decided. "We'd like to inquire if—"
"Oh!" Juliette sat down hard on top of a flour barrel. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened until they must have ached. Shock blanched the color from her cheeks.
Frowning, Clara stared at her. "What's the matter with you?"
"Her hand. Clara, look at her wedding ring!"
"Oh, no!" This time it was Clara who examined a wedding ring and felt like fainting from the pain of recognition. Confusion altered her breathing. How could this be? How many women had Jean Jacques married? Blinking to clear the fog from her vision, she steadied herself on the table in front of her. There was no question. The woman wore Jean Jacques's grandmother's silver heart ring.
The black-haired woman looked back and forth between them with grave apprehension as if she expected them to start foaming at the mouth any instant. "Uncle Milton?" she called, not taking her gaze off Clara and Juliette. "I need some assistance."
"We're not having fits, and we're not crazy," Clara whispered. From the corner of her eye, she saw Juliette yanking at her glove. "Look." She and Juliette held out their left hands.
The woman reeled backward as if they had struck her a punishing blow. Stunned by shock, she stared at her own left hand, then again at Clara's and Juliette's hands.
"My God." Disbelief and bewilderment made her face go slack. She raised trembling fingers to her lips. "The rings. How can this be possible?"
"We both married Jean Jacques Villette," Juliette stated in a toneless voice. "Apparently you did, too."
"My God," the black-haired woman said again. "He had two other wives?" She raised swimming eyes to the tin ceiling. "I trusted him. I…" In the silence that followed, Clara could almost see the woman working it through. "Everything was a lie, wasn't it?"
"I'm sorry," Clara said softly. "We know how hard this moment is for you. It's a shock to us, too, believe me."
"All the time he… but he was married to you two. And I…" Her eyes snapped down into slits. "That son of a bitch! He told me all the things I wanted to hear and played me for a fool."
"Zoe?" A bearded man wearing a long apron emerged from a back room. "Is everything all right here?" He swept a curious glance over Clara and Juliette.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Milton, but I have to leave now." The woman threw off her apron and ran her hands over her skirts, then looked around as if she couldn't remember where she'd put her hat and gloves. "I need to talk to these ladies."
Zoe Wilder shoved a hat on her head and snatched up a small wrist bag. "Follow me," she snapped at Clara and Juliette, then she almost ran out of the outfitting store.
"I feel sick," Juliette whispered. Her face had turned the color of whey. "We're in the center of a nightmare that just gets worse and worse."
Clara understood. A sense of unreality made her feel dizzy as they followed Zoe outside and climbed back up the steep incline to First and Yesler.
Grimly, Clara watched wife number three veer into a small park, fling herself down on a wooden bench, and fall forward, burying her face in her hands.
Clara and Juliette silently waited, once again subjecting themselves to the misery of comparisons.
----
Chapter 4
After punctuating Juliette's and Clara's tales of woe with little moans and cries, Zoe related her story. As she finished on a half-sob, drops of warm summer rain splattered her hat brim and spotted her skirt. Jumping to her feet, she dashed toward her boardinghouse, beckoning the other Mmes Villette to follow.
Once inside she recognized her mistake. Pain pinched the faces of her rivals as they gazed around her small sitting room and then stared at her bedroom door. Oddly, until now Zoe hadn't noticed how little Jean Jacques had left behind.
Her gaze swung to the book of wildflowers on the small round table near the window. Between the pages she had pressed the roses from the bouquet Jean Jacques had given her on their wedding day. She had one of his
"Oh!" Juliette sat down hard on top of a flour barrel. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened until they must have ached. Shock blanched the color from her cheeks.
Frowning, Clara stared at her. "What's the matter with you?"
"Her hand. Clara, look at her wedding ring!"
"Oh, no!" This time it was Clara who examined a wedding ring and felt like fainting from the pain of recognition. Confusion altered her breathing. How could this be? How many women had Jean Jacques married? Blinking to clear the fog from her vision, she steadied herself on the table in front of her. There was no question. The woman wore Jean Jacques's grandmother's silver heart ring.
The black-haired woman looked back and forth between them with grave apprehension as if she expected them to start foaming at the mouth any instant. "Uncle Milton?" she called, not taking her gaze off Clara and Juliette. "I need some assistance."
"We're not having fits, and we're not crazy," Clara whispered. From the corner of her eye, she saw Juliette yanking at her glove. "Look." She and Juliette held out their left hands.
The woman reeled backward as if they had struck her a punishing blow. Stunned by shock, she stared at her own left hand, then again at Clara's and Juliette's hands.
"My God." Disbelief and bewilderment made her face go slack. She raised trembling fingers to her lips. "The rings. How can this be possible?"
"We both married Jean Jacques Villette," Juliette stated in a toneless voice. "Apparently you did, too."
"My God," the black-haired woman said again. "He had two other wives?" She raised swimming eyes to the tin ceiling. "I trusted him. I…" In the silence that followed, Clara could almost see the woman working it through. "Everything was a lie, wasn't it?"
"I'm sorry," Clara said softly. "We know how hard this moment is for you. It's a shock to us, too, believe me."
"All the time he… but he was married to you two. And I…" Her eyes snapped down into slits. "That son of a bitch! He told me all the things I wanted to hear and played me for a fool."
"Zoe?" A bearded man wearing a long apron emerged from a back room. "Is everything all right here?" He swept a curious glance over Clara and Juliette.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Milton, but I have to leave now." The woman threw off her apron and ran her hands over her skirts, then looked around as if she couldn't remember where she'd put her hat and gloves. "I need to talk to these ladies."
Zoe Wilder shoved a hat on her head and snatched up a small wrist bag. "Follow me," she snapped at Clara and Juliette, then she almost ran out of the outfitting store.
"I feel sick," Juliette whispered. Her face had turned the color of whey. "We're in the center of a nightmare that just gets worse and worse."
Clara understood. A sense of unreality made her feel dizzy as they followed Zoe outside and climbed back up the steep incline to First and Yesler.
Grimly, Clara watched wife number three veer into a small park, fling herself down on a wooden bench, and fall forward, burying her face in her hands.
Clara and Juliette silently waited, once again subjecting themselves to the misery of comparisons.
----
Chapter 4
After punctuating Juliette's and Clara's tales of woe with little moans and cries, Zoe related her story. As she finished on a half-sob, drops of warm summer rain splattered her hat brim and spotted her skirt. Jumping to her feet, she dashed toward her boardinghouse, beckoning the other Mmes Villette to follow.
Once inside she recognized her mistake. Pain pinched the faces of her rivals as they gazed around her small sitting room and then stared at her bedroom door. Oddly, until now Zoe hadn't noticed how little Jean Jacques had left behind.
Her gaze swung to the book of wildflowers on the small round table near the window. Between the pages she had pressed the roses from the bouquet Jean Jacques had given her on their wedding day. She had one of his
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