THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER Page 8

  "He won't blacken my name. I've made arrangements to sleep at Mrs. Graham's tonight," Lulu said, entering from the kitchen. "He'll be much more comfortable here than on a cot in your office."

  "Well, yes, but--"

  "Mr. Eagleton, I am a respectable spinster, and my neighbor is equally respectable. Between us we can surely protect my name and Mr. Dewitt's."

  Tony said, "She's right about the cot, Mr. Eagleton. If it won't damage her reputation, I'd much rather stay here, tonight at least. I'll look for another place tomorrow."

  "That's settled then." Lulu brushed her hands together. "I've put the kettle on. What blend of tea do you prefer, Mr. Eagleton? I have Gunpowder, Keemun and Jasmine."

  "Do you have coffee?"

  "No, I'm sorry."

  "Give him Gunpowder, Lulu," Tony suggested. "I think you'll like it, Mr. Eagleton. It's a little different from what most people think of as tea."

  "It sounds deadly, but I'll try anything once. Now then, we've got a little time, so I want you to take it easy tomorrow. I'll see to delivering the batteries and you can run the tests Thursday instead. Will you need help?"

  Tony glanced at Lulu, who nodded. "No, I don't think so. Don't worry, Mr. Eagleton. We'll be open for business Monday morning."

  "That's fine, then." He cocked his head, looking at Tony with a peculiar expression. "I saw Miss King pick up a spectacles case. You'd better wear 'em when you go out tomorrow."

  "Oh, I forgot. Here they are." Lulu pulled the case from her skirt pocket.

  "I'd forgotten I had these. Do you have some fine wire, Lulu?"

  "I'll see." She went back into the kitchen.

  Tony set the spectacles aside. "Did you talk to George Randall? He said he was going to sign up for service, but I haven't seen him since. I'd like to get him connected before Monday."

  "He got called down to Franklin. His mother's ailing. But Elmer O'Bannion came by this morning, wondering if it was too late to sign up. He fancies a telephone in his store."

  "That's right behind the theatre, isn't it? We should be able to run a wire over there easily. Does he have to have it Monday?"

  "Have to? No. But it'd be good business, were we to show as many subscribers signed up beforehand as we can. The investors will like that."

  "Then I'll do it, one way or another."

  Lulu entered then, carrying a tray loaded with teapot, cups and a plate of cookies. The conversation turned social.

  Mr. Eagleton bravely drank a whole cup of Gunpowder tea, but it was plain he only did it out of politeness. He departed soon after, pleading a dinner engagement. But before he left, he pulled Tony out onto the porch. "That's a fine young woman. You take good care of her, and don't do anything to besmirch her good name."

  As he mounted into his buggy, he said, "I'll see you later. And get those spectacles fixed."

  Tony went back inside, aware that he was as tired as if he'd worked all day. Lulu was in the kitchen. "Those cookies were delicious. I didn't know you cooked...I mean--"

  She laughed. "I know what you mean. We career women aren't supposed to have housewifely skills. But remember, before I had a career, I had a mother who was the second best cook in Cherry Vale. And she taught me well." She reached to set the teapot on a high shelf, the motion tightening her shirtwaist across her breast.

  He only imagined he could see the ivory flesh, the rosy nipple. Desire burned, a hotter flame than any he had felt the night before. He swallowed, and forced his gaze to the window. "I don't imagine you get much time to cook, what with all your traveling," he said. His voice sounded weak and shaky in his ears.

  She turned, and was standing far too close. "Not as much as I'd like. Excuse me. I need to put these over there." She held three tea canisters.

  Tony stepped aside, wondering how long it would be before she went next door for the night.

  Wishing she wouldn't.

  She settled him in the rocker, padding the back with cushions so he could sit without pressure on his burns. On the table at his side were books, magazines, a small spool of fine wire--beading wire, she'd called it--and his spectacles case. Mr. Eagleton was so insistent I wear these. Was that why he gave me that newspaper article? Could he suspect...? No, of course not.

  Feeling like the world's worst hypocrite, he picked up the spectacles and clumsily went to work on the detached earpiece.

  Lulu fixed scrambled eggs and toast for supper. When she was small, that had been her mother's cure for all ills. She'd told Mrs. Graham she'd spend the evening with Tony, and come over after settling him for the night. Her elderly neighbor had smiled, handed her a key, and said, "Have a nice evening. I'll leave a lamp burning."

  "I'll help you to bed," she told him when they'd done eating. From the way he moved, slowly and gingerly, she was sure he was hurting, but too much the man to admit it.

  "Not yet, unless you want to go next door so early. If I lie on my belly too long, I'll be stiff as a board tomorrow."

  She shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't expect me to entertain you. I've got work to do."

  To his credit, he looked uncomfortable. "Oh, Lulu, I'm sorry. I didn't even think--"

  "Don't worry about it. I can do it tonight just as well. But if I'm going to help you Thursday, I really do need to get these letters written." Seating herself at her desk, she lit the lamp and opened her folio.

  Little good it did her. He was far too much of a distraction, even though he never spoke. Every rustle of fabric against skin, every turn of a page, every shift of his feet and creak of the rocker pulled her attention away from her tasks and back to him.

  About eight-thirty she gave up and turned to look at him. A book was open on his lap. But he wasn't reading. Instead his eyes were looking at something far away, in time or space. Something unpleasant, she imagined, from the way his mouth was set and the dimples in his cheek had lengthened into creases.

  "Are you in pain?"

  She might as well have spoken to the wall. "Tony? Are you in pain?"

  "Wha--Oh, no. No, I'm fine. A twinge now and then, and my hand aches, but nothing serious."

  "Then what's the matter? You looked so...so hopeless."

  Slowly, deliberately, he closed the book on his lap and set it on the table. Without turning to look at her, he said, "Lulu, did I ever tell you what brought me to Hailey?

  "Why I'll never work on another bridge, except simple, unimportant projects. Like the one I'm designing for Eagleton."

  Chapter Seven

  After the blaze the Merchant's Hotel fired up liquid refreshments to the extent of six gallons of whiskey, half a barrel of beer, and half a dozen bottles of wine. Two hundred cigars were passed over the bar.

  Wood River Times

  ~~~

  Confession was good for the soul. He'd heard that trite little saying many times, and he still didn't believe it. He did, however, know he had to tell her how thoroughly he'd destroyed his career.

  His life.

  "It was mostly my fault, I guess," he said, trying to find a way to ease into the telling of it. "I came out of college with a pretty inflated sense of my own worth." A realization he'd come to with much soul-searching. "Part of it was because the year I entered Harvard was when a program to bring Chinese students to America began. Forty or fifty came to Massachusetts, with the expectation that eventually they'd be admitted to American colleges. Not everyone was in favor of the program, and there was a lot of debate about it around school.

  "Nobody knew I was Chinese. My legal name is Tony Dewitt--Silas made sure of that when he adopted me. I spoke perfect English, I was an American citizen, and I didn't look typically Chinese. Most of the fellows assumed I was part Indian, and I never said anything to make them think different.

  "I didn't want to look Chinese. Soomey kept telling me I should be proud of my heritage, but I never understood why. What had being Chinese ever done for me, except gotten me spat upon, kicked around, and half-killed?" He fingered the scar on his forehead, faded n
ow, until it was a faint silvery line, but still a reminder of the day he'd been brutally beaten and left for dead by a madman.

  "Anyhow, nobody seemed to realize I was one of those 'slant-eyed coolies'. I did well in college."

  Her murmured, "I knew you would," was like balm to his soul.

  "Two months before I received my degree, I was offered a position with Millett, Durham and Kane, one of the biggest engineering firms on the East Coast. They'd just won the contract to design a bridge a lot of engineers said couldn't be built."

  "I saw your letter to Aunt Hattie, telling about it. She was so proud." Lulu put the papers she'd been reading on the corner of the desk and moved to the settee, facing him. She leaned over and lifted a mass of knitting from a basket. He saw it was an almost-finished sweater made from rich brown wool.

  "Somehow such a domestic activity doesn't fit with the career woman you seem to be," he said, smiling in spite of his gloomy mood.

  "I don't know why not. All women have careers, whether it's keeping house for some man, working in a mill, or fighting for a cause." She knitted a few stitches, then looked up. "You were telling me why you came to Hailey." She sounded genuinely interested.

  "I was, wasn't I?" He sought words that would not damn him for a failure. "Shortly after I went to work for Millett et al., I was assigned to the bridge project. I didn't have anything to do with the design. Starting engineers are little better than draftsmen in big offices. But I did drawings for each stage of the design, so I could see it all come together." Remembering, he was still awed. "Lulu, it was an engineering wonder. Every bit as spectacular, every bit as innovative as the Brooklyn Bridge."

  "I saw it, the last time I was in New York City. It's an incredible structure. Truly awe-inspiring."

  "You'd probably have been disappointed with my bridge then. To a non-engineer, it probably didn't look like much. Truss spans rarely do."

  "Your bridge? You really are proud of it, aren't you?"

  "I was." The anger he thought he'd conquered burned in his gut. "Even more so when I was assigned as the engineer on site, once they'd started building it. I was the liaison between the office in Newark, and the construction crews." At her look of surprise, he explained. "That means I was there in case they had questions about the plans. I had no authority. I couldn't make any decisions."

  The quick movements of her fingers slowed as she looked across at him. "In other words, you were the goat."

  "The goat?"

  "Who got sacrificed if anything went wrong."

  "What a rotten thing to say. Millett, Durham and Kane is a reputable engineering firm. They wouldn't do anything like that. Besides, the fault was with the construction firm, not the design. They took shortcuts...used inferior materials..." He got to his feet, finding it easier than it had been earlier, and went to the window. As he stared out into the night, he said, "I should have kept a closer eye on them. Should have made sure they built everything to our design specifications."

  "Oh? Was that part of your job?"

  "Uh, no, not exactly. I wasn't an inspector, or anything. But I should have watched more closely." How many nights had he lay awake, staring at an unseen ceiling, wishing he could go back and do all he hadn't done. "It may not have been my job, but I was there, and I didn't make sure they followed the design specs. That makes it my fault." He leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes. But he still saw the wreckage...

  "Ferd Cunningham, the prime contractor on the bridge construction, has been in the business for a long time. He has a pretty good opinion of himself, and he doesn't think much of engineering firms like Millett, Durham and Kane. He thought nothing of changing a design if he thought it was wrong.

  "The design was innovative, unlike anything he'd worked on before. He said it was overbuilt, some of the materials called for were unnecessary. So he made substitutions. I protested the ones I saw, but I know I missed a lot. I wrote of my concerns to Mr. Millett. He came to the site several times, and once or twice he made them redo something. But more often he ignored me, or told me I was crying wolf. After a while he stopped answering my letters. Six months before the bridge was finished, he called me back to Newark and assigned me to another project."

  The disappointment was still sharp and painful. "A mansion on Long Island," he said, letting his scorn show in his voice. "A big monstrosity of a house with nothing attractive or interesting about it."

  "I don't understand. Are you saying you quit your job because you were assigned to a project you didn't like?"

  Disappointed she would even consider such a thing, he said, "No. I'd never do anything like that. I didn't quit my job, I was fired." Swallowing, because the lump in his throat threatened to stop his words, he said, "Worse, I was blacklisted. No reputable engineering firm in the country will ever hire me again." He had to take three deep, slow breaths to steady his voice. "A hundred and thirty-two innocent people died when the bridge failed as a train was crossing it, because I was too ineffectual to prevent shoddy work. Because I didn't make Mr. Millett listen to me when I told him what was happening." He threw himself into the rocker, welcoming the pain when his back screamed from the impact.

  Lulu knitted in silence for a long time. At last she said, "If you feel you're at fault, there's nothing I can say to change your mind. But it sounds to me like you did all you could. Have you talked to Uncle Silas about this?"

  "No. I haven't even told him. I didn't want...I couldn't write it in a letter."

  She set the knitting aside and rose. "Tony, if you were still a child, I'd kiss you and promise that tomorrow everything will be all right. Unfortunately, we're no longer children, and we both know some things just don't get better."

  She sounded sad. Defeated? He opened his mouth to ask why, but she interrupted him.

  "Do you need help undressing?"

  Relieved in a way that she hadn't asked how he had caused so many deaths, he said, "Maybe with the shirt." He wasn't sure he could get it off. Putting it on had been painful.

  "I'll come in shortly, then. You go ahead and brush your teeth."

  She sounded so much like Aunt Flower that he had to grin. "Yes, mother."

  Her gray eyes held a shadow when she looked up at him. "I am not your mother," she said, before she abruptly turned away.

  He was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting, when Lulu entered a few minutes later, carrying the jar of honey and more clean cloths. She set them on the bedside table. "I'll be back in a minute," she told him, and went back to the kitchen for the basin full of warm water.

  His back appeared better already, less inflamed and weeping. She washed carefully, trying not to hurt him. Even so, she forced a couple of wordless exclamations from him when the wet cloth brushed the blistered patch on his left shoulder. Each time her hands touched his warm, smooth skin, they wanted to soothe. To stroke away the pain. To comfort not just his body, but his soul.

  Instead, she poured the honey onto a folded pad and carefully positioned it. "I'll tie this more securely tonight. I don't want it coming off as you sleep."

  "Neither do I. Honey-soaked sheets would not be a comfortable bed." He pushed himself upright, moving much more easily than he had this afternoon.

  "Ugh! That would be awful!" She held the pad in place until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. To make sure the bandage didn't slip as he slept, she tied half a dozen cloth strips around his chest. "There, that should hold it."

  As she stood before him, she could feel his heat. Her fingers lingered on the last knot as she looked down into his face. When he lifted his chin and gazed back at her, she almost gasped with what she saw. She stepped back--or would have, except his arms were, somehow, around her waist.

  "Oh, Lulu," he murmured, resting his head on her breast. "God, this feels so good. You always smell of flowers. And you're so soft and warm."

  His arms tightened, and she knew she should pull away, now, before it was too late.

  His back hurt, but Tony di
dn't care. All he could think of was Lulu. Lulu whom he'd fallen in love with at the age of eight, and had never stopped loving. The first friend he'd ever had of his own age. His protector, his defender, when he'd been unsure of acceptance and uncertain of behavior.

  She had taught him to play. Soomey had taught him to love and Silas had taught him to trust, but Lulu had taught him how to be a child.

  And one night, when she'd broken his heart, she'd taught him what it meant to be a child no longer.

  Maybe it was time for him to show her the man he'd become.

  He hooked his foot around hers and swept her sideways, onto the bed. Before she could react, he was on top of her, kissing her, consuming her mouth. She tasted of tea and smelled of flowers. She was soft, woman-soft, and yielding. His fingers closed around her breast and he could have wept because he had only one hand to delight in the richness of her.

  She resisted for a moment, then arched against him. Her breathing quickened, her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin. One leg curled around his, pulling his groin hard against her belly. Even through layers of clothing, he could feel her heat. Her need.

  With his good hand, he caught her collar, high and snug against the silken skin of her throat. "How does this open?" he panted between nips at her mouth.

  "I'll do it. Let me up."

  But he couldn't let her go, not for a second. "I hope it wasn't expensive," he muttered, as he caught the collar with his fingers and tore. A button pinged against the brass bedstead.

  Above the corset, her breasts were plump and round. Inviting him to kiss, to taste, to bite. "Damn it, I can't do a thing with one hand."

  "Let me," she gasped as he fastened his mouth over one shadowy nipple, wetting the fine lawn that barely concealed it.

  He feasted, while she untangled the laces confining her lovely body, and then he helped her pull the corset away, wriggle out of skirt and petticoat. By the time she lay under him, clad only in one layer of thin linen, they were both panting, both desperate.

  Awkward, clumsy with only his right hand, he stroked her body, her hip, the lean, strong length of her thigh. Her body was as lithe and agile as he remembered it, but no longer boyish. Her bottom was round and full, and he lingered there, feeling its shape, molding the delicate fabric of her drawers against it. When she moved impatiently, he let his fingers stray into the cleft and follow it to moist heat, finding no barrier here to his touch. She was wet and ready for him, as he'd known she would be. He dipped one finger into her.