Shadow of Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page B

politely for
her to speak.
     
    “Have you had your supper?”
     
    “Mrs. Shirley will bring it.”
     
    “Well, good night, then.”
     
    “Good night, Catherine.”
     
    As the door closed behind her, she saw Jessie
in the sitting room lighting the lamps, her gingham dress and white
apron clean and neat on her plump figure. Her round dark face
looked strangely disembodied over the flare of a candle. “Supper’s
ready, Miz Catherine,” she said. “They say they’s waitin’ on Mr.
Bart’s friend.”
     
    “Thank you, Jessie.”
     
    Catherine hurried to her room where she
changed her dress and smoothed her hair. She didn’t usually like
Bart’s friends any more than she liked Bart, but her uncle would
expect her to look her best. No doubt Sallie would be as ornamented
as a Christmas tree.
     
    When she reentered the hallway, she saw
Jessie waiting for her, the long taper smoking in her hands. She
never seemed to relish her task of seeing to the lamps once dusk
had fallen, and she stayed close behind Catherine as they started
down the stairs.
     
    Catherine stopped on the landing so suddenly
Jessie bumped into her with a loud “oomph.”
     
    “Oh, ’scuse me, ma’am,” Jessie said quickly,
waiting for her to resume her descent, but Catherine had become as
unmovable as a statue.
     
    Just down the hallway and over Bart’s sandy
head, Catherine saw the man who had been photographing the church
that morning—the man from whom she’d run away for some unfathomable
reason and hoped never to see again. The thought raced across her
mind that she could turn and flee up the stairs and remain in her
room all evening, but the stout maid stood behind her like a
fortress.
     
    Someone said her name, and she became dimly
aware that her uncle stood in the parlor doorway with Sallie,
calling to her. Bart turned aside.
     
    The stranger stood framed against the massive
front door, looking at her. Catherine made herself move
forward.
     
    Bart said, with excessive cordiality,
“Clayton, may I present Martin’s niece, Mrs. Catherine Kelly.
Catherine, this is my friend, Clayton Pierce.”
     
    “How do you do?” she said automatically.
     
    He bowed. “How do you do, Mrs. Kelly? I’m
happy to see you again.”
     
    “You know each other?” Bart asked,
surprised.
     
    “I had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Kelly this
morning at church.” He did not elaborate, but his dark eyes gleamed
at her and she felt reassured that he held no resentment toward her
for the unexpected addition to his photograph.
     
    “I fear I caused you some unnecessary work,
Mr. Pierce,” she said lightly. “I’ve posed for a photograph or two
and I know it’s rather complicated and involves much attention to
detail. I suppose you had to start all over with another
plate.”
     
    “A minor chore, ma’am. As I said, I thought
it much improved by your presence, but the two ladies felt the
building needed no adornment.” He smiled and added quietly, “Please
don’t concern yourself.”
     
    “Do come into the parlor, Mr. Pierce,” Sallie
said, looking confused but apparently deciding that Catherine had
had her share of attention. As Catherine expected, Sallie’s pale
blond hair was piled into an elaborate coiffure, and the starched
ruffle of her bodice revealed a large expanse of softly powdered
bosom.
     
    Everyone moved into the parlor to await
official summons from Ephraim that supper was served. Catherine sat
on the far end of the sofa, half in shadow, and watched as her
uncle poured a glass of port for each of the men.
     
    Clayton Pierce, in fawn-colored trousers and
matching coat, blue waistcoat and white shirt, was no less handsome
than he’d been that morning. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean
waist, his legs were long and encased to the knees in riding boots.
His black, well-groomed hair touched his collar, and she noted with
approval that his face was clean-shaven, for she didn’t like men
with beards, except, of