Chapter Nine #4
“Henry’s right. You should, Kate,” Mary added brightly. “Why don’t you come stay with us when we get back to Chicago? We’d love to show you around the galleries, wouldn’t we, Henry?”
“Yes.” Henry fingered his glass. “I’ve already mentioned to Kate that her talent should be nurtured.” For once, his irritating grin was absent.
“Can I come, too?” Minnie squeaked.
“Don’t be silly, Minnie. None of us is going to Chicago!” Mrs. Kerwyn cut herself another thin slice of cake.
“People do like your baskets, though, Kate,” Harriet added. “We’re down to just one left!”
“There you are, Kate. The public have spoken.” Louisa hiccupped again.
“I suppose it’s not a bad idea to have a way to make money, seeing as you’re not all that domestic.
You’re more of a free spirit, aren’t you?
Must be your Indian blood coming out.” She forced a little chuckle.
“I don’t imagine you’ll ever get married and have children.
” Her eyes darted to Henry. “It’s just as well, I suppose.
That way you’ll have an income to help Mom and Dad when we’re all gone. I mean, someone has to stay behind.”
“That’s enough, Louisa!” Mr. Kerwyn grunted.
“Well, it’s true,” she muttered, flopping back in her chair.
“I don’t know.” Henry cleared his throat. “Who says that matrimony and artistry are mutually exclusive?”
Kate could feel him staring, but she refused to look at him. Instead, she pushed back her chair and stood. “I think I need a little air.”
“What? Now? It’s dark out, Kate!” Mrs. Kerwyn exclaimed.
“I’m just going out on the porch, Mom.”
“You’ll catch your death. Put a sweater on!”
Kate dutifully grabbed the saggy gray sweater that always hung by the back door and shrugged into it. Outside, dirty piles of snow still littered the muddy yard, but the air was warm, causing a fog to hang near the ground.
She breathed in the smell of wet earth and leaned against one of the porch posts, her arms folded.
How dare Louisa claim she wasn’t domestic, especially since she was the one who did most of the housework while Louisa lay around claiming to be working on her trousseau.
And how dare Louisa dismiss her work as little more than peddling!
Though, she supposed it was an accurate statement.
She bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t sure what to think.
She was the first to admit that the baskets had been made from necessity, but then Frank and Julius had declared them to be something more.
Something of beauty. Now the Crawfords were calling her an artist, too.
She had always been quick to dismiss that title, but now that Louisa had publicly denounced her, she realized how desperately she had been clinging to that idea. Could a woman really be an artist?
She peered through the fog and saw a rabbit dart from under the pine tree.
The idea secretly thrilled her. Perhaps her real family were all artists.
Maybe the Espos had been great artists who had been forced down into the mines due to poverty.
She stared at the wisps of fog curling around the ground and wondered where her poor family had all disappeared to.
She heard the screen door bang softly behind her and turned, hoping it was Edmund, but, no, it was Henry. Disappointed, she girded herself for an inevitable conversation.
He sidled up beside her, his hands in his pockets as he peered into the fog. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
“Mmm.” Kate didn’t look at him.
“Do you like the cross?
“Yes, I said I did. But it’s really too much.”
“Not for someone I admire.”
She was pretty sure he didn’t admire her, but she decided not to encourage him with any extra speech.
“I understand you, you know,” he said softly. “Better than you think.”
“Oh?” She kept her eyes on the base of the pine tree, hoping the rabbit would return.
“I know, for example, that you’re in love with Edmund.”
She took in a sharp breath and wheeled on him. In love with Edmund? “No, I’m not!”
Henry grinned. “But you are, sweet Kate. It’s written all over your face. Even now I see it in those beautiful dark eyes of yours.”
“Edward’s like a brother to me!”
“It might have seemed that way when you were children, but he is not, in fact, your brother.”
Kate’s chest heaved. Harriet had hinted at this very same thing in the past, but Kate had denied it then, too. She stared at Henry, her face burning despite the wet air. Was she in love with Edmund? Dear God! Of course she wasn’t!
“Unfortunately, Mary’s in love with him, too,” Henry continued. “As I’ve said, there aren’t any secrets between us.” He gave a self-satisfied little shrug. “I think young Edmund returns the feeling, if I’m not mistaken. It’s not every day that a young man takes a young lady to meet his mother.”
“But that was—” Kate was about to say that it had been Mary’s idea, but she made herself stop. She refused to argue about Edmund with Henry Crawford!
“As much as I esteem young Edmund, I think you are better off without him, if you want my opinion,” Henry said.
“I don’t agree with your sister. You don’t belong on a dirty farm, tending to elderly parents or even to a husband and dozens of dirty, probably disease-ridden children.
” He tried to laugh, but she didn’t join in.
He rubbed his eye with his finger and his silver signet ring gleamed in the porch light.
“Listen, Kate. I was serious in there. You should be in the city, pursuing your art, attending gallery openings, meeting other artists. I really could introduce you to a lot of people. Do you not believe me?”
She stared into his deep green eyes, so confident, so commanding, and wondered if she could believe him? After all, he was only corroborating
what Frank had already told her. Perhaps she should take her work more seriously; maybe she should—
Henry broke her train of thought by reaching out and tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
He was standing so close now that she could smell his cologne, rich and spicy, and she began to tremble just a little.
Several alarm bells went off, but before she could appropriately respond, he usurped them by swiftly bending down and kissing her.
She felt a rush of panic, but as he caressed her lips, tender and soft, it dissipated.
He broke the kiss but his lips hovered near, and before she could pull away, he kissed her again, this one longer and more intense. And, God help her, she returned it.
In the next instant, however, she came to her senses. “Don’t,” she stammered as she pulled back, her heart racing. What was she doing? Hadn’t he done the same to her sister just a few weeks ago?
“But why?” His face remained close. “Don’t tell me it’s Edmund.” He reached up to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers, but she turned her head.
“I saw you!” she blurted, taking a deliberate step back.
Henry’s brow quickly wrinkled.
“The night of Ray’s party? I saw you and Louisa in the kitchen.”
His face relaxed into his usual grin. “Oh, that? That didn’t mean anything.
I had a bit too much to drink.” He tried to chuckle, but it withered under her steely gaze.
“It was just a bit of fun, Kate,” he said, letting out a deep, exasperated breath.
“And, anyway, it’s obvious that it didn’t mean anything to Louisa either. After all, she is getting married.”
“She would have you in a second!” Kate retorted, then instantly regretted it.
“She would?” He was clearly surprised. “Well, what does it matter?” he asked after a brief pause. “I’m not interested in Louisa. I’m interested in you, Kate Kerwyn!”
“But why?” she said. “I’ve barely said a civil word to you.”
“Maybe that’s why. You are a challenge, you see.” He cocked an eyebrow.
For a brief moment hesitated. But, no. She didn’t want to be someone’s challenge—especially his. She wanted—
“Won’t you even give me a chance?” His face was still somewhat bemused.
“No.” She shook her head firmly.
“But why?”
“Because I don’t trust you. I could never trust you. Even if I wanted to.”
Suddenly, she wanted to retreat. To be alone with all of her thoughts. She felt confused and, truth be told, not a little ashamed of having fallen under his charming spell. Dear God, she had kissed him! Was she any better than Louisa?
“I can be constant, you know,” he insisted. “I’ll prove it to you. You’ll see. I daresay I’m not a little in love with you already.”
His bold announcement shocked her, but she didn’t let on. “Well, I’m not in love with you,” she said as stiffly as she could and moved around him toward the back door.
“I’m never going to give up, Kate Kerwyn,” he said over his shoulder. “And I mean it.”
“Just stay away from me, Henry,” she retorted as she ducked into the house and let the screen door bang behind her. Once inside, she leaned against the wainscoted wall and tried to catch her breath.
Just then, Edmund pushed through the swinging door from the dining room, Mary close behind.
“Oh, there you are, Possum!” he called. “We were just coming to check on you.”
“Possum!” squealed Mary. “Oh, how delicious! Is that what you call her when you’re alone together? I think pet names are ever so sweet! I want one, too!” She darted to the back door and pushed it open. “Are you there, Henry? We’re coming out!”
As she stepped out onto the porch, Edmund followed. But then he poked his head back in.
“You coming?” he asked.
She stared at him, at his bright brown eyes and his dimpled cheeks. Was she in love with him? Her heart beating hard in her chest, she shook her head and retreated to the dining room, afraid that if she stayed any longer, she might burst into tears.