Fortune is a Woman by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page A

forlornly from the library window as Clara, her straw bags clutched in her gloved hands, stumped off down the hill in tears. And the very next day a workman installed iron bars on her small window. "For Francesca's safety," her father said.
    Dolores's confinement had been a difficult one and in the next year she never left her rooms, so she was never really aware of what was going on. When her father was away Francie would lurk nearby, watching as doctors and nurses bustled in and out. And when she knew her mother was alone she would slip through the door and run to her bedside. Most times Dolores would have her eyes closed, lying as still as Francie's rag doll. But at others she would lift her head from the banks of embroidered linen pillows and smile at Francie.
    "Come here, darling," she would say softly, patting the empty side of the bed where Harmon used to sleep, though since she had been ill he slept in his own room down the hall. "How are you, baby?" she would ask, ruffling Francie's blond hair that hung straight now since there was no Clara to tie it in rags and make ringlets. Nor was it as clean as it should be because the servants were all too busy; they had their appointed tasks to do and being nursemaid and washing Francie's hair was not one of them.
    Francie thought her mother's room smelled of flowers and red medicine and her favorite scent—lily of the valley —and she felt warm and secure, snuggled next to her under the cream silk comforter. "Are you better, Mama?" she asked anxiously.
    "Of course I am, darling, I'll be up and about in no time," her mother replied, smiling, only Francie thought her eyes weren't smiling so much.
    "Mama, what's consumption?" she asked, suddenly.
    "Wherever did you hear that word?" Her mother's voice had sharpened and Francie shrank back nervously. "The doctors said it, Mama. Is it a bad word?"
    Dolores smiled ruefully. "No, it's not a bad word. It's just the name of an illness."
    "Is that what you've got then, Mama?" Francie asked, leaning closer and staring at her worriedly.
    "Well... yes, I suppose so. Just a little bit, anyway." Dolores smiled again to make it seem unimportant. "But it's not too dreadful, you know, it's just like having a really bad cold. And you know how weak and silly that makes you feel."
    "Oh, good." Francie sighed with relief. "Then you'll soon be better and we can go to the ranch again."
    "Of course we can, Francie."
    "When, Mama? When?" she asked, bouncing on the bed in excitement.
    "Oh, someday..." Dolores replied, with that familiar half-promise given to children that meant "maybe never."
    ***
    Two more years passed before Francie went to the ranch again, and then it was because her mother was dying.
    The doctors never told her, but Dolores could see the truth in their eyes as she became weaker each month. And every night as she lay awake, soaked in sweat and struggling for breath, her thoughts would turn to the months spent on the ranch with her baby daughter, and she knew they had been the happiest times of her married life.
    One afternoon Harmon came to visit her. He had gained weight over the past few years and with his commanding height, his striped vest buttoned over his solid stomach, his dark blond beard and side whiskers and the two enormous dogs by his side, he was an intimidating figure. Dolores looked worriedly at him. She was still afraid of his anger and she had to screw up all her courage to tell him that she wanted to return to the ranch.
    She stared at him, astonished, when he agreed immediately. But then he added, "It will be better for the boy. It is not good for him having a sick woman in the house—"
    "But Harry's only three," she protested, tears stinging her eyes at his uncaring cruelty. "Besides, he's too young to mind that I'm always here, in bed—"
    "Of course he minds. No boy wants to linger in a sick room. Anyway, you are not dying, Dolores. The doctors say you just need to keep taking the new medicine. Go to the