Whatever Comes. Lass Small
accepted that. “Before you began to work for the Journal Gazette, what did you do?”
“Is this an interview?” His eyes glinted. He was enjoying himself.
“No, of course not.”
“I’m perfectly willing, you know. This is your great opportunity.” He gave her a wicked smile. “If there are any questions at all, I’ll answer them truthfully. Fire away.”
“What did you do before you began reporting for the Journal Gazette?” She pretended to get out a pad and poised an invisible pencil as she looked up, elaborately attentive.
“I am only just associated with the Journal. I have yet to turn in my first article.” All true.
“And...what did you do before that?”
“A multitude of things, nothing with any future. I’ve been the background for Vogue fashion models a couple of times.” That was true. “I’ve helped do a Public Broadcast conservation tape.” That was true. “And I’m a poet.” He wrote lyrics.
“Make me a poem.”
“Uh, there once was a woman named Mab, who with men would flirt just a tad, but when it came to brass tack, she would just turn her back, and leave the men weeping and mad.”
She laughed. “Limericks are easy.”
“Poems take longer. Anything worthwhile takes longer. Like friendship.” He watched her. “Snap judgments are generally a disaster. I’m a good man.” That, too, was true.
She sobered. “Did I give the impression I thought you otherwise? I don’t know you well enough to make such a decision.”
“Very true.” His face was serious.
“And do you think I am really as heartless as your limerick?”
He smiled. “I’ll find out.”
“We were speaking of women’s rights,” she began. “After all this time, in our struggle, and with you being in the newspaper business, it seems incredible you can be so out of touch.” She was amused by his rash stance.
He didn’t bend. He replied, “You’ll be glad it’s over. It was nonsense. Thank God you all have come to your senses!”
“God is on our side,” she countered.
“If you tell that old, old joke about God being a woman, you’re going to make me cranky.”
They looked at each other, and although they smiled, amused by their chatter, their bodies moved almost as if they were squaring off for some kind of combat. He understood it, but she wasn’t really aware of more than the feeling. Both felt the strong attraction between them and each had a very good reason to be wary of the other.
She was cautious with men so that around her there was a solid wall of protective reserve, but while she felt he was a male threat, she saw the humor and attractiveness of this Tris Roald.
He had a very unfair advantage in knowing her identity when she didn’t know who he was; but he had the greater reason for his calculation. He intended to teach her a lesson. He excused himself, saying he had to make a phone call—and it was with a satisfaction, of hunter for prey, when he saw she was still there waiting for him when he returned.
They didn’t see anyone else in that crowd, as they sipped the wine and nibbled from the elaborate buffet. Mab only spoke to others who spoke to her. No one spoke to Tris, for no one knew him.
The two laughed and talked. She teased him, saying she was one of three non-Indian “natives” living in Los Angeles, everyone else was immigrant. Then she added the truth, telling him in actual Los Angeles, her family really went back only two hundred years. “My great-grandfather jumped ship on the way back to Boston. Ezekiel was a misfit, from the stern and rockbound coast of Massachusetts, who apparently wasn’t spoken about as kin by that branch of the family until after World War I!
“Ezekiel very boldly stole a Chinese girl from the ship’s hold. And he lived with the girl here in the sun of southern California. They had fourteen children, all of whom lived. He was a shrewd Yankee trader and he did excessively well.”
Tris nodded, watching her face. “Our families have much in common. Adventure, independence and trade.”
She agreed as she said, “And apparently a love for the written word. That grandfather had also stolen the captain’s pocket Bible, and his two-volume set of the works of Shakespeare. A family story tells to what lengths Ezekiel went, in order to eventually trace down the captain, to return the carefully kept books. Charming. Very sentimental.”
With his steady eyes on Amabel, Tris commented, “Another thing we have in common—honor. Our good names. Ezekiel had to clear his books of his theft. Did he also pay for the Chinese girl he stole? He did marry her?”
She thought Tris looked rather stern. He had a hard chin. She would hate to cross him. But there was that strange quivering deep inside her. And now even the surface of her skin seemed to feel him.
She blinked back into focus and replied readily enough. “According to the family Bible, they married soon after the seventh child was born. The family never mentioned the delay in Ezekiel’s marriage. I discovered the fact one rainy day, in browsing through the names and dates, and called my mother’s attention to it.
“She said preachers weren’t always available for the niceties and, on occasion, emotions could get entirely out of hand—and these weren’t those days and I should behave myself! To remember Ezekiel’s stolen wife.”
Amabel smiled a little before she continued, “I used to wonder about Ezekiel’s wife. She probably didn’t have any idea what in the world was going on when he snatched her and jumped ship. Then to be in a strange land, with a great bear of a bearded man whose voice rumbled sounds she couldn’t comprehend. Did she want to be with him? He was obviously friendly...fourteen children! But what about her?”
With no hesitation, Tris explained it all. “In olden days most captive women were chosen by the men, and women adjust well to captivity.” He slowly licked his lower lip as he glanced down her still-damp body.
“Spoken like a Viking.” She shook her head chidingly. “Why are you brown-eyed and dark-haired? And not even six feet tall? You must lack a whole portion of an inch!” She smiled sassily.
“We ranged far and wide, and differences have always intrigued men.” He reminded her, “Ezekiel chose a Chinese girl.”
“You think he gave her much thought?”
“A man that bold wouldn’t just take what was handy. It would be his choice. Any man who would—borrow—such reading material would be a sensitive, romantic, loving man.”
“How nice of you to soothe my worry about My Ling.”
“That was her name?”
“We aren’t sure. He always called her that and spelled it M Y. Her name could very well have just been Ling. And it was the possessiveness of a thief which made him call her his.”
“I like Ezekiel.”
“Men would. He forced his own life to be as he chose it. And dragged that little Chinese girl along. He was a formidable man from the stories handed down. But women shiver a little over being stolen. Women are very vulnerable. Men have directed our lives for all time. We are just getting to the place where we have a toehold in guiding our own fates.”
He dismissed her words. “It’s only natural for men to control women. My dad used to remember about the olden days when men had it all. I never thought things would get back to normal in my lifetime.”
She watched the wicked, golden glints of humor that betrayed him, and she smothered a smile in turn. “I’m going to run for an office in NOW.”
“Now?