and admire the elegant gowns and broad, black-clad backs dipping and swaying gracefully through the flower-bedecked ballroom. She found contentment in the music.
But she'd heard a great deal more than music by lingering. She couldn't hear all the words. Pace's voice had been low and venomous. Josie hadn't said much. But she'd known the content anyway. And she heard the shattered emotions.
She turned back, inspecting the sleeping woman in the bed. Harriet Nicholls had taken a sleeping draft before the ball started, saying the noise would disturb her otherwise. No one had offered to help her from her bed to dress and go downstairs to inspect the ballroom and greet the guests. No one had expected her to leave her room. And she'd made no attempt to do so. Dora wondered how long Pace's mother had been this way, but she had been taught the vulgarity of asking personal questions.
As far as she could see, there was nothing wrong with the woman but too much laudanum, too much medicinal whiskey, and inertia. Harriet couldn't sleep at night because she slept all day with the shades drawn. She couldn't leave her bed because she couldn't face the day without a strong dose of "medicine." By the time she was sufficiently anesthetized to get out of bed, she was too unstable on her feet to walk down the stairs. So she called herself an invalid and stayed in bed.
Dora supposed Harriet might be inflicted with some pain the eye couldn't see. She knew it happened. Joints became stiff and painful and degenerated for no known reason. Perhaps that was the case. She would give her the benefit of the doubt. But she couldn't think so charitably of the family who totally ignored her.
Only Pace bothered visiting his mother, and he came home so infrequently that he might as well not come at all. Carlson Nicholls acted as if his wife didn't exist. He kept his black mistress in a room near the kitchen so he didn't have to go out in the weather on a bad night.
Charles didn't go so far as to bring his women into the house, but he came in drunk and staggering at all hours, and didn't seem to care that he might disturb the invalid's sleep. He never entered her room. He visited the grave of his late sister more often than he visited his still living mother. It was an extremely odd household.
But only Pace mattered to Dora. She had never questioned why this was so. She'd felt that way ever since the day she had found him battered and hurting beneath the maples. She felt his hurts as if they were her own, and he was hurting badly right now. She could feel his anguish all the way through her middle.
Checking once again on the sleeping woman, Dora reached for her bonnet and tied it beneath her chin. She recognized the senselessness of her actions. She couldn't ease Pace's anguish. He scarcely knew she existed. He was a lawyer now, with a partnership in Frankfort. With all of Kentucky at war with itself. Pace had found his element. He would probably head for the saloons in town now. It didn't matter. She just knew she couldn't let him grieve alone.
Of course, knowing Pace's penchant for taking his rage out on others, he would no doubt instigate a brawl before the night ended. She'd heard he'd been shot in a fight over in Lexington. Rumors blamed a duel, but she didn't think Pace would have participated in one.
She'd heard it said the new constitution forbade state representatives from taking office if they'd participated in a duel. Pace was too determined to get elected to risk his career. But she knew he carried a gun and wouldn't hesitate at shooting a man who aimed at him. His violence terrified her. Had he been anyone else, she would steer a wide path around him. But Pace had called her an angel and bought her candy sticks and surprisingly replaced her doll one day when she was really too old for dolls. It hadn't mattered. She'd kept the doll beside her every night since.
The warm, clear spring night stirred her blood as Dora raced down the lane toward
But she'd heard a great deal more than music by lingering. She couldn't hear all the words. Pace's voice had been low and venomous. Josie hadn't said much. But she'd known the content anyway. And she heard the shattered emotions.
She turned back, inspecting the sleeping woman in the bed. Harriet Nicholls had taken a sleeping draft before the ball started, saying the noise would disturb her otherwise. No one had offered to help her from her bed to dress and go downstairs to inspect the ballroom and greet the guests. No one had expected her to leave her room. And she'd made no attempt to do so. Dora wondered how long Pace's mother had been this way, but she had been taught the vulgarity of asking personal questions.
As far as she could see, there was nothing wrong with the woman but too much laudanum, too much medicinal whiskey, and inertia. Harriet couldn't sleep at night because she slept all day with the shades drawn. She couldn't leave her bed because she couldn't face the day without a strong dose of "medicine." By the time she was sufficiently anesthetized to get out of bed, she was too unstable on her feet to walk down the stairs. So she called herself an invalid and stayed in bed.
Dora supposed Harriet might be inflicted with some pain the eye couldn't see. She knew it happened. Joints became stiff and painful and degenerated for no known reason. Perhaps that was the case. She would give her the benefit of the doubt. But she couldn't think so charitably of the family who totally ignored her.
Only Pace bothered visiting his mother, and he came home so infrequently that he might as well not come at all. Carlson Nicholls acted as if his wife didn't exist. He kept his black mistress in a room near the kitchen so he didn't have to go out in the weather on a bad night.
Charles didn't go so far as to bring his women into the house, but he came in drunk and staggering at all hours, and didn't seem to care that he might disturb the invalid's sleep. He never entered her room. He visited the grave of his late sister more often than he visited his still living mother. It was an extremely odd household.
But only Pace mattered to Dora. She had never questioned why this was so. She'd felt that way ever since the day she had found him battered and hurting beneath the maples. She felt his hurts as if they were her own, and he was hurting badly right now. She could feel his anguish all the way through her middle.
Checking once again on the sleeping woman, Dora reached for her bonnet and tied it beneath her chin. She recognized the senselessness of her actions. She couldn't ease Pace's anguish. He scarcely knew she existed. He was a lawyer now, with a partnership in Frankfort. With all of Kentucky at war with itself. Pace had found his element. He would probably head for the saloons in town now. It didn't matter. She just knew she couldn't let him grieve alone.
Of course, knowing Pace's penchant for taking his rage out on others, he would no doubt instigate a brawl before the night ended. She'd heard he'd been shot in a fight over in Lexington. Rumors blamed a duel, but she didn't think Pace would have participated in one.
She'd heard it said the new constitution forbade state representatives from taking office if they'd participated in a duel. Pace was too determined to get elected to risk his career. But she knew he carried a gun and wouldn't hesitate at shooting a man who aimed at him. His violence terrified her. Had he been anyone else, she would steer a wide path around him. But Pace had called her an angel and bought her candy sticks and surprisingly replaced her doll one day when she was really too old for dolls. It hadn't mattered. She'd kept the doll beside her every night since.
The warm, clear spring night stirred her blood as Dora raced down the lane toward
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