Paxton and the Gypsy Blade by Kerry Newcomb Page B

to do with your trouble, and you have no right to take out on him your bitterness and hurt over Jenny.”
    Tom swung around to face his father. “If Lewis wants to be so damned quick to speak on God’s behalf, he can sure as hell take some of the blame, too.”
    Jason Behan’s mouth twisted in a momentary grimace. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, carefully controlling his impatience. “But you’re just making the matter more difficult for everyone, including yourself.”
    â€œTo hell with Lewis, and to hell with all the others in this town,” Tom said in a harsh voice. “They never accepted Jenny, never gave her a chance. You heard the gossip. An impoverished title marrying American money, the local girls not good enough for a Paxton …” His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and made himself continue. “Well, damn their hypocritical sympathy and the smiles they paste on their faces when I drive through town. They aren’t fooling me for a second. They didn’t like her when she was here and they didn’t give a damn when she died. And nothing you or Lewis or anyone else—”
    â€œThat isn’t fair and you know it,” Jase said angrily, then glanced up as tiny feet raced overhead along the second-story hall. “Come with me,” he said, starting for his study.
    â€œWhat you want to say can be said right here,” Tom said. “Unless it’s a lecture, in which case you can forget it.”
    Jase turned with the ease of a cat. His eyes were hard chips of flint that brooked no argument. “Your mother took the twins upstairs to change their clothes. They’ll be down any minute. The choice is yours. We talk in private or in front of them. But, by heaven, we talk.”
    Tom started to shake his head, then closed his eye in resignation. When his father wanted something, when that steely tone appeared, there was no arguing with him. He never shouted, but his words carried too much weight to resist.
    His boots echoing on the waxed hardwood floor, Jason led the way to a set of double doors made of thick mountain pine and adorned with heavy brass knobs. Inside, two walls were lined with enough books to make the Paxton library one of the finest in South Carolina. Two windows set in the east wall looked out onto the meadow, bay, and ocean, and a fireplace dominated the north wall. Arranged on these two walls were rifles and pistols with ornately carved stocks and grips, and swords and other cutting weapons both in and out of scabbards. The rapier used by Marie Ravenne herself when she commanded the pirate ship Ravener hung in a spot of honor over the mantel.
    A massive black walnut desk was placed between the windows on the eastern wall. Jase settled into the chair behind the desk and gestured for Tom to take the one in front. “One month was reasonable,” he said as Tom sat, “two acceptable, three within the bounds of reason, given the circumstances. The fourth month of unrelieved mourning is a luxury, the fifth month a bore, and the sixth an effrontery to the living and the dead.” Jase slapped the shining desk top as Tom began to rise. Tom settled back in his chair. “Your mother and I and everyone else have been solicitous. I’ve dropped hints, I’ve intimated, I’ve insinuated, but you’ve been too damned stubborn and pigheaded to listen. Now, by God, you will, or you’ll take yourself home and not come back until you’re ready to.”
    Tom almost spoke, but clamped his mouth shut under the glare of his father’s eyes.
    â€œJenny’s dead, son,” Jase continued in a gentler tone. “You don’t like it, I don’t like it, your mother doesn’t like it, but she is dead , and you’re going to have to learn to live with that fact. With the exception of your mother and myself and the few others at Solitary we all call family, the people