Change of Heart Read online

  I didn’t have a phone, but Mrs. Noschese did. “Audubon five-three-two-eight,” I repeated, and rose to my feet. Before I left, I covered her with a sheet for modesty.

  Covered him with a sheet?

  No.

  Chapter 7

  The phone was in the parlor and so were several men, family members who sat soberly while in the dining room, the women cleared away the remains of Sunday dinner. They gave me permission to use the phone and I crouched over it, keeping my voice low. Leo couldn’t come get us for a little while. I asked him if he’d call a doctor, and he paused and said no. I couldn’t argue with him. The Vaughn I knew didn’t fit with what I’d found under her skirt, and she didn’t need strangers taking a gander at her. So I promised to do what I could, and he promised we’d see him in an hour.

  I didn’t want to leave Vaughn for long, but I headed to the kitchen for a bowl of water. Mrs. Noschese caught me coming in the door.

  “I heard men in your room.” Concern outweighed the accusation in her tone. She wore a white lace scarf, as if she’d only just come home from church.

  “My friend”—were we still friends? Could I be friends with that kind of person? “Got hurt.” Please don’t ask me how. “She fell.”

  She bustled past me into the kitchen. “Come. Let me get some bandages, and I’ll send one of the girls to help you.”

  “No.” The word burst out. Mrs. Noschese gave me a sharp glance over her shoulder.

  “She has a small cut. If you have some bandages and some iodine, that’d be swell.”

  Then I held my breath. She squinted at me, as if she smelled a lie but couldn’t quite see it. “I think we have mercurochrome,” was all she said.

  “Thank you.”

  While I filled a bowl with warm water, she gathered supplies and loaded me up. I said thanks as rapidly as possible, ducking out before she could offer to help again. I hurried to my room, relief at having avoided assistance turning to fear Vaughn had snuck out without me.

  My hands were full, so I had to juggle things to open the door to my room, which helped me ignore the tornado in my gut. What if she left? I managed to grasp the door knob with my fingertips, gave it a turn, and nudged the door open with my shoulder.

  Vaughn inhaled softly, and then I could breathe.

  Still asleep, too, or unconscious again, which might be a blessing. Relief sped me along, and I set to work on her hurts. I cleaned the two cuts where the knife got her, bandaged them up, and painted the rest with mercurochrome. She murmured a couple times and winced when I ran water over the deepest cuts but otherwise stayed quiet.

  Along the way, I managed to get her out of her ruined clothing. I wrapped the torn and bloody stuff in her skirt and tied it all in a bundle. Then, because I didn’t have a choice, I dressed her in a nightgown I’d been saving for something special, the kind with a high collar and a ruffle around the shoulders. She didn’t stir till I finished, and this time when she grasped my wrist, I managed not to scream.

  “Leo?” Bruises bloomed across her cheekbone and her battered lip.

  I perched on the edge of the bed, lay a hand on her forehead, and snatched it away even though she wasn’t hot. “It’s dark now. He should be here any minute.”

  She nodded once and pinched her eyes shut like even that motion hurt. Bringing a hand to her throat, she picked at the cotton ruffle. “What’s this?”

  “One of mine. Your stuff was all torn up and bloody.”

  Her eyes popped open. “You undressed me?” Her words were choked with desperation.

  I didn’t move. Except for the bruises and her poor lip, she still resembled the pretty woman who’d given me my first real kiss. The differences? Well, I needed time to sort those out. Her question floated between us, and as bad as I wanted to reassure her, I had nothing to say.

  A heavy pounding on the door saved me from giving her an answer. Leo? Mrs. Noschese? Or maybe those men who’d beat her. Fear turned my fingers to ice. I crossed the room, belly roiling. “Who’s there?”

  “Leo and Thaddeus.” A firm, deep baritone answered, very different than Leo’s screechy twang.

  “Let them in,” Vaughn whispered.

  I did.

  Mr. Dupont came in with Leo behind him. I gave them the best explanation I could, and Mr. Dupont lifted Vaughn like she weighed no more than a kitten.

  I draped my blanket over her and tucked the edges in. “You taking her to your house?”

  He nodded, not meeting my gaze. Even doing a kindness, his reserve left me cold.

  Leo came over and patted Vaughn’s hair. “You had to undress her to clean her up?”

  I froze, the bowl of soapy, red-tinged water in my hands. “Yes.” I met his gaze much more directly than I’d been able to look at Vaughn.

  Leo tipped his head, blonde hair falling across his brow, and his lips curled in a sneering smile. “You better pack a bag, then.”

  “Why?” I asked at the same time as Mr. Dupont.

  Leo glanced at the other man, his smile getting uglier. “Because you’re not going to change her bloody bandages, are you Thaddy?” He tipped his head to the side, a mocking lift to his brow. “And we all know I’m not good for very much.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, cutting loose with one of his braying laughs. “We need a nurse, Miss Clara, and I guess you’re our only choice.”

  Chapter 8

  They gave me a cot at the foot of Vaughn’s tall, four-poster bed. Mr. Dupont’s house was a big, fancy place in the Garden District, bigger and fancier than any place I’d ever set foot in. Vaughn slept, and other than periodically checking her for fever, I had time to consider the evening.

  I had a lot to consider.

  Mr. Dupont left me a bottle of aspirin and a glass of whiskey, in case Vaughn woke in pain. I drank the whiskey myself. I needed it, and if Vaughn woke up, I’d get her more. I sat still to keep the cot from squeaking and tried to untangle my thoughts.

  Anger burned hotter than the whiskey. I might not be a fancy city girl, but anyone who lived on a farm knew how babies got made and what parts went where. Me, Clarabelle Ryan, had certain rules. Honesty. Truthfulness. Trust. Do you trust me, she’d asked, and I’d said yes. The echo of that word burned someplace deep. Yes. When I treated somebody square, I expected them to do the same for me. I wasn’t some stupid Okie who couldn’t tell the difference between a man and a woman.

  One sin wasn’t going to get me to hell any faster than any other.

  Between the anger, confusion, and a helping of disgust, I didn’t figure I’d ever get to sleep, but the whiskey must have gotten the better of me and I dozed off.

  “Leo?” Vaughn’s cracked and reedy voice woke me. A steady pulse throbbed behind my eye and my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. Stupid me for drinking. Grey light seeped through the window, hinting at dawn. I scooted off the cot and adjusted yesterday’s dress.

  “I’m here.” I nervously flicked the nubby balls forming the flowers on her chenille bedspread. Yesterday Vaughn had shone so brightly in my mind, and now I wasn’t sure how to talk to her.

  “Need,”—she caught her lower lip in her teeth—“the toilet.”

  I swallowed hard against the nausea bubbling in my gut. The thought of touching her made the whiskey worse. “I can help.”

  She pressed her hands to her face. “Get Leo, please.”

  The relief I felt shamed me. I’d been raised better than this. “All right.” I hadn’t made it as far as the door when she stopped me again.

  “Wait. What time is it?”

  I shrugged, fuddled from the drink and confused by Vaughn’s request. “Not sure.” Crossing to one of the tall windows overlooking the street, I pulled open the drape. “Five in the morning or close to.”

  Daylight showed how fine the room really was. Behind me the bed squealed, and Vaughn gave an almighty groan. “Here,” she gasped. “Don’t bother them.”

  By the time I got to her, she’d struggled to sitting and had
her legs swung over the side of the bed. I didn’t want to touch her, but her legs were so wobbly I had no choice. My arm fit around her waist, same as it always had, and the faint, familiar scent of roses tortured me. Together we hoisted her up.

  “The toilet’s the first door on the left.”

  With slow, stumbling steps, we made it to the bathroom. I didn’t offer to help, and she didn’t ask, but I stood with my forehead pressed to the door, resisting the urge to break in even when I heard her sobbing.

  She finally opened the door and all but fell into my arms. I had to carry her to the bed, and when we got there, she tugged at the nightgown. “I need my girdle.”

  Rubbing some of the sleep out of my eyes, I tried to sort things out. “If you put one on, I can’t get to your bandage.”

  “I’m not right.” She rocked her head fretfully. “Not right.”

  I almost knew what she meant. I’d need a wash and a pair of clean drawers before I’d feel right. I finger-combed my lank curls, trying to conjure a reason she’d be fussing over underwear when she could barely walk. “Be still.”

  Gathering the gauze and tape Mr. Dupont had left, I wondered how long Leo would expect me to stay and help her. Big place like this had to have a maid or two. Maybe I’d leave Vaughn to them and take the St. Charles streetcar home. I couldn’t miss work and keep my little room in the Quarter.

  Still, Leo had asked me to help, so I resolved to try. Didn’t have to, didn’t want to, but I’d been taught kindness before all else. I dragged a heavy wooden chair over to the bed, putting my anger away for later.

  “What?” She squinted at me as if the light was too much and her head ached worse than mine.

  “As long as you’re awake, I should take a look at those bandages.” Getting the hem of the nightgown to her waist had her swearing through gritted teeth. I laid out a towel so I wouldn’t soil the chair’s creamy velvet seat or the white chenille covering her bed.

  Her mouth worked, and I held my breath to see what she’d say. “I’m not dressed.” She sounded so weak, so pitiful, I didn’t have the heart to remind her I’d seen almost every bit of her.

  “What if...” I chewed on a fingernail, scrambling for a compromise. Oh, of course. “Would a brassiere be enough?”

  Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. I took that as agreement, so leaving the supplies on the edge of the bed, I went to her dresser.

  “Top drawer.”

  The scrolling white wood had gold trim, and the drawer slid open with ease, holding rows of folded underthings in shades of lavender, peach, and white. Off to the side lay a mesh bag stuffed with cotton batting, similar to what had filled the cups of her girdle. Swell. I grabbed what I needed and headed to the bed.

  Vaughn didn’t say anything, her lovely smile nowhere to be seen. I eased her to sitting and got the underwear—with its stuffing—into place. Tears tracked down her cheeks, whether from pain or embarrassment or both I couldn’t say. Spots of dried blood dotted the bandage taped to her side. Made me so mad I wanted to scream. Why had those men beat her? Had they known her secret? How? Why?

  I got her onto the bed and took off the old, soiled bandage. The cut was red, but didn’t have the hot puffiness that would mean blood poisoning. She squawked a no when I tried to pull the blanket away to uncover the cut on her thigh.

  “Don’t blow your wig. I have to see the wound.” I kept a hand on the blanket, not altogether giving way in the face of her protest. “Keep a hand over your privates.” No point in beating around the bush. “Anyhow, I’ll just move the blanket so I can see the bandage.”

  After a long moment, she let go.

  I changed the bandage on her thigh, gave her an aspirin, helped her drink some water, and went to clean up. In the bathroom, I found Vaughn’s tight pink underwear tossed in the corner. I’d come so close to seeing the final proof. Nausea had me gulping, and I sat hard on the toilet seat. I wanted to like Vaughn, probably already cared too much. Knew I couldn’t leave her while she needed me.

  Despite my anger and discomfort and the unsettled feeling coming from my bones, her silent tears had dug in and grabbed me. Very simply, I wanted to put the lovely smile back on her face.

  Chapter 9

  The next evening I broke. I’d spent the day helping Vaughn to the bathroom and checking her for fever, unable to get any rest. The warmth of her body tortured me—not dangerously hot, but a burning reminder of what I’d lost.

  Soon after sunset, she drifted into a fitful sleep. Dusk fell and so did my spirits. I didn’t want to stay in that house. My feelings were a mess of anger, shame, revulsion, and, God help me, desire. If I couldn’t see her and touch her, I’d be able to wrangle my passions into some sort of order. Vaughn would have to find her own way. I couldn’t help her anymore.

  I packed my bag and put on my hat and gloves. Rather than sneak out the back like a beggar, I left the house through the front door, past the Grecian columns and the matching palm trees and through the wrought iron gate. Every step up First Street was like walking through molasses. The further I got, the harder I fought to keep moving forward.

  “Miss Clara.” Leo’s whiny tenor jerked me to a halt. I glanced over my shoulder. He came running up the block, feet bare, hair tangled. He wore simple trousers and a jersey, and he looked plain scared.

  “You can’t leave her, Clara. Vaughn needs you.”

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead, still determined to go to my own little room. “I’ve done all I can. She’s healing fine, and I need to get to work.”

  “Ah, that place.” He all but spit the words. “Thaddeus told them to hold your job, and they will.”

  Who is Mr. Dupont, and how does he have so much say-so? “I’m sorry, Leo.” I didn’t want to stand on the street and argue with him. “But I need to go.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, I care more about Vaughn than any person on this earth.”

  Me too, I wanted to say. Me too.

  He kept talking, his sincerity at odds with his usual brashness. “There are things you can do for her that she just won’t let me do.” He shook his head sadly. “Not anymore she won’t. Please, I’m begging you to stay.”

  His raw pain landed right where I felt the worst, the place deep inside where I knew I was running out on a friend. My resolve to go to the Quarter faded away with the last of the sunset. I sighed, but he didn’t give me a chance to speak.

  “If it’s money, I’ll pay you. How much are your tips down at that dive? Maybe five dollars a night? I’ll pay you fifty dollars a week for as long as Vaughn needs you.”

  Fifty dollars a week? Somehow that made me feel worse still. “I’ll do it.” He gave a yelp but I shushed him. “For Vaughn, and only for Vaughn.”

  He laughed and took my arm, as cocky as if he wore a flashy suit with diamond cufflinks. “We’ll work out the arrangements later.”

  I pursed my lips, reminding myself I’d agreed to stay for friendship, not for cash. We walked together to the house, my steps much lighter than before. As I headed for the stairs, he stuffed twenty dollars into my pocket, which made me feel both better and worse. My heart a hopeless muddle, I did my best to sneak quietly into the room.

  Vaughn lay very still. The first glint of moonlight shone through the curtains, catching the trail of tears on her cheeks. “Clara?” she whispered.

  “I’m here.” I set my bag on the cot and pulled off my gloves. Despite my return, anger and distaste were caught in a stalemate with those warmer feelings, the ones that remembered the joy in Vaughn’s laughter.

  “Good.”

  I think she slept after that, and for a while, so did I.

  Soon, another incident threatened my internal truce. I’d gone to the market to pick up some more bandages, and an argument greeted my return.

  “Stop whining and tell me.” Leo’s angry voice carried halfway down the stairs.

  I froze, one hand on the newel post. Ever since the night he’d begged me to stay, Leo had
been his brassy and boisterous self.

  Vaughn murmured something, but I couldn’t catch the words. Couldn’t decide if I should run up there and stop Leo or stay put.

  “Listen kitten, we all know you had a beef with Angus McFerrin. Was it him? Was it Ugly Angus?” Leo’s question pricked my curiosity, and I moved closer.

  “What if it was?” Vaughn’s fretful tone urged me on. “We can’t do anything to him.”

  “Maybe.” His pause gave the words an added threat. “Maybe not.”

  Covered in goosebumps, I took another step, flinched when the stair squealed, and scooted the rest of the way up.

  Vaughn’s room was at the end of the hall to my left. There were three other doorways off the landing. One was the bathroom, and I guessed the other two were bedrooms, one for Leo and the other for Mr. Dupont. Unless maybe they shared the same room.

  None of my business who slept where. We’d all be going to hell anyway.

  Vaughn said something indistinct, cut off by a clap. Either Leo had slapped the wall or—God forbid—slapped her. I double-timed it to her room.

  “Who are you protecting?”

  Another sharp click, metal hitting metal.

  I burst through the door, and Leo shut his mouth. Vaughn lay propped on pillows, a lavender towel across her chest, soap on her face, and a bowl full of water on her lap. Leo held a long-handled razor. Her eyes, though. Her eyes filled with horror.

  And shame.

  I backed up faster than a calf in a branding pen before she even had time to holler get out.

  At the top of the stairs I stopped, figuring I’d better calm myself before I saw anybody. Standing still gave me time to pay attention. The voices from below were scratchy and muffled. A radio show. Mr. Dupont must be listening to something.

  Once my breathing slowed, I smoothed my hair and shook out my chiffon dress. An hour of other people’s laughter would take my mind off my problems and put me to rights.

  I found Mr. Dupont in the parlor. The room was dark and filled with solid furniture. The radio’s green glow outlined his body. He tilted his head like he was praying.