Gifts of Love Read online

  “He passed away during Jason’s first year of school, didn’t he?” Laura asked.

  Kate nodded. “When Jason made his money, he thought to buy me a grand house an’ send his brothers an’ sisters to school. I told him I’d not give up me home. Donal looks after the store, an’ the girls hope to marry wi’ good Irish lads—the rest o’ me brood cares not a whit for schoolin’. Cut from a diff’runt cloth, Jason was.”

  “But he needs his family,” Laura said. “He does, although he may not realize how much.”

  Kate was about to reply when Robbie’s high-pitched voice called down the hallway. “Ma! ’Tis Jason!”

  Laura froze, staring in surprise at the kitchen doorway as her husband’s broad-shouldered form appeared. Her heart thumped unpleasantly as she saw the ominous glint in his eyes. “Jason,” she said feebly. She stood up and attempted a placating smile. “How did you know…?”

  His voice was cool. “I came home early. Mrs. Ramsey told me where you were.”

  Kate regarded her son placidly. “We’ve been havin’ a nice visit, yer Laura an’ me.”

  His expression didn’t change, but he bent and kissed Kate’s forehead. “Hello, Ma.”

  Laura winced as Jason took hold of her arm in a grip that was just short of being painful. “It’s time to go home,” he said softly, and she realized with a sinking heart that he was angrier than she had feared he would be.

  After allowing her barely enough time to bid the Morans farewell, Jason rode back with her in the carriage. The tense silence between them sawed at Laura’s nerves until they were shredded. “I wanted to tell you, Jason,” she said hesitantly, “but I knew you wouldn’t have allowed me to go.”

  He laughed shortly. “I hope you found the Morans entertaining.”

  “I—I didn’t go to be entertained.”

  “I don’t care why the hell you went. But it’s damn well going to be the last time you set foot in Charlestown.”

  “For heaven’s sake, it does no harm to anyone if I choose to see your family! I don’t understand why you’re taking on so.”

  “You don’t have to understand, although you could if you cared to look beyond the end of your nose. And wipe that wounded look off your face, or I—” He clamped his teeth together, biting off his next words. His face was dark with fury.

  “Why won’t you let me have anything to do with your family? Why can’t we include them in our lives?”

  “Damn you!” he exploded. “My life with you has nothing to do with them! I don’t want reminders—by God, I won’t have you combing through my past for your own amusement! You don’t belong in my family any more than I belong in yours. From now on you’ll stay away from them.” His lips curled in an ugly sneer. “And if you even think of defying me in this, I’ll make you sorry in ways your soft little imagination couldn’t begin to conceive.”

  Laura shrank back from his vicious tone, her green eyes alarmed. “Jason, don’t threaten me—”

  “Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”

  “Jason, please—”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, hurt and intimidated. “I’ll do as you say.”

  It was rare that Jason drank to excess, but that evening he closeted himself in the library with his whiskey and stayed until well after Laura had retired to bed. He did not come to her room, and she tossed and turned restlessly, missing his warmth and his large, strong body to snuggle against. The next morning she awoke with dark-circled eyes and a sense of injustice. He was trying to punish her, she thought with annoyance. She would show him that she wasn’t in the least affected by his withdrawal.

  Sitting across the breakfast table from him, she saw with satisfaction that he was suffering from a fierce headache and his eyes were bloodshot. His temper was foul, but he was quiet, and he seemed to find it difficult to look at her. Slowly she realized that his anger was neither petty nor temporary, and that it had less to do with her than with the pain of old wounds. She thought about bringing up the matter of their argument—no, it might be better to keep her silence.

  A few days passed, and it was time for them to attend the large Christmas Eve party that Sophia and Judge Marsh were giving. Laura had never felt less like laughing and pretending to be cheerful, but she was determined not to give her friends and family any reason to think she was having troubles with her husband. It took three hours and the help of both maids to dress and arrange her hair.

  Her dress was made of deep rose satin, fitted so tightly to her body that there was not a quarter-inch of room to spare. It was embroidered from the square-cut bodice to the hem with thousands of crimson beads sewn in a flowered pattern. A ruffled satin train was draped from the small of her waist down to the floor, flowing gently out from her body as she walked. The sleeves were tight and banded at the wrists with more beads. Ruby combs glittered in the mass of braids and shining curls gathered at the back of her head.

  Jason was waiting for her downstairs, his face expressionless. He was attired in flawless black and white, looking polished and astonishingly handsome. Something flickered in his eyes as he glanced over her, and when his gaze reached her face, she was aware of the feminine flutter of her senses.

  An endless line of carriages blocked the street where the Marsh home blazed with light. Women in velvet mantles and furs were escorted to the entrance by men in greatcoats and tall hats. Groups of carolers strolled from house to house, filling the night with music. Hot rum punch garnished with raisins and fruit slices lent its spicy aroma to the air, as did the pine wreaths and bayberry candles in every room.

  Hale besieged them as soon as they entered the house, cheerfully kissing Laura and urging Jason to join him for a drink with some of the friends they had gone to college with. Dutifully Laura greeted her mother, who looked as stiffly displeased as usual. Wilhemina Prescott glanced at her youngest daughter assessingly. “And how is the situation between you and…that man?”

  “You are referring to my husband, Mother?” Laura asked, and forced a bright smile to her face. “Splendid.”

  “I have been informed otherwise. You and he engaged in some kind of quarrel at the party you gave last month.”

  “It has been resolved, Mother.”

  Wilhemina frowned. “It is shockingly ill-bred to air one’s grievances in public, Laura. I hope you are not taking on the coarse, vulgar habits that his sort of people indulge in—”

  “Laura!” Sophia’s light voice interrupted. “Dear, you must come and see how the children decorated the tree…absolutely charming…excuse us, Mother.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said feelingly, trailing after her sister.

  “She’s in fine form tonight,” Sophia muttered. “Father’s not with her. She claims he is indisposed. My guess is they have had a row over his most recent fancy-friend.”

  Laura stayed at Sophia’s side for much of the party, while the crowd grew lively with the dancing, music, and potent punch. Her gaze moved around the sea of familiar faces. She caught a glimpse of her husband as he talked with the people gathered around him. It was not difficult to pick Jason out from the crowd—his dark, vivid looks made everyone around him seem colorless in comparison. His manner was livelier and more intense than the cool crispness of the people around him.

  Laura smiled slightly. It didn’t matter to her if Jason was ever truly accepted by the Boston elite or not. She was glad of the differences between him and the rest of them, glad of his earthy vitality and even his exasperating pride. Impishly she decided to go to him to find some way of enticing him to a private corner. Surely he wouldn’t mind a stolen kiss or two.

  She made her way through the entrance hall, artfully sweeping up the folds of her train to keep it from being trampled by wayward feet. Hale and one of his friends walked past her to the front door, holding a third young man up by the shoulders. The man was obviously the worse for drink, and they were taking him outside to sober him up in the cold air. Such situations wer
e always handled with dispatch, before the ladies could be offended by the sight of a gentleman in his cups. “Good evening, Mrs. Moran,” Hale said wryly, grinning at her. “Step aside for Samuel Pierce Lindon, unfortunate victim of hot rum punch.”

  “Shall I fetch coffee from the kitchen?” she asked sympathetically.

  Hale opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by Samuel, whose head wobbled in Laura’s direction. “Moran?” he slurred. “You’re the sisshter…that one who m-married a m-m-mick.”

  “Yes, I’m that one,” Laura said dryly, knowing that the boy would never have dreamed of saying such a thing were he sober.

  Drunkenly Samuel lurched out of Hale’s grasp and pinned Laura against the front door. “You’re standin’ under the mishletoe.”

  “I’m afraid you are mistaken,” Laura muttered, shoving her elbows hard into his midriff. He wound his arms tightly around her and refused to let go.

  “Here now!” Hale grunted in annoyance, trying to pry Samuel away. “Let go of my sister, half-wit. Sorry, Laura…he’s too foxed to know what he’s doing—”

  “You drather have a gennleman than a mick in your bed, wouldn’ you?” Samuel asked, his liquor-pungent breath wafting in Laura’s face. “I’ll show you what you’re missing…One li’l kiss, thas all…you greenhorn wives don’ usually mind sharing your fav—”

  Suddenly Samuel was lifted and spun around as if by a tornado. Laura fell back against the door, aghast as she saw a brief scuffle between Samuel and her husband. Jason’s face was white with rage, his black eyes blazing. Feebly Lindon swung and missed. A woman screamed while others swayed in ladylike faints. Jason drew back his fist and dropped the young man with one hard blow. He would have beaten him to a pulp had Hale not pounced on him and held him from behind. The crowd swarmed into the entrance hall, chattering excitedly.

  “Easy, Moran,” Hale hissed, struggling to keep hold of Jason. “No need to wipe the floor with him. He didn’t hurt Laura—I was here.”

  Jason went still, struggling to control his temper. He shrugged off Hale’s restraining arms and strode to his wife, taking her by the shoulders. He looked over her worriedly. “Laura—”

  “Jason, I’m all right,” she said shakily. “There was no need to make a scene. He’s just a drunken boy. He didn’t mean to—”

  Her mother’s icy voice cut through the hubbub. “How dare you,” Wilhemina exclaimed, glaring at Jason. “How dare you turn a society gathering into a dockyard brawl! It may be common among the Irish to behave in such a manner, but it is not the way of decent people!” Her tall, thin body stiffened imperiously. “Your expensive clothes and pretend manners cannot conceal what you are, an ill-bred peasant—”

  Laura interrupted, unable to stand any more. “Shut up, Mother.”

  Wilhemina’s jaw dropped in astonishment. None of her children had ever dared to speak to her so rudely.

  Hale snickered, throwing Laura a glance of surprised approval.

  Sophia stepped forward and shook her finger at Samuel, who had managed to sit up and was holding his head bemusedly. “Young man, I do not appreciate having my guests accosted in my own home.” She turned to her brother. “Please take your friend outside, Hale.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied dutifully.

  “Sophia,” Laura said in a low voice, slipping her arm through Jason’s, “I believe we will be going home now.”

  Sophia looked from Jason’s stony expression to Laura’s distressed one. “I understand, dear.”

  Hale stopped them before they reached the door, clapping Jason on the back. “I…er, would like to apologize for Lindon. He’ll be devilish sorry for all of this when he sobers up.” He extended a hand and Jason shook it briefly, both of them exchanging rueful glances.

  Laura was silent during the carriage ride home, wanting to let both their tempers settle. She was angry and upset by Jason’s behavior. It had not been necessary for him to make such a scene! Samuel had been obnoxious but hardly dangerous. The problem could have been solved with a few brief words, and Jason knew it. He also knew that if two gentlemen ever found it necessary to come to blows, it was never done in the presence of ladies.

  As soon as Jason escorted Laura into the house, Mrs. Ramsey appeared to welcome them. Laura waved the housekeeper away, and Mrs. Ramsey promptly disappeared, having read from their faces that all was not well. Jason turned and began to head toward the stairs.

  “Jason, wait,” Laura said, catching hold of his arm. “We must talk about what happened.”

  He shook off her hand. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Isn’t there? You must admit that you overreacted.”

  “I don’t call it an overreaction to stop some drunken fool from pawing my wife.”

  “There was no need to deal with him so harshly. He wasn’t aware of what he was doing—”

  “The hell he wasn’t! Do you think he would have insulted you had you been someone else’s wife? A Boston Brahmin’s wife?” He sneered at her lack of response. “No. Because he and his peers are accustomed to giving the Irish housemaids a slap and tickle, or visiting the North End shanties for prostitutes, and in their eyes the fact that you’re married to an Irishman makes you—”

  “Jason, don’t,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging herself to his rigid body. “Must you blame everything on the fact that you’re Irish?” She pressed a beseeching kiss on the side of his neck. “Let’s talk about this sensibly.” She gave him another kiss, this time underneath his ear. “Come sit with me by the fire.”

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse her, but then he agreed with a muffled curse and followed her into the parlor. While Laura drew up an overstuffed ottoman and seated herself, Jason stirred the coals in the grate. He threw on a handful of pine knots and a birch log, dusted off his hands, and sat on the floor, propping one knee up. The blaze of firelight played over his rumpled black hair and hard-edged face, turning his skin to copper.

  Laura took a deep breath and groped for the right words to say. “Jason…that Lindon boy’s remarks didn’t upset me as much as your reaction did.” She stared into the fire, picking at her beaded dress in agitation. “I’m afraid that you may have more in common with my mother and her prejudices than you think,” she said. He gave her a forbidding stare, but she continued doggedly. “Deep down you seem to believe as she does, that a Brahmin should never have married an Irishman. You think the two worlds should be kept separate. But you can never erase your past…your family…your heritage. You can’t turn your back and pretend they don’t exist.”

  Jason was silent, motionless. Laura sighed with frustration, thinking that she may as well have been talking to a brick wall. “Oh, why must you be so stubborn?” After considering him for a moment, she stood up and went to the Christmas tree in the distant corner. “I have something for you,” she said, picking up a small package wrapped in colored paper. “I’d rather give it to you now than wait until the morning.”

  “Laura, I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “Please,” she entreated, bringing the gift to him. “Please, I want you to.” Heedless of her fine dress, she knelt on the floor next to him and dropped the flat package into his lap.

  He regarded it stonily. “I suppose this has some bearing on the conversation.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Slowly Jason ripped one side of the paper and pulled out a small photograph in a frame. He went still, his head bent over the sepia-toned albumen print. Laura had chosen a simple silver frame ornamented with a garnet in each corner.

  The picture was of Charlie Moran in the doorway of his grocery store. It was a shock to Jason—he had not seen his father’s face since the day before Charlie had died. He felt as if he’d received a hard blow to the chest. “Where did you get this?” he asked after a long time.

  “Your mother showed it to me. I asked her if I could give it to you. She said you’d never seen it.”

  �
��No.” He stared at the weathered face in the photograph, shaken by the memories it provoked.

  Laura watched him with an almost maternal tenderness as he studied the faded image.

  “Big, hard-drinking, blustering, hot-tempered Irishman,” Jason said. “We could never talk without arguing. The last time I saw him was the worst. We nearly came to blows.”

  “Why?”

  “He accused me of being ashamed of him and the family. I told him he was right. I…” Jason looked away from the picture, his jaw tensing. “…said things I never should have said. I wanted no part of his plans for me. God knows I was never meant to champion Irish causes, or go into ward politics, or take over his store—” He broke off abruptly. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “He died the next day, didn’t he?” Laura asked.

  Jason smiled bitterly. “That night, actually. It was quick, unexpected. Ma sent for me, but he was dead before I reached the house.”

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “I was angry because of all I’d said to him.” Jason was too wrapped up in the memory to guard his words. “Because he’d gone before I could take any of it back.”

  “What would you have told him?” she whispered.

  “I…” He swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes against the sudden glitter of tears. “Dammit.” Roughly he rubbed his sleeve over his face, disgusted with his lack of control. “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “Jason, you must forgive yourself,” she said softly. “There is no one to blame. It wasn’t your fault that you wanted a life different from his. It wasn’t your fault that he died.”