Читать книгу THE BETTER PART OF VALOR - Morgan Mackinnon - Страница 28

Chapter 21

Cresta was just finishing up with Secretary Berstem and Dr. Sanford when George Montoya returned to the office. He was happy, declared a successful outfitting excursion, and dutifully reported he’d dropped the Colonel and his pile of purchases off at Cresta’s home.

“By God, Cresta. That Colonel of ours is a damned fine man! He’s smart and adaptable. We hit three men’s stores and purchased him a wardrobe so extensive it should cover all the bases. Even bought him a formal black suit although he might not need it. Do you know he didn’t know what a zipper is? All the trousers in his day were fastened with buttons. Can you imagine? Listen, as far as underwear goes, he’s used to what I can only call a union suit but was willing to try out a midthigh-length brief. At least it’s something. Now. He didn’t like Levi’s. Liked khakis and cords but…we had an issue with footwear. Does not like sneakers. Likes boots. We bought him five pairs of boots. Short boots in black and brown. A pair of high black boots I can only describe as riding boots. Two pairs of tough-man boots…knee-high but with those straps and rings and things around the arch and heel. My point is, he got the narrow-legged or slim trousers so he can wear the boots on the outside of the pants. Like he did in the army. I was thinking it was too old-fashioned until I saw women shoppers going crazy over the look. I’d get some for myself, but I’m afraid I’d look like Santa Claus.”

Montoya was digging in his jacket pocket for receipts he handed to Sandford. “One pair of dress shoes in black. Oh, and I got him two pairs of Bermuda shorts, although he says they would be immodest and vows he won’t wear them. That part is up to you, Cresta. Let me think. Socks, of course. A dressing gown. I got him a couple of leisure-loungewear two-piece things, and he’s okay with those. With his approval, we settled on a leather and sheepskin coat, which cost plenty, and a regular parka for winter. Um, if he’s here that long.”

Cresta was pleased with the progress. “Did you feed him lunch?”

“Oh, yeah. I took him to Flanagan’s, that Irish bar up on Delancey? He loved the place. We had corned beef and cabbage, boiled potatoes, soda bread, and whiskey. Our guy does like his whiskey. Especially Jameson. Did you know that corned beef and cabbage isn’t Irish? I feel sort of let down. He liked it but said it’s not traditional in Ireland. We talked, and he told me stories about how the Union Army constructed these pontoon bridges over rivers during the Civil War so they could transport mule-drawn carts with ammunitions and provisions, not to mention troops. Good engineering for that day and age. In fact, it’s a miracle how both armies conducted a war that required movement of troops, supplies, munitions, cavalry…all with a fair amount of precision. They even developed a hot-air balloon to use for surveillance.”

Cresta closed her eyes. Good Lord. The project’s chief engineer had just taken their Irish Lieutenant Colonel to an Irish bar and fed him God-knows-how-much whiskey. Brilliant. She’d best get home as quick as she could.

When she got to the farm, she found the Colonel mellowed out on the sofa in her library, flipping cat treats in the direction of Mehitable and Max. Since meeting this strange man the day before, both cats stopped their hissing and accepted that he might be a cat person after all. For his part, Keogh arrived at the conclusion these little gargoyles just might be cats because they did meow a lot. This morning, Cresta dressed Mettie in a pink sweater and Max in a striking black and white striped sweater. Keogh still found it strange cats in this time wore sweaters, and she explained again how this particular breed of cat had to be kept warm because they had no fur.

Setting down her handbag and satchel, she inquired as to how Keogh was feeling (the answer was “fine”) and then had him stand up so she could admire his new outfit. Paired with dark gray cords was a light blue pullover sweater which made his Irish eyes even bluer yet. He was barefoot, and she applauded that because most of the time, so was she. For a man out of his time, he looked pretty good.

“Okay, well, don’t forget we’re having Mother for dinner tonight.”

“Ah. What are we going to serve with her?”

It took a moment to realize what he’d said, and when she did, she grinned at him. “Good one. Okay, I’m heating up a honey-baked ham because there isn’t much you can do to ruin something like that. Mother isn’t enamored of my cooking.”

“No? She should come try the cooking in…in the nineteenth century sometime. You are a wonderful cook, if I may be so bold.”

Cresta executed a mock curtsey. “Thank you so much, sir. Seriously, I’m going to do mashed potatoes with butter, carrots in brown sugar and cinnamon, green bean casserole, and with that, slice up some French bread. How does that sound?”

As Cresta began to move about the kitchen, Keogh left the library and came in to be with her. He was fascinated by all the gadgets in this century. The electricity which provided excellent light, the stove and oven that didn’t require wood, a can opener whirred the tops off cans, the toaster toasted bread without having to use a toast fork, that beautiful sink with hot and cold running water. He was also taken with the fridge. In his time, they had ice cellars which were filled with ice in winter and then kept covered as much as possible in summer. Now he could walk over, open the fridge door, and take out a cold beverage any time he liked.

He sat on a stool at the central island and watched Cresta as she worked. Of course, she said, they’d have to use the formal dining room even if there were just three of them. Mother disliked having to eat in the kitchen. Myles rather got the impression that “Mother” would be happier if her daughter also had a cook, butler, and servants. He remembered when he was a boy, he had grown up with a cook and servants. In his time, Orchard House still had servants as Cresta had already seen. In fact, he had once written to his brother Tom he could remember how frustrated their mother got when she caught the boys in the kitchen listening to the servants telling stories rather than studying their school lessons.

Cresta paused. “You okay? You’ve got this…faraway look. I guess that’s only to be expected. Listen, when you start feeling overwhelmed, talk to me. That’s what I do. I listen to people.”

Searching for her favorite paring knife, she located the little object with an “Aha! There you are,” and began cutting up carrots.

“I’m really sorry to spring Mother on you just a day after you’ve arrived, but she’s ridiculously persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She lives fairly close to me, which means she’s over here far oftener than I’d like. I’d give a lot to have a warm, loving family like you have. Mother and I treat each other with frosty politeness, and she proceeds to criticize most of what I do. She particularly hates my job because I can’t tell her much about it. Can you imagine if she found out I was on a team working with time travel? Sweet Brigit, the entire state of Virginia would be in on it tomorrow.”

Keogh was curious. “You oftentimes refer to Brigit. Are you Catholic? St. Brigit is one of the patron saints of Ireland.”

“No, I’m afraid I am not Catholic. I’m not sure what I am. I was raised a Methodist but fell out of love with organized religion when I grew up. I have always loved the older Brigit. The one in the Celtic religion who was the daughter of the Dagda and one of the Tuatha De Danann. Goddess of poetry, crafts, divination, and prophesy. She was eventually absorbed by the Catholic church as a Saint, but she still had serious pastoral connections.”

Myles wasn’t aware of the saint’s background. “You say she was part of the ancient Celtic religion? A pagan religion?”

Cresta smiled. “What is religion, Myles? It’s the worship of a deity. And with that worship comes a set of rules or principles. Christians have the Ten Commandments and the Bible. Muslims have the Koran, Wicca has the five points of Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, and Spirit. The Lakota have three points of their deity, Wakan Tanka, the Creator. Sun, Mother Earth, and Fellow Man.”

At that, Myles’s head jerked up. “What do you know of the Lakota?”

“Take it easy. I was just using it as an example of a people with a deity and a set of beliefs. They are people, just like any people.”

It was clear Keogh had more to say on the subject, but at that moment, Mettie chose to jump up on the central island and approach him. He didn’t move, and it wasn’t long until the hairless, wrinkled beast began licking his left ear. Satisfied, she jumped back to the floor and sauntered off.

“I think you have the house cat stamp of approval. I’ve got to set the table. Shall I use the blue china or the white and green?”

Keogh predictably picked the china her great-grandmother left her because it was white with tiny green shamrocks around the edges for decoration. Cresta had a complete set of it as well as a medium green tablecloth. At his question, she admitted her great-great-grandfather from Ballymena, born in 1838, immigrated to Virginia in 1850 with his family. He was James Cocoran and was the one who had built this farm house and farmed the surrounding five hundred acres of land. Her great-grandfather, Eaman Cocoran, was born in 1877; his son, Andrew Cocoran, born in 1917, had sired her mother in 1950, who had married Damien Leigh in 1969. She, Cresta, had been born in 1971.

Keogh was staring at her in “that way” again. “Then you are…thirty-one? Forgive me. I am being rude. You do not look thirty-one. Not compared to the women of my time.”

She repositioned the salt and pepper shakers. “I don’t know if that was a compliment or a criticism. You must remember that women in this time don’t have nearly the backbreaking work women in your time had, servants or not, nor do we have a dozen children. Well, most of us don’t. Childbearing not only changes a woman’s body, it can take years off her life if she does it every nine months.”

“But how could you prevent the…” Keogh’s florid complexion turned beet red.

Cresta laughed. “In this century, there are several ways, and no, it’s not against God. The Christian Church initially didn’t approve, but it’s becoming more and more accepted now. The children a man and a woman choose to have is their business and not the business of the Church. Another thing, Colonel, a lot of people in this time enjoy sex merely for the pleasure of having sex.”

Keogh’s red face became a shade redder, which caused Cresta to laugh again. “I’m sorry, and I know I’m shocking you, but at present, you are in my time. Things are different.”

All she heard was a muttered “By all the saints and sweet Brigit, I guess they are.”

Mother arrived precisely at seven o’clock. She swept in wearing perfectly tailored beige pants, matching jacket, light coral sweater, brown leather handbag, brown boots, and a coral and brown scarf tied jauntily around her blonde ponytail. She made the motions of kissing her daughter on both cheeks…moi, moi…and then turned to Myles, holding out her hand, which he took and kissed.

“Cresta, darling. Please introduce me to your handsome friend.”

Oh boy, Mother is in top form tonight. “Mother, please meet Lieutenant Colonel Myles W. Keogh.” Cresta couldn’t resist using his brevet title just to impress. Then she excused herself to go get drinks.

“My, my. The military is recruiting the handsomest officers these days. Tell me, Colonel, what is it you do?”

Keogh cleared his throat. “Madam…all right then, Missus Leigh, I…yes, if you would prefer I call you Lorena…what? Yes, Lora, that is…whatever would make you pleased.” He hadn’t had a woman hurl names at him so fast in a long time.

Cresta returned to the dining room carrying a tray. “Mother, behave. Here is your mai-tai. Myles? Here is a whiskey for you, and I will sip at some Chardonnay while we chat.”

Lora repeated her question, and Myles sipped nervously at his drink.

“I am assigned to the Seventh Cavalry division of the United States Army.”

Before he tried to explain the difference between his Civil War brevet rank and his US Army rank of Captain, Cresta cut in.

“You see, mother, the cavalry division of the army was created in eighteen sixty-six and is still in existence. They have fought in both World Wars, Korea and Vietnam. No, Mother, they do not ride horses into battle any longer.”

She glanced at Keogh and could see his look of relief. He probably would have blundered in to a discussion of his role in the Indian Wars. Nevertheless, he frowned slightly. World Wars? Surely not.

Once over the “What do you do” hurdle, Cresta began to relax. Keogh was handling himself pretty well, telling her mother about his family but remembering (so far) not to interject recollections of Abraham Lincoln and Stonewall Jackson. Lora Leigh chattered on about her relatives, how she was dating a lovely young man named Rico and about their upcoming trip to Miami. She stressed Rico was only a casual date, not anyone serious.

Chattering was one of Lora’s weapons because now she insidiously slipped in another question. “Myles, tell me, do you have a wife and children? Or,” she smiled, “perhaps just children you know about?”

Keogh tried to act suave and remarked he had neither. Missus Leigh beamed and then took a small sip of her third mai-tai.

“You’re fortunate in a way. Good-looking young men can play the field, have all the fun they like, and not get nailed for child support. My Cresta was married once, but she let him get away. Well, you did, dear. And then when she lost the child…”

Cresta stood up and smacked her wineglass down on the table.

“Mother! That’s enough. I believe we should eat now.”

Her mother didn’t look contrite in the least. “I’m sorry, dear, but I thought you would have told him. Shall we go in?”

Dinner wasn’t comfortable. As soon as Cresta brought in the meal and they sat down at the table, Lora Leigh spotted Max lapping water from a dish sitting between the dining room and Cresta’s office.

“Cresta, dear, don’t you think we could have that filthy little beast removed to the bedroom during dinner?”

It didn’t get any easier after that. Missus Leigh did criticize the ham (too sticky with all that glaze), the potatoes (why white potatoes when ham really called for sweet potatoes?), the green bean casserole (how common), and dessert, which was apple crisp (also labeled common and uninteresting). The only things that escaped criticism were the wine, the French bread, the butter, and oddly, the carrots.

Keogh didn’t want to speak up to Cresta’s mother because it was not his place, but he did not like the way she talked to her daughter. Almost as though she was taunting her and trying to embarrass her. He kept trying to catch Cresta’s eye in a show of unity and support, but she was studiously avoiding any eye contact with him at all. Once Mother had been escorted out the door, she put a shaking hand to her forehead.

“Myles? I apologize. I know that wasn’t easy for either of us. Why don’t you go into the library and I’ll start clearing…”

Myles crossed the dining room floor and took her into his arms. This was the first time he’d deliberately done something like this, and although Cresta knew she should pull away from him, she didn’t, and the tears began to roll down her cheeks. Myles walked her into her library and made her sit on the sofa. He kept both arms around her, and she put her head on his shoulder as she cried. She was vaguely aware of him stroking her hair and murmuring to her it was all right, which she found strangely comforting, given the odd reversal in their roles. Hadn’t she just this afternoon told him to come to her when he felt overwhelmed? Finally, she pulled away from him and tried to explain.

“I didn’t expect Mother to bring up the baby. No, I didn’t tell you about it because it doesn’t matter. Okay, that came out the wrong way. The baby would have mattered a lot, but it never lived. I miscarried at barely ten weeks. My husband divorced me, and that was that. A month later, he ploughed his Mercedes into a tree and was killed instantly. To make things worse, we’d only been divorced for three weeks, and he had no relatives anyone could find. I was stuck burying that…that man, and I didn’t even care for him anymore. You know, sometimes you don’t really know someone or about someone until you marry them and they die.”

Keogh assumed a Mercedes was an automobile. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but he had to say something. “How did you lose the child? Can you tell me?”

Cresta could have said it was an ordinary natural termination, but she didn’t want to lie to Keogh. “My…husband hit me. I fell down a flight of basement stairs. That was when it…I…”

She felt herself being wrapped back into Keogh’s arms and felt tears coming again. He just kept on softly saying, “It is all right, Cresta. It will be all right. That is in the past. You must not think any more on it. Shh.”

When she finally managed to get up to clear the dinner dishes and put the leftover food away, she was glad that Myles Keogh, the man from the past, helped her.