forced their way in and fused in a single, undeniable desire.
Rebecca paused on the street outside Havelock’s Dry Goods and gazed up at the red ribbons of twilight stretching out across the Saturday evening sky.
Bret’s grand party and meeting him today seemed like dreams, something that only happened to young women in the exciting romance novels she kept hidden from her uncle.
She picked up her stride, walking with light, quick steps, preferring the cover of shaded back streets to the brighter scrutiny of Galveston’s more lighted and public avenues for her private meditations.
Did her uncle really understand what he was asking? Was he telling her the entire truth about Bret McGowan and his family? Even though her uncle declined the gentleman’s invitation he insisted at the last moment that she attend the ball under the conditions he had stipulated, insisting that he would explain everything to her later once he was certain of all the facts, whatever those were.
The air between the buildings and the back streets was dank and sodden; smelling of dead fish rotting on shore. Not even the fragrance of the oleander flowers blooming on their evergreen shrubs could dispel it. Their perfumed aroma only masked the damp rot that hung in the air like invisible webs of decay.
Still, there was something in the hush of these unlit places, the strange couplings of darkening shadow and ghostly light, which gave birth to nameless and untold visions—images alive with the lifeblood of her conflicting thoughts and feelings.
As Rebecca emerged out of a back alley at the corner of 33rd and Mechanic Street, she caught sight of Timothy DeRocha pacing in front of the steps leading up to the Theogenesis Society Hall.
Her uncle described the shorter man as someone so excessively contemptuous of his own background, at times he seemed he would do anything to remove it rather than improve upon it. Rebecca took a few steps back into the shadows but it was too late.
“Miss Armstrong!” the man called from across the street. He waved to her. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!”
Rebecca let out a slow, exasperated breath, and crossed the street. “Well, Mr. DeRocha,” she asked, feeling her pulse rising after shaking the man’s hot, damp hand. “How may I be of assistance to you? Did my uncle not answer all your questions to your satisfaction?”
“No,” replied the short, heavyset man. “I mean . . . what I meant to ask you was—have you heard any word from your uncle concerning his visit to Miss Caldwell Friday afternoon?”
Rebecca leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
The man removed his hat and gripped it with both hands. “Arley Caldwell’s daughter, Gabrielle. Your uncle promised to speak to her.” He crumpled the brim with his fingers. “About the importance of the Society’s work and how strongly her father believes in making . . . the right choices.”
Rebecca glanced over at the locked doors of the Society hall. “Mr. DeRocha, I am somewhat weary from my work today. I wish to retire early, so any matter that you want to discuss with my uncle or myself will have to wait until Monday at the earliest. Now, if you’ll—”
“Oh Lord! What did he say to her?” The man tugged on the sleeve of Rebecca’s coat like a beggar pleading for a scrap of food. “Why aren’t you telling me what happened? I’ve called the doctor’s number repeatedly but the telephone just keeps ringing.”
He stood between Rebecca and the front door. “I understand that these things have to be approached delicately and I did as he instructed. When I visited Gabrielle this afternoon she didn’t mention it once.” Mr. DeRocha took a step toward her. “If Doctor Hellreich said something that seemed out of place—” He put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder.
Rebecca looked down at the man’s stubby, clenched fingers. “I cannot speak for my uncle in his place, but in his defense I can say this: he would never say or do anything that would jeopardize his relationship to the very people who stand to profit most from the Society’s work. Now, sir, unless you want me to scream . . .” she gripped the shorter man’s hand with her own. “I bid you good evening.”
Rebecca pushed the man’s hand off her shoulder and darted toward the steps leading up to the front door. The door handle was already turning from the inside when she reached in her pocket to pull out the key.
She rushed by Edward at the open door. “Rebecca, is