going to talk to

my father. You'll get your wage increase. Hank will find a way to persuade

my father."

Whitey smiled in a mean way. "You sure seem to think the professor's

powerful. Personally, I don't think there's anything anyone can do to make

Caulden listen, except maybe a few shots fired into somebody."

Amanda swallowed and hoped her face didn't betray her terror. "I'll get

him. Hank knows how to talk. If anyone can talk to my father, he can."

"It may be too late for talk." He was looking her up and down in an

insolent way.

Amanda turned away from him and started walking toward the road to

Kingman.

Grace hurried to keep up with her daughter. "What an awful man. He

makes my skin crawl. Dear, where are you hurrying off to?"

"Reva Eiler's house," she said bitterly.

"You think your Dr. Montgomery is with her?"

"Yes I do. He seems to need lots of women around him."

Grace was tripping over clumps of grass, her heels were snagging, her

skirt kept getting caught, and her little hat was down over one eye as she

rushed to keep up with her daughter. "I've only seen you with him once,

dear, but it was my impression that he was quite mad for you."

Amanda hesitated, then resumed her pace. "He looks at all women like

that."

"No man has enough energy to be that intense about two women."

"Hank has lots of energy," Amanda said over her shoulder. "Massive

amounts of energy. Long-lasting, enduring, incredible energy."

Grace stopped, eyes wide, and looked at the back of her daughter. "How

very fortunate for the woman he loves," she murmured and hurried

forward.

Amanda climbed over the fence at the edge of the field then helped her

mother over.

"Are we planning to walk all the way into town?" Grace asked, flexing

her aching ankles. She thought she had the beginnings of a blister on her

left little toe.

"We are going to hitch a ride."

Grace turned away so Amanda wouldn't see her horror. For years she

had prayed that her daughter would someday break out of Taylor's rule,

but to go from being a meek little lamb to thumbing rides was more than

she wanted.

The first car that came down the road stopped for them, but it was

heading out of town. Handsome young Sam Ryan leaned out the window

and smiled at Amanda.

"So, we meet again," he said softly.

Amanda narrowed her eyes at him. "Sam, I want you to turn this car

around and take my mother and me to Reva Eiler's house."

Sam drew back into the car. "Sorry, but I can't." He looked as if he'd

just noticed Grace. "I have to run an errand for my father."

"If you don't take me to Reva's house this instant, I'll go to your parents

and tell them what you did to me the night of the dance. I still have that

torn dress."

Sam grimaced. "All right, get in, but I'm not waitin' for you at Reva's

house."

"No one asked you to," Amanda snapped.

Amanda didn't say a word on the way to Reva's house. She didn't even

answer her mother when Grace whispered, "What did Sam do to you at

the dance?" Amanda was too busy raging inside at Hank Montgomery.

Here she'd been thinking she loved him and thinking what a noble person

he was to try to help the poor, defenseless workers, when he was out

lollygagging with Reva Eiler. And Amanda had told Taylor to go after

Reva! What a fool she was about men—and women, for that matter. Reva

had flirted with Hank at the Union Hall and conned Taylor into taking her

home from the carnival.

Amanda began to imagine the terrible things she'd do to both Reva and

Hank when she found them together.

"Here we are," Sam said sullenly, "and this makes us even. Dad'll have

my head when I'm late."

"You deserve it," Amanda said, shutting the car door. "You shouldn't

take advantage of defenseless women."

"You weren't exactly defenseless with that professor around. He

knocked one of my back teeth loose."

Amanda smiled at him. "Maybe you'll remember next time."

Sam grimaced and drove away.

"Amanda dear," Grace said, "you and I are going to have to have a long

talk after this is settled."

Amanda didn't answer but went to Reva's door and knocked. It was a

filthy little house, with a broken swing outside, rusted tin cans in a pile by

a fence with missing boards. Hollyhocks that looked as if they were

fighting for life grew from something that looked like a truck fender. A

pane of glass from the front window was. missing and newspaper had

been taped over it.

At her second knock, Amanda heard shuffling footsteps inside.

"What'd'ya want?" a man's voice yelled.

"It's Amanda Caulden, Mr. Eiler. I want to see Reva," Amanda yelled

back. "If she's here," she said under her breath.

"She's asleep," Mr. Eiler yelled.

"With whom?" Amanda muttered. "I really do need to see her," she

yelled through the door.

A hand angrily tore the newspaper from the broken pane of glass. The

rest of the window was so dirty it may as well not have been glass. Reva's

face appeared at the window. "I am here, Miss Know-It-All Caulden," Reva

said, "and I'm alone in my bed, not that it's any of your business. What

brings you to this part of town? Need somebody to clean your toilet?"

"Where is Hank?" Amanda asked.

"Not with me."

Amanda glared at her. "Then when did he leave? I assume it was his

visit that has exhausted you into an early retirement."

"It happens to be nearly ten o'clock. Some of us have to get up and go to

work in the morning. Not all of us can be princesses like—"

"Just a minute!" Grace said, stepping forward. "Before you two young

ladies" —she emphasized the word—"start pulling hair, I think we should

find out what we came here to find out. Reva, Dr. Montgomery seems to

have disappeared, and we were told he might be with another woman and

we assumed it was you."

"He hasn't been here. He's been out at the fields all day. I saw him for a

few minutes yesterday and he was pretty upset. He said it was awful out

there and for me to stay away."

"Do you have any idea where he could be?" Grace asked.

"Maybe he went back to his hotel and went to bed. Or maybe he went to

the Union Hall, Or maybe he went to the diner for something to eat. Or

maybe—"

"You have to help us look," Amanda said. "I think something has

happened to him." Now that she knew he wasn't with Reva, she was

beginning to calm down. Whitey had lied to her, but why? Was he,

perhaps, lying merely because she was a Caulden? Or was there another

reason?

"He's all right," Reva said. "Hank can take care of himself. Besides, it's

late and I need my sleep."

"You either come voluntarily or I'll drag you out," Amanda said.

"Really, Amanda," Grace said. "I'm sure Reva's right and Dr.

Montgomery is fine. Perhaps we should—"

"I get Taylor," Reva said, as if he were a piece of merchandise.

"Done," Amanda answered in the voice of an auctioneer saying, "Sold to

the woman in the dirty nightgown."

"Give me five minutes to get dressed."

"Forget the lipstick and you'll save three minutes," Amanda said with a

sweet smile.

Grace looked away to hide her smile.

In four minutes Reva was dressed and outside. Amanda wasted no more

time on catty remarks but issued orders like a general—or like her father.

Neither Reva nor Grace considered contradicting her. Amanda assigned

them places to check and gave them less than an hour. They were going to

have to search nearly all of Kingman at a run.

An hour later they met in front of the Kingman Arms.

"No sign of him," Reva said. She too was concerned now. "No one has

seen him all day. He hasn't been back to the hotel. Joe's at the Union Hall

and he hasn't seen Hank."

Grace had had no luck either.

"If we could only find his car," Amanda said. Her heart seemed to have

jumped into her throat. Terror was what she felt, sheer debilitating terror.

He would never leave the fields and the unionists unless something had…

happened. She didn't like to imagine what could have happened. There

was too much talk of bloodshed and violence. "He would never leave that

car of his," she whispered. "If we could just—"

"But his car is back at the fields," Grace said.

Amanda and Reva turned to look at her.

"I tripped once and saw something yellow in the hop fields. It was

almost hidden under the vines, but I knew what it was. There's nothing

else quite the color of Dr. Montgomery's little automobile."

"They've done something with him," Amanda said softly, and she knew

it was true. "They want their violence, and Hank meant to stop them. They

have removed him."

"Removed him?" Grace asked. "What in the world do you mean?"

Reva took a step backward. "You know, it's awfully late and I'm real

tired. I think I better go home and get to bed. I have to go to work in a few

hours. Amanda, after the hops are in, let's have lunch."

Amanda grabbed Reva's arm. "You're going to the ranch with us. We're

going to find that Whitey Graham—I know he's behind this—and make

him tell us where Hank is." She swallowed. "If we're not too late. Reva,

does your father have a gun we can borrow? I don't think a man like

Whitey will listen to three women saying please."

"A g-gun?" Reva asked.

"A pistol, maybe. Better yet, a shotgun. Two big round barrels should

get his attention."

Reva moved away. "Then again, Amanda, you can have Taylor. You can

have both men. I think I better get home now, so goodnight, Mrs. Caulden.

Goodnight, Amanda."

Amanda caught Reva before she'd gone ten steps and put her arm

firmly through Reva's. "Don't turn coward on me now. We have to find

Hank. Maybe he can prevent the war that's about to erupt at our ranch,

but, more important, Hank might be hurt."

"Not to mention us being hurt," Reva muttered.

"Sometimes, Reva, a person has to do things one doesn't want to do.

Isn't that right, Mother? Mother?"

The two young women turned back to see Grace Caulden still standing

in front of the Kingman Arms. Her oval face was as pale as the moon.

"Reva, does your father have any w-whiskey?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I can guarantee he has whiskey," Reva said, and fear sounded in her

voice.

"Come on, we're wasting time," Amanda said. "We have to find Hank."

She walked off into the night, the two women following her hesitantly.

Chapter Eighteen

« ^

"Are you sure you know how to drive this?" Reva asked. "Or even start

it?" Her voice was very quiet and there was a quality in it that could only

be classified as respect. Yesterday she would have said that proper,

always-use-the-correct-fork Miss Amanda Caulden wasn't capable of any

of the things she had done in the last two hours.

The three women had "borrowed" a double-barreled twelve-gauge

shotgun from Mr. Eiler (he had drunkenly snored through the entire event

and only turned over when Grace took his half-empty whiskey bottle from

the crook of his arm). Then Amanda had got them a ride in the back of a

smelly old pickup to the Caulden Ranch.

In the back of the pickup, over the rattling and jostling, a pale-faced

Grace had taken her daughter's hand. "If I don't get out of this alive, dear,

I have a confession to make. I am the Countess de la Glace."

Amanda blinked at her mother. " You wrote the book about Ariadne and

that man?"

"I needed something to occupy myself while stuck away in that room.

There are royalties from the sale of the books, and you and your young

doctor could live quite well on them." Grace leaned forward. "And see that

Reva is taken care of, would you, please?"

Amanda squeezed her mother's hand. "When this is over may I read all

your novels? I need to make up for lost time."

Grace smiled at her daughter and they were quiet the rest of the way to

the fields.

It had been easy to find Whitey Graham; he was on the little dance

platform at the south edge of the field, giving one of his speeches about

the evilness of the employers. There were bonfires all about and the

people's angry, tired eyes reflected the fiery heat. As Whitey led the crowd

into one of the inflammatory ULW songs, Amanda stepped to the edge of

the crowd, got Whitey's attention and motioned for him to follow her.

Reva and Grace had stood by silently, too scared, too astonished to

speak, and watched while Amanda pointed the gun at Whitey's head and

demanded to know where Hank Montgomery was.

Whitey was a cool one, Reva had to give him that. He said he didn't

mind telling Amanda where Hank was as it would take her too long to get

to him to do any good. "It's going to happen tomorrow. Caulden's refusal

to listen to us was the final straw. This place is going to explode within the

next twenty-four hours."

Amanda shoved the shotgun closer to his nose. " You are going to

explode within the next two minutes if you don't tell me where Hank is."

He looked at Amanda with a bit of respect and told her that his partner,

Andrei, had taken Hank away, up into the Sierra Nevada Mountains to a

shack where Whitey and Andrei had hidden for a few days before entering

Kingman. At Amanda's urging, he gave her complete directions. He

seemed to think her concern was amusing.

"You rich people stick together, don't you?"

"Rich?" Amanda said. "Hank spends all he makes on the union."

Whitey laughed at her. "The professor's family is so rich they make you

Cauldens look like paupers. We tried to get the workers to strike his

father's company, Warbrooke Shipping, two years ago but…"

"You weren't successful," she finished.

"Amanda," Grace said, "you could stop this whole thing now. We'll take

Mr. Graham away from here."

Amanda hesitated and weighed the possibilities. "People have a right to

protest, and only my father could stop it now—and only Hank could

persuade my father."

Whitey laughed again. He knew Amanda wouldn't shoot him, and it

didn't matter if she went after Montgomery—she'd never get him back in

time. They'd had to get rid of the doc or he could have ruined everything.

He turned his back on Amanda and her shotgun and went back to the

crowd.

"That man really doesn't care if he lives or dies," Reva whispered.

Amanda didn't waste time thinking about Whitey Graham. "I have to

go get Hank," she said and started moving quickly toward where the

Mercer had been hidden.

So now the women had removed the torn hop vines that covered the car

and stood staring at it. "Can you start it?" Reva repeated.

"I hope so," Amanda said. "No, I will start the thing." She went over

every movement she'd seen Hank make when he started the car. She

pulled out the spark and the choke, then ran to the front and turned the

crank. It took her four tries before the engine came to life, then she had to

deal with the gears. The shifting was hard, the steering was so difficult her

arms felt as if they were coming out of their sockets, and when she put on

the brakes the car didn't stop. She mowed down six feet of hop vines

before she halted.

"Amanda, I don't think—" Grace said fearfully.

"I've got it now," Amanda said, putting the car in reverse. "I'll be back

as soon as I can." She hadn't counted on the steering being a mirror image

when in reverse and took out more hop vines before she got onto the road.

She waved to Reva and her mother, then headed east, her foot mashing

the accelerator to the floor.

Both Hank and Taylor had said she was an apt pupil, but she'd never

learned anything as quickly as she learned to drive that car. After fifteen

minutes she began to feel that she was born to be behind a steering wheel.

She had studied Hank's driving so intently that she knew from the sound

of the engine when to shift gears.

It was the middle of the night and there was no traffic on the wide dirt

road leading up into the mountains, and she let the car go, the wind

blowing in her hair. The speed of the car, being able to control such a

machine, made her feel powerful.

She had only one bad moment on the trip and that was when two

farmers with wagons decided to stop in the middle of the road for a chat.

Amanda kept her head, tried to calculate the width of the road, the

distance it would take her to stop, knew she'd plow into a wagon if she did

try to stop, so she did a neat left turn that sent her skidding sideways

toward the wagons.

The farmers stopped talking long enough to turn and look at a pretty

girl in a little yellow car come toward them, the nose of the car pointed

toward the roadside fence, rocks and gravel spitting everywhere. One pair

of horses started acting up, but the farmer controlled them.

When the car stopped sliding, Amanda was just under the body of two

horses, one animal's eyes rolling wildly, the other one too frightened to

move. The three people on the road were speechless. Amanda recovered

first. Her heart was pounding but she was awfully proud of having avoided

a crash.

"Good morning," she said to the farmers. There was a wilted hop vine

on the passenger seat and she offered it to the horse's head hanging over

hers. The animal began crunching and calmed down.

The two farmers helped her get the car turned back around and wished

her luck wherever she was going. She waved as she drove away again.

She had to get gasoline once, then she was off again, up into the

mountains. She prayed Whitey hadn't lied to her about where Hank was,

and the closer she got, the more she worried. When she came to the

deserted mountain cabin with half the roof caved in, she was almost out of

the car before she could get it stopped. She hauled on the heavy hand

brake, shoved a rock behind the back wheel and went running.

The cabin was empty. For a moment she panicked and was sure Whitey

had lied, but then she saw a stain on what was left of the floor near the

back wall. She went to it and examined it. Blood. There seemed to be a

great deal of it on the floor, as if a wounded person had slept there all

night.

For a moment she wanted to cry. She was tired and hungry and scared

—and there was dried blood on the floor.

"Looking for me?"

She looked up to see Hank standing in the doorway. With a cry, she

leaped up and into his arms. "You're alive! Oh my darling, my love, I was

so afraid." She began kissing his face and neck.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Hank said, drawing back from her. "What's

going on and could you ease up on my arm a little?"

She pulled away from him and saw the blood on the right side of his

body. "They shot you? I'll kill them! I'll use Mr. Eiler's shotgun and—"

Hank put his fingers to her lips. "Could we save this until later? I'd like

to know what's been going on. I'm afraid I've been knocked out all night. I

just woke up when I heard the car. Who drove the Mercer, anyway?"

"I did. Hank, darling, I've been worried sick. I was afraid you were

dead."

Hank was weak from loss of blood and a cold night without food or

water, and he was afraid he might have enough fever that he was

dreaming this. It couldn't be possible that Amanda was calling him

darling.

He knew he needed to get back to the ranch to prevent what could

happen, but right now all that seemed to matter was Amanda. He put his

fingertips to her hair. "Why are you here, Amanda?"

"To get you. I've come to take you back." Embarrassment overcame her.

The last time she'd seen him he was blaming her for the living conditions

of the workers.

"To help with the union? Couldn't you have appealed to Taylor?"

She opened her mouth to lie, to say that she came for him to prevent

violence, but she stopped herself. "Yes," she said softly, "I came to get you

for the unionists but, more than that, I came because I love you."

Hank didn't say anything at all, just stood there and stared at her for so

long that Amanda knew she'd made a fool of herself. "Excuse me," she said

and pushed past him to go outside. She kept her back to him. "If you're

ready, I'll drive you back to the ranch. Whitey presented a list of

grievances to my father yesterday, and my father, of course, wouldn't

agree to a pay raise, so Whitey threatened him and my father slapped

Whitey. The sheriff plans to arrest Whitey, probably today, and so you can

see that—"

She broke off because Hank turned her around, dug his uninjured left

hand into her hair and kissed her so hard her toes curled up inside her

tight little shoes.

"I love you, Amanda," he said. "I've loved you for so long I can't

remember not loving you. I think I've been waiting for you, waiting for you

to make up your mind."

"I have made up my mind," she whispered. "I want to leave Kingman

with you. I want to go with you wherever you go. I want to be with you

always."

He smiled as he caressed her cheek. Her arms around him were hurting

his shoulder, but physical pain was nothing to the pain he'd felt since he'd

met her. When he first saw her he'd thought she was the woman for him,

but it was as if an automaton were inside the body of the woman he

wanted. But it was a woman, a flesh and blood woman, who had come for

him.

"How did you get Whitey to tell you where I was?"

"I held a shotgun to his face."

Hank smiled. "How did you learn to drive the car?"

"I've been watching you."

He smiled broader. "What about Taylor?"

"I suggested he spend more time with Reva, and Reva asked for him so I

gave him to her."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Hank laughed. "So you and Reva divided us up.

I guess I should be glad you didn't flip a coin."

She pulled away from him. "If you are through laughing at me, I suggest

we go."

He caught her arm. "Did you really mean it, Amanda? Have you realized

at last that you love me?"

She didn't quite like the way he put it, but truth was truth. "Yes," she

said. "I have finally realized it."

He drew back a little, a grin splitting his face. "I guess all this stuff

about you'll go with me wherever I go is a marriage proposal."

Her embarrassment was returning. Wasn't this a time for champagne

and diamond rings? But he was standing here in a bloody shirt, lines of

tiredness around his eyes, and she was filthy and tired. "I guess so." She

looked down at her hands.

"Wait until I tell our grandkids about this," Hank said. "They'll never

believe their grandmother did the asking."

She squinted up at him. "You ever tell anyone about this and you'll

never beget children with me, much less grandchildren." She turned on

her heel and walked away from him.

He caught her and pulled her against him with his one good arm. "I

apologize, baby. I just wanted to give you some of what you've given me.

You can't imagine the hell you've put me through, knowing you were mine

yet having you fight me. I died some every time you looked at Driscoll. I

gave up hope once that you'd ever realize that you belonged to me and I

walked out, but then you came strolling into the Union Hall. You have

made me completely miserable."

She smiled against his sweaty shirt. "I'm glad. You've upset my life too."

He kissed her forehead and held her a moment. "I think we better go.

My arm's beginning to bleed again and it'll be hard driving back with one

arm."

"I'll drive back," she said.

He pulled away from her. "You?" He grinned. "Amanda, do you realize

what the steering is like on the Mercer? And the brakes? Why, you

couldn't even—"

"Who do you think drove up here?" she asked angrily.

"That was different, that was…"

"Was what?" she demanded.

"Necessary." He wasn't smiling any longer.

"And now it's not necessary? You think you're a better driver with one

arm and a fever than I am with two arms?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

She stepped back. "All right, it's yours," she said, gesturing toward the

car. She stood aside and watched as he worked on the intricate starting

procedure. His wound opened and he looked dizzy a couple of times, but

he kept turning the crank.

She went to him. "Please, Hank," she said. "Please let me help."

Hank looked at her. He'd always known he'd do whatever she wanted if

she asked him with a please. He knew it was one of the most difficult

things he'd ever done, but he let her drive. She was worse than he'd

imagined. She drove too fast, her steering was erratic, she passed other

cars when she couldn't see around them. She kept asking him questions

about when Whitey and Andrei had kidnapped him. He mumbled that

Andrei had never meant to shoot him but a tree on the mountainside had

fallen and scared Andrei so much that the gun had gone off. Hank ducked,

but not quick enough. Andrei thought Hank was dead and pulled him into

the cabin to get the body out of sight, then he'd left him. Hank had slept

until Amanda arrived.

"Does it hurt much?" Amanda asked, looking at him.

He got a little sick every time she took her eyes off the road. "Not as

much as death would."

Amanda thought she heard him say something else, but it sounded too

much like, "Taylor had the right idea about women: keep them locked up,"

so she was sure she was wrong.

They stopped for gas twice and bought sandwiches and coffee, then

were on their way again. They didn't reach the Caulden Ranch until

sundown.

And by then it was all over.

As soon as Amanda pulled into the service road near the pickers' camp

they could see that many of the people were gone. Hank was pale and

weak, and Amanda wanted to get him to a doctor but he wouldn't go. "I

want to see your father," he said. Amanda nodded, took his hand in hers

and they started walking.

Joe Testorio saw them and came running with the news. Everything

had happened within minutes. Whitey Graham had been giving one of his

speeches when two cars drove up, one containing the sheriff, the district

attorney and a deputy, the other car containing four deputies. The D.A.

made a request for peace, but one deputy pointed out Whitey and said

they had a warrant for his arrest and were taking him. The officers started

making their way through the crowd.

But then something happened, Joe wasn't sure what, but later someone

said that a bench with some men standing on it had tipped. The noise and

the men's yells were enough to send the crowd into pandemonium. A

deputy fired a shotgun over the crowd's heads to quieten them. It had the

opposite effect.

Three minutes later the crowd began to pull back, and on the ground

lay the sheriff, the D.A., a deputy and two workers, one a boy of thirteen,

all of them dead.

If possible, Hank grew a little paler when he heard the news. Amanda

tightened her grip on his hand.

Hank walked into the Caulden house without knocking and strode into

the library, Amanda beside him. J. Harker sat at his desk, looking as if

nothing had happened.

"Come to threaten me?" he asked, looking at a bloody Hank and a

defiant Amanda. "So much for your campaign against violence. The

governor's sending the State Militia out. They'll shoot your unionists on

sight. You've lost, Montgomery, you've lost."

"You don't realize it, but you're the loser. All you had to do was give the

workers a decent pay raise—money you could well afford—and you could

have prevented this. Now the world will hear about the Caulden Ranch."

"Hear how your unionists killed the D.A. and the sheriff," J. Harker

said. "The country will tear your union apart. The D.A. was a loved man,

with a wife and kids."

"What this country will hear about is the inhuman conditions that

caused them to riot. And I'm going to be the one to tell them. I'm going to

describe in detail what went on here, what pushed these people over the

brink."

"And I'm going to help him," Amanda said.

J. Harker snorted. "You can go to your room. I'll get someone to replace

Taylor."

"Has he left you too?" Amanda said softly.

"Ran off with that two-bit Eiler bitch," Harker muttered. "But he can be

replaced."

"Now you have what you wanted: you have this enormous ranch all to

yourself. You have no wife with a past to embarrass you, no daughter to

play childish pranks and make people think you're less than perfect, no

future son-in-law to intimidate. But you've lost something else too: you

don't know it yet, but you've lost control of this ranch. You've shown your

greed to the world, and you may be willing to let people die so you can

make money, but the world's not going to let you. Your day is over, and

Hank and I are going to help see that it's finished."

"Are you through now?" J. Harker said, his eyes angry. "Then you can

get out. I don't need any of you." Even as he said it, he knew he was lying,

but pride had ruled his life and he was too old to change now.

"Goodbye, Father," Amanda said and turned to look at Hank. "Ready,

darling?"

Hank nodded and they left the library, but he stopped her in the hall.

"Amanda, if I wasn't sure before that I loved you, I am now. Will you

marry me?"

"Yes," she whispered, then smiled. "And our son will be a king."

"What?"

"When I went to the carnival with Taylor, a fortuneteller told me—"

"I am bleeding to death and you're talking about that frigid—"

"I wasn't talking about Taylor, I was talking about our son who will be—

"

He kissed her. "Come on, let's go to the Union Hall. I want to interview

some people about what's happened. The faster we get this down, the

faster I can get it to the newspapers."

"We'll go after I've driven you to a doctor."

" You are going to drive in town? With other cars on the road? With

pedestrians in the street?"

"Please?" she asked softly, running her finger down his cheek.

"Yes," he said. "Yes."

^

Author's Note

I have based the people and events in this book on history more directly

than I have in any of my previous novels.

Dr. Henry R. Montgomery is based on Dr. Carleton Parker, a professor

of economics who trained in Germany. Dr. Parker was a man who cared:

he cared about his students, he cared about the way people were treated

by their employers. While he was in school, he spent summers working in

mines all over the world to get firsthand knowledge of labor and laborers.

After graduating with honors, he returned to the United States where he

wrote about and taught against the horrors that were visited upon

non-unionized workers.

Dr. Parker hoped that the labor problems of the workers could be solved

without violence, but the IWW, the International Workers of the World,

the Wobblies as they were called, believed that violence was the only way

to get the world's attention. Several men, and whether they were true

martyrs willing to die for a cause or just plain crazy no one knows, went

from one place of abuse to another and incited downtrodden workers to

revolt in protest. Unfortunately, they seemed to have been right because,

when blood was shed, the world looked and listened and eventually did

something.

The Awakening is based on the Wheatland Hop Riot that took place on

one swelteringly hot day in August 1913, in Wheatland, California. Every

word I wrote about the conditions in the fields is true. Usually a writer has

to add to the actual events to give her story more drama, but in this case I

just reported the facts with no embellishment. The facts were worse than I

could ever have imagined, and just the reading of them and later the

recounting of them was enough to make me ill.

The riot itself was as I described. The district attorney, by chance,

happened to be visiting Wheatland that day, and when the call for the

sheriff's men came, he decided to tag along. He was killed in the fracas.

During the riot, the owner of the ranch hid inside his house.

After the riot, the State Militia was called into Wheatland and a

manhunt was made for the IWW leaders. Four men—William Beck,

Richard "Blackie" Ford, Walter Bagan and Herman Suhr—were charged

with murder. They were tried in Marysville, California, which is very near

Wheatland (the Terrill City in my novel), where feeling against the

unionists ran high.

The trial was a farce. Alibis were thrown out as being "too good."

"Evidence" consisted of a telegram to IWW headquarters asking for

postage stamps.

Bagan and Beck were acquitted; Ford and Suhr were sent to San

Quentin for life. Their sentences were meant to let the unionists know

what would happen to them if they interfered in a private landowner's

business again.

But it backfired. Dr. Carleton Parker, having left teaching to become the

Executive Secretary in the State Immigration and Housing Commission of

California, went to Wheatland. He asked questions and wrote some

powerful articles about what had happened there. It was largely through

his efforts that plans were made to enforce existing laws that provided

regulation of sanitation of the labor camps. The Board of Health was given

the power to inspect, condemn and prosecute employers, and a

commission was set up to educate the migrant laborers and inform them

of their rights.

I hope my story has not been too one-sided. The private landowner does

have rights, and too often I hear employee comments of, "Someday I'm

going to be the boss and sit in a cool office and do nothing but answer the

telephone." The year of the Wheatland Riot, hop prices were rock bottom,

buyers' warehouses were full from the previous years, and many hop

ranches were going under—and it did indeed cost an enormous amount of

money to run a ranch. The owner had to save pennies wherever he could.

It is a philosophical dilemma: does he offer thousands of people

low-paying jobs with no water (for water delivery costs money) and save

his ranch and offer more jobs next year, or does he pay good wages,

provide expensive services for one year, go bankrupt and offer no jobs the

next year?

Mr. Durst (my J. Harker Caulden) eventually went bankrupt, and today

Wheatland is a pale shadow of its former rich self. I'm not sure who won

from the Wheatland Hop Riot.

Jude Deveraux

Santa Fe, New Mexico

August 1987

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen