The Courting of Thomasyna Tollefson

Mistaken Identity-2

THOMI PACED THE WIDE stone porch, anxiously awaiting her sister. Partly because she’d had enough of being in the big house alone and partly because she knew in what case Rikki was likely to be in right now. Most of the time, she hadn’t the presence of mind to even remember the code in a storm like this. Sometimes someone had to dash up to the gates and drive her car for her up to the house.

The purple Mustang appeared at the huge wrought iron gates. Just at the moment, she seemed to be in possession of her senses. The gates swung open and the car rolled through, stopped even with the walkway. Rikki dashed across it to the porch, grabbed Thomi in a frightened shuddering embrace as thunder exploded overhead and lightening teased the treetops just yards away.

A fearful sob escaped Rikki, her hold viselike on her sister. Thomi encouraged her to move inside. Her legs carried her as far the drop leaf table in the hallway by the living room entrance. Collapsing onto a ladder back chair beside it, Rikki buried her face in her hands, her whole body shaking in response to the violence of the storm and with her sobs.

Thomi left her long enough to go get the wine that would calm her and get her through the storm. Slipping a supportive arm around her, she gently, firmly, pressed a glass of sweet, potent, tomato wine to her sister’s lips. “Here, swig this down, Rikki! Oh, more than that. Come on, you’ll feel better!”

Rikki pushed away the half empty glass, drew a ragged breath. “Don’t . . . make me sleep!”

If the storm continued in its present intensity long, Thomi knew she’d be persuading Rikki to imbibe enough until she did just that. She could feel her sister’s terror building as if it were her own. However, she didn’t push it now. “Come upstairs then. You need to change.”

Surrendering to the pressure of Thomi’s fingers, Rikki went with her upstairs. She held up through a succession of rolling rumbles, but once in her room, she flopped upon her bed, hiding her face in her pillows. “Aah, ma-an . . . I hate this!”

Thomi, searching the drawers, cast her a sympathetic glance. “It’ll be over shortly.” Dragging out a pair of shorts and a blue shirt, Thomi tossed them onto the bed, hiking the drawer shut with her hip. “Here, get up! You’re soaking your spread!”

Took considerable persuasion to get her to come out of the pillows. Between the workings of the storm and the effects of the wine, Rikki fumbled her way into dry things, obliged to accept more assistance from Thomi than she liked.

Thomi smiled, said placatingly, “Well, look; one day your husband will take over for us!” She threw back the damp spread, and made Rikki lie down, found a light afghan to drape across her. Withdrawing, then, to the window seat, she sat absently watching the antics of the storm; the awesome displays not troubling her own nerves.

“I met someone who must have hopes of becoming yours!”

Thomi glanced round at her. “There’s no one—” She made an instant sound of annoyance. “Stephan Deverill!”

“Ran into him making a dash for my car. He thought I was you. I let him.” A splendid display of thunder and lightning interrupted so near it made the lights flicker and windows rattle. Her breath caught on a whimper. “Thomi, move away from the window!”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Rikki!”

“Oh, sure! You owe him your life!”

Thomi turned, cast her a frowning look. “Oh, that’s gonna haunt me!” She fingered the cord of the blinds, declaring with conviction, “Actually, I’d’ve been fine had he just stayed away!”

Rikki looked an inquiry, but nature’s fireworks hushed a verbal prompting. Louder and more brilliant than the last, it sent her trembling into the depths of her pillows. Thomi watched her a moment, then came to pull a pillow’s corner. “Should I get the wine?”

“Pull the shades first!”

Thomi complied. Aware Rikki struggled against hysteria, she hurried downstairs for the wine decanter and the glass. Back directly, she urged her ashen-faced sister to sit up.

“Th-thought you said it was almost over?”

Thomi smiled at her accusing tone and helped her steady a trembling hand. “Well, it can’t last forever!”

“Feels like it has!” Rikki sipped some of the wine, then let go her hold on it.

“No, drink more. That little bit won’t do any good! Rikki, you need to sleep out this storm!” With a little more wine and some conversation, she would inevitably do so. Of course, she might just become silly—a circumstance Thomi didn’t have time to handle today. Sleep had to be the objective.

“I don’t want to sleep!” Rikki pushed her hand away. “I want to hear what happened!”

“I’ll tell you,” promised Thomi. “Just drink!”

Rikki stared at the glass in front of her face and thought to protest further. But with the next crackling boom, she guzzled the wine without further complaint.

“Okay, then,” said Thomi, satisfied. “Thing is, if he hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have imagined him a target next to Charley, so I wouldn’t have heaved that rock so mightily, and my foot wouldn’t have gone over the edge—and so, neither would have I!”

Rikki stared, horrified. “And you say nothing’s going to happen to you? Amazing it hasn’t before this! Thomasyna, if he had stayed away—” She caught her breath slightly. “Which would have given me stronger hysterics, do you think—the storm . . . or your death . . .?”

“You i***t!” Thomi took her sister’s meaning precisely. Setting aside the glass, she curled up at the foot of the bed with Ming, “You’re saying you’d’ve missed me only because you can’t uncork that bottle for yourself! Poor thing! You’d’ve been left to weep and wail under the bed or somewhere all alone!”

Rikki chuckled sleepily at the truth of it. “What’ll you do when he comes back?”

“He knows I don’t want him to. And Ming’s not a fan, either. He wouldn’t try!”

“He saved your life, Thomasyna! You know he’d be honored if you committed it to him! Of course, he’s coming back!”

Despite her annoyance, Thomi looked amused. “Challenged him, too?”

“But he’s got an answer for everything! Oh-hoho, what a voice!”

“Take my place!” Thomasyna promptly invited.

“Ah, I’d like to! He’s—different. Most of the guys we’ve dated, especially those you have . . . except maybe Simon—they deserved the games we played. This one—I don’t know . . . Not telling you what to do; just saying maybe—” Rikki broke off abruptly, intimidated again by the thunder and lightning. “Maybe—” she began bravely, then stopped, looking confused. “Ah, I forgot what my maybe was!”

Thomi had a fair idea of what Rikki’s maybe was, and she replied coolly, “Don’t indulge in fantasies, Rikkayla! He’s Charley’s cousin. How different can he be?”

“You’ll never know unless you go!” murmured Rikki incorrigibly, only smiling foolishly when Thomi pinched her toes in retaliation. She couldn’t feel it. “Simon’s okay—for an older brother type, but this guy’s awesome!”

Thomi wouldn’t admit that. And before Simon, whose friendship survived despite her callous treatment, there’d been less honorable men—some of her profession, some not—whose agenda decreed that adding her name to their conquest sheets epitomized the ultimate challenge. She’d dated each of them long enough to crush that spirit of conquest. Between her unpredictable temper and the deliberate switching of identities with her sisters, they’d tucked tail and fled.

Until recently, her heart had never been affected by anything she’d done. It was sorry she’d hurt Simon. Now. He’d been safe—or at least safer. Really, she was lucky no one else had given in to their exasperation—and their passion—in the same way Charley had.

Massaging her sore arms as she spoke, she pushed up one sleeve, revealing the ugly black and blues, and reflected, “Maybe Dad was right!”

“What? That one day you’d meet your match? But they deserved it, and we thoroughly enjoyed helping you torment them . . . do it again if you asked! Can’t believe Dad meant . . . well . . . this!”

“I think he did,” responded Thomi, and then spoke her haunting guilt. “What if you’d taken my place Saturday and he’d done this to you? I’d really hate myself for that! And so will Dad when—if he finds out about this—and the money I wasted on Charley.”

Rikki appreciated her sister’s feelings on these issues. Nicholas Tollefson was not a man whose ire ought to be raised at any time. Thomi did it frequently. Sometimes without meaning to, but other times quite purposely, having challenged his authority. He’d often voiced his uncomplimentary opinion of Charley, and Thomi countered it with insolent defiance. Their respective opinion of each other wavered between fire and ice. Which had put a strain on the entire family.

“If I had fallen . . . What do you think—would people believe I’d killed myself over Charley?”

Rikki, who’d thought that very thing earlier, resisted the drowsiness. Dragging herself upon an elbow, she surveyed her sister frankly. “It might cross their minds! Did mine when Stephan refreshed your memory of your fall! You’ve roamed around here so sad.”

“And Dad will make me sadder! How am I to back the boys and him off?”

“You could remind him—again—that you are of age and on your own.”

“Oh, no, thank you! I’ll let that line go for a while—until I’m eighty-six!”

Rikki lay back down, chuckling. “Well, if he didn’t care—”

“Yeah, yeah. He wouldn’t bother! Forgive and forget would be nice, too!”

“Give it time; he does.” Rikki shifted her position in an effort to stay with it just a little longer. “His fondest wish, despite your arrogant . . . insubordinate ways, is for you . . . is for you to give up acting and go back to DreamWynd.” She struggled to sit a little more upright, hoping to speak this piece before succumbing. Shaking her head, she pressed a hand to it. “Ah, this is awful. You and Halleigh always do this to me!”

Thomi smiled and waited. Apparently, she would bypass Stage Silly and go directly to Sleep. When Rikki didn’t resume, she prompted, “Ye-es? Go back to DreamWynd . . .”

“We all love DreamWynd . . . but you—you and Geoffrey share his goals . . . his dreams. Plus you’re good with dealing with the boarders.” Which put her in mind of a matter. “Marianne McNicoll’s more than three months delinquent! She evades Dad, but you’ve always influenced her to pay up. There’s something about you and your method of–of—” She paused, her brain disinclined to cooperate.

“My method of persuasion is patience and tact—with a friendly warning! The same as yours!” said Thomi, getting up. She pressed Rikki gently back against her pillows. “Sleep. We’ll talk about this another time!”

“He’d . . . pay you more if you went back,” murmured Rikki. “But if you keep messing with his breeding stock . . . there’s going to be Hell to pay!”

Thomi merely shrugged, unmoved. “I enjoy acting, too, but he doesn’t want to hear that. He’s not been a fan of Keath’s since Mom came out on location with us to film Kate!”

Rikki’s eyes slowly closed. “Lets him know it, too! Gonna be war before Mom sees his point . . . or makes him see hers!”

“Really!” with feeling. “But I’d’ve never had this chance if Mom hadn’t talked him into letting me go with Keath in the first place.”

“Oh . . . you would have!” Rikki murmured but hadn’t the will to elaborate.

Thomi thanked her for her confidence, and then said, “Speaking of acting, I have to go down to the Little Theater to read over the script. You’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

Rikki, eyes tightly closed, considered this as thunder bellowed and lightning teased the lights. Then, sitting up, she tossed off the remainder of the wine in her glass and bade Thomi fill it once more—just in case. Settling back upon her pillows, she yanked the coverlet over her head. “Okay . . . go! Doubt if I’ll be . . . awake when . . . Halleigh calls. But hey—she’ll call back!”

“I hope she sells that miserable portrait of me!”

Rikki chuckled drowsily. “She won’t! She’ll . . . save it for your . . . wedding day!”

* * *