|
It was only after he recklessly deflowered me
that he did me the ultimate dishonor of smoking
in my presence. He obviously had no idea with
whom he was dealing. No gentleman smokes in a
lady's presence and as I gathered my bloodied and
ripped mourning garments about me, I made it
quite clear that his education was obviously lacking.
"Well, Miss Wendley, I reckon with what happened
between us, nobody will consider you a lady."
He tucked himself into his trousers. I glared at
his light blue eyes, long blonde hair and
mustache. Any claim to good looks was marred by the sneer on his face.
Drawing myself up to my full height, and ignoring
the pain in my nether regions, I shouted,
"Monster! Were I a man, I would horsewhip you."
He gave a slow smile. "I shall always be the one
to carry the whip in a relationship."
An audacious idea took my breath away and I
sniffed some lavender salts to steady myself
before being able to continue, "What is it that
you want? My father not even cold in his grave
and you, you... in the front parlor, no less?" My
voice was shrill with emotion as I tried to
contain my excitement and continue to play my
role of outrage. And indeed, what does it matter
where one is despoiled, in bed or on the red floral Persian rug?
"What I want, little woman, is to marry you.
"After Sherman burned his swathe through an area
of the South which happened to include my family
farm, I chose to seek my fortune in England. I
was intrigued, nay fascinated, by your father's
experiments. If we had had him on our side, we
could have raised an entire army of fearless
slaves against the North. And I'd still be
sipping bourbon on the veranda, with the sweet
smells of jasmine and honeysuckle on the
breeze." His eyes glittered with the fires of a madman.
"When I heard the news of your father's
unexpected demise, I figured deflowering you
would be the quickest way to bend your will. It
always worked well with our slave women."
He took out his pocket watch. "Well, no more
stalling. Take your pick--life as the wife of the
Honorable Lieutenant Caspar T. Dooley, or a life
of shame. Because after I'm done with your
reputation, believe me, you will never be able to
show your face in decent society again."
I twisted my lace handkerchief through my
fingers, trying to fathom how my fortunes could
change so drastically in such a short period of
time. I had to be certain. "Mr. Dooley, your Civil War is over..."
"Your father was a genius and to have died at
such a young age in a laboratory explosion."
Dooley actually had tears in his eyes which he
blotted before he continued. "Mark me well; I'll
make a fortune off of his research. And if it
means marriage to a dull witted and plain woman
in order to gain possession of such a bounty,
well, I will embrace the wedded state."
"Dull witted and plain. So, it seems I should be
grateful for your attack upon my virtue?" I shook
my head hiding my smile, even as my head hurt
over the insults which were being pressed upon
me, one after another. And where would they have ended?
And the answer came, only when Mr. Dooley had
quite broken my spirit and sucked my soul dry. Yes, my way was quite clear.
"So, Mr. Dooley. You are interested in continuing
my father's brilliant work? And would you like to see his laboratory?"
He put out his cigar in the potted palm, and took
hold of my arm. "Why yes, little lady, I would surely like to do so."
I took him to the back hall. "Careful, these
steps are steep," I warned him at the entrance to the basement.
When he got to the basement laboratory, his face
filled with open glee as he examined the surgical
equipment, the brass tubing and the flasks which
I used to create the miracle of life.
"Come bend down and look at this cage. This cat
has been dead for fifteen years now, but see how well she walks."
With barely contained excitement he leaned down
for a better look, presenting the base of his
skull for my surgical awl. I pithed him as neatly as one would a frog.
Mr. Dooley makes an exemplary husband. He is as
good a puppet as my father was; perhaps better
since people were beginning to take note that my
father hadn't aged in the past fifteen years.
Rumors were being spun that something unnatural
was afoot with him and I simply had to take
action. I had thought that would be the end of my career.
It is a sad commentary on the world we live in
that society will only accept the male of the
human species as a credible scientist.
In a loud, American drawl, Mr. Dooley reads my
papers at soirees, scientific meetings and
conferences, keeping the world abreast of my more
palatable work. I wonder if Mr. Dooley were
alive, would he be happy with his reputation as
one of the greatest scientists of our century.
Sadly, that is one of the drawbacks of being a
revenant, of opinions he has none.
My stomach swells ever larger with his child--a
prenuptial gift from that first memorable meeting.
Of course, I pray for a boy that he may one day take his father's place.
|
