Blue Ink

by Tess Thompson

  “What about you? Do you have any secrets?”

  “No, only sins. I despaired, gave up hope that God would send me a woman to love. He had His plan.”

  “Here I am.”

  He brushed his lips to mine. “Tell me your dreams. What’s something you want that I could give you.”

  “I’d like to travel the world. Like you’ve already done.”

  “Not with you. Traveling with you would make everything new. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. As long as it’s safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Deal.”

  He pulled me to his chest and stroked my hair. “Now, sleep.”

  I snuggled closed and shut my eyes. This is where I will sleep from now on. Next to this man.

  I opened the blinds in Mrs. Lanigan’s room to let the late afternoon sun warm the room. She had just woken from her nap and I had an agenda.

  “We have to take a walk outside. Doctor’s orders,” I said.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “I’m going to have to play hardball, Mrs. Lanigan. You have to go outside with me or I’m cutting you off from the letters.”

  “Bribery? How barbaric.”

  I laughed as I crossed over to the closet. Dozens of dresses draped from hangers. “I’m pulling a dress out for you. Something cheery to go with your attitude.” I chose a knit dress with a pattern of yellow flowers that looked easy to get on and off. “We’ll walk before dinner.”

  “I’ll be cold.”

  “You can wear a sweater.” I helped her to her feet. “Now unbutton that nightgown.”

  “Awfully forward of you.” Mrs. Lanigan undid the first few buttons.

  I helped her shrug out of the nightgown.

  “Which dress is it?” she asked.

  “The one with yellow flowers. It looks comfortable.”

  She sniffed but didn’t comment further, allowing me to slip the dress over her head.

  “I suppose you’re going to make me wear those compression socks.” This was said as a statement of fact with a disgruntled set of her mouth.

  “Doctor’s orders.”

  “I hate him.”

  “I let you out of the house without them yesterday.” I found some flat sandals in the closet and held her steady while she slipped her feet into them.

  “You’re an annoying person,” she said. “No wonder you’re single.”

  I’m no longer single. I blushed thinking of all the very unsingle things Ardan and I did to each other the night before.

  “I want you to loop one arm through mine and use your cane with the other.”

  “Fine.”

  Fine.

  A short time later, we stepped out to the patio. The sun was high in the western sky, pelting the yard with light. Temperatures were in the upper sixties. I breathed in the dry, fresh air. We ambled with an unsteady gait across the stone toward the swimming pool. “Let’s make it our goal to walk five times around the circumference of the swimming pool.”

  “You’ll need to be more entertaining than this,” she said.

  “What’s Blythe like?” I asked.

  “She’s a good mother and a remarkable stepmother to our Rori. She turned that girl’s life around.”

  “She sounds nice.”

  “Nice, Charlotte, is a terrible word.”

  “It is?”

  “My God, yes. What good does nice get you? You’ve got to take the world by its tail or it eats you up.” The fresh air was doing her good.

  “Bliss always takes the world by its tail,” I said.

  “Bliss is like a strong wind that blows into town and knocks over a hundred-year-old oak.”

  “And playboys named Ciaran?”

  She chuckled. “Indeed. I find it ludicrous that two of my boys married sisters. It’s not 1848 on the homestead.”

  “I wish I could be more like her,” I said.

  “She’s got nothing on you. The world needs gentle people with good senses of humor. Not everyone has to be loud and bossy to make a difference.”

  “It’s not a competition,” I said, warming at the compliment. The old battle axe liked me as much as I liked her.

  “You’re obviously an only child,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “Or you’d know everything’s a competition.”

  I tucked that away to think about later. We started our second lap around the pool. “What about your daughter? Does she have anyone special?”

  “Teagan. No, she works too much. Travels around the world for work with my poor grandson along for the ride.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Six. She had him out of wedlock. Terribly embarrassing for us.”

  “Do people still care about that?”

  “Her father cared. He cared a great deal.” Her voice changed from its usual biting tones to a slight shake. “I believe it killed him in the end. They had a huge fight—both said things they shouldn’t have. The girl’s so stubborn she wouldn’t forgive him. She was our youngest—his little princess.”

  “Did they make up before he died?”

  Mrs. Lanigan shook her head. “No. She and I don’t talk much.”

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t imagine not speaking to my mother for more than a week at a time. Up until the big announcement about their Airstream, I’d had dinner with them every Thursday night and spoken to her over the phone every day.

  Mrs. Lanigan sniffed. “She has red hair, so you know what that means.”

  “What?”

  “It’s God’s way of making sure we see them coming.”

  “Was your hair red?” I smiled to myself.

  “Amusing, Charlotte. Perhaps you should give up writing and focus on your comedic career.” She sagged slightly against me.

  “Are you getting tired?” I asked. “We could rest for a moment.”

  “Maybe, although I have to admit, it feels good to be in the fresh air.”

  “Should I feel victorious?”

  “Did you make the air?” she asked.

  “Come on, let’s sit under the shade. You’ve earned a rest.” I led her over to the covered table and eased her into the chair. “What would you like to drink?”

  “I would like a vodka soda with a twist.”

  “Vodka?” I looked at her with genuine surprise. “Is that allowed?”

  “Allowed? I’m a million years old. It’s late afternoon, which means its cocktail hour.”

  “Are you on pain meds?”

  “I stopped taking those. They made me sleepy. Don’t let it go to your head, but this is the best I’ve felt in ages.”

  “I do feel victorious. Regardless who made the air.”

  “Until you, I didn’t know you could actually hear someone grin. It’s a very masculine way to smile.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked in my general direction. “Stop gloating and tell Effie to make my drink. She knows the exact amount of lime to squeeze in it.”

  “Will you be okay out here alone?”

  “As long as a bear doesn’t eat me,” she said.

  I glanced nervously toward the thick forest to the left of the house. “Should I be worried about that for real?”

  “Not here at the house.”

  I scrutinized her. Was she messing with me? Not that it mattered. A bear was no match for Mrs. Lanigan’s sharp tongue. She could toss a few barbs out and the creature would run back into the forest with his tail between his legs. “All right. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Hurry up. I’m thirsty.”

  Effie was in the kitchen cutting up potatoes. She flashed her sweet smile when she saw me. “Hello, miss. You’ve managed to get her outside. Well done you.”

  “Thank you, but I have a problem. She wants a vodka.”

  She grimaced as she wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Is it all right, do you think?”

  “I think we need to start treating her like she’s still amongst the living. She’s feeling good. I don’t see how one drink
can hurt.”

  “She’s nicer after a cocktail,” Effie said. “From what I recall.”

  “She’s not so bad once you get past the bark. She said no one can make her drink as well as you.”

  Effie straightened her shoulders, clearly delighted to have a purpose. “She likes her vodka rocks with five ice cubes and two twists of lime juice, not more, not less. They’re the only thing I’ve ever done she’s approved of.”

  I smiled. “She did tell me you knew how to make them just right.”

  “Would you like something?”

  “A seltzer water for me, if you don’t mind. Do you know where Mr. Lanigan is?” I asked.

  “He went over to see his brother, Kevan.”

  I’d told Mrs. Lanigan she could have more letters in exchange for her walk, so I sprinted over to the study to get them. It was important that I keep my promise. By the time I returned with our drinks and a few letters, the sun had lowered.

  Mrs. Lanigan turned toward me as I approached. “Please tell me that’s a vodka in your hands.”

  “It is. Do you want me to set it on the table next to you?”

  “No, I’ll hold it.”

  “She put it in a tumbler, so it’s easier to drink from.”

  Mrs. Lanigan brought the glass to her mouth and took a tentative sip. “Delicious.” She glowered in my general direction. “I want more letters. We had a deal.”

  “Yes, we did.” I sat in the chair next to her and pulled the letters from my pocket. “I’ve got some good ones here.”

  * * *

  Dear Nicholas,

  Imagine my surprise to see your name in the newspaper this morning announcing your engagement. Mrs. Purdy reluctantly showed it to me this morning. “Surely there’s an explanation?”

  I don’t understand. How can you say you love me and yet, this? You’ve said for months now that your father’s behavior sickens you. Are you expecting me to be your woman on the side? Is a penthouse suite in my future?

  Sincerely,

  Augie

  * * *

  I looked up at Mrs. Lanigan, amused to see her flick an impatient hand at me. “How does he get out of this one?” she asked.

  “Just wait and see.” I took the next letter from the envelope and read out loud.

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  I had no idea Father had sent the announcement to the paper. Margery and I are not engaged. Our fathers announced our engagement without the consent of either the prospective bride or groom.

  My father has had Margery picked out for me since I was a child. Not because he thinks or cares if we’re a compatible match. This is about money, as all things are with Father. Margery’s father and my family are entrenched in each other’s business. They’re reliant upon the other but there is no trust between them. Marrying us would ensure things remained in the family.

  Margery doesn’t want to marry me either. She’s in love with someone else. She came by to see me this morning. Her Robert is about to join the Navy and wants her to run away with him. She’s afraid of her father, afraid he might lock her up somewhere, like people do with willful daughters. Robert convinced her to come with him tomorrow night. I promised her I’d help her escape. We have an elaborate plan for tomorrow.

  I came by earlier today, hoping to catch you before you went to work. I’m now catching a cold, thanks to the bucket of ice water Mrs. Purdy “accidentally” poured out of the upstairs window as I stood there knocking.

  Mrs. Purdy and her bucketful of ice water will not deter me. No one will keep us apart.

  I’ve included a box of chocolate to share with the girls and Mrs. Purdy. You might let her know that I now have an awful cold and that she should feel terrible for the way she’s mistreated me. I got the caramels she likes in the hope she’ll feel even worse for making me sick.

  I’ll never betray you. Whatever happens, you will always be my true love.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  “Mrs. Purdy dumped a bucket of water on him?” Mrs. Lanigan cackled. “What a spitfire she must have been.”

  “Because you’ve been so cooperative, I brought the response.”

  “How good of you.” She said this sarcastically, yet she leaned forward in her chair in obvious delightful anticipation.

  When the letter was back inside the envelope, I opened the other.

  * * *

  Dearest Nicholas,

  Mrs. Purdy admitted she did throw a bucket of ice water on you from the upstairs window while you waited for someone to answer the door. I’m sorry you now have a cold. In her defense, I’d cried on her shoulder for an hour, thinking you’d chosen someone over me. I explained to her what happened, and she’s agreed that you can come calling for me on Saturday evening as you usually do. She said to tell you thank you for the chocolates, but if you ever make me cry again the punishment will be worse.

  The thought of you choosing anyone but me hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m afraid, Nicholas, of how you hold my heart in the palm of your hand. Is your love strong enough to walk away from the life you thought you would have?

  I’ll look forward to hearing how the escape plan went.

  Yours,

  Augie

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  The escape plan worked. I managed to get Margery and her beau to the station and on their way to California. She knows she’ll never see her family again, but it was what she had to do to be with the man she loves. Earlier, I was able to sell several pieces of her jewelry to a pawn shop, so they might have a little cash for their journey and to get started in a new city. They thanked me for helping them and then boarded the train for their new life. I watched as it pulled out of the station my family helped to build. It occurred to me that the family fortune would never be mine, but that what my great-grandfather started would be my salvation. I thought how different life would be if we were not able to escape from the wrong life to the right one.

  As I left the train station, I decided to walk for a while to clear my head. I stopped to look through the window of a corner shop. They sold everything from tobacco to candy and newspapers. I watched the owner talk with customers and sneak a free piece of candy to a little girl. Envy washed over me. What would it be like to own a little store and answer to no one but myself? How simple life would be. I compared it to the wicked and complex business affairs of my father and the way we’ve exploited the small shop owner. Father said I didn’t have the stomach for it and he’s right. I can’t be the man I’m supposed to be and remain here, dealing in the shadows, taking from hardworking men while mobsters run the city. Then, I knew what to do. I’ll take you home to Indiana. Somehow, I’ll find the money to open a little shop in town. We’ll go and never look back. What do you say? Would you still want me if I’m poor? Will you marry me?

  If you love me, you do not have to be afraid. Your heart is mine to protect. I will. Always.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  Dear Nicholas,

  I love you for your compassionate heart and your sense of humor and gentle touch. I love you for your quick and curious mind. How I feel about you has nothing to do with who your family is or their fortune. If anything, I wish none of it existed so that we were free to love.

  I will marry you, under one condition. You have to be absolutely sure that you can walk away from all of it, including your mother and Boyce. If you defy your father’s wishes, he will keep them from you. You’ll lose them all. Am I really worth it to you?

  Love,

  Augie

  * * *

  “That’s all I have,” I said. “But I’ll figure out what’s next tonight and we’ll read them tomorrow.”

  I folded the letter and put it back into the envelope.

  “One time, joking, I asked him if we were related to the railroad Garfields. Father just chuckled and shook his head. ‘From what I hear, it’s a good th
ing we’re not.’ I don’t remember if he said anything else about them again. I never gave it another thought.”

  She was quiet for a moment, taking sips from her drink. “We never think of our parents as people with lives other than us.”

  “Especially when you lose them young,” I said.

  “I never had the chance to ask them any questions. Before they died, I was too wrapped up in myself.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Mother smelled of Chanel No. 5 and face powder.”

  “Classic scent,” I said.

  “My father bought her a bottle every year at Christmastime.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “Our house always smelled of freshly baked bread. We had this enormous garden with tomatoes and squash and green beans. I’d tag along behind my father when he gardened. He’d let me pick whatever and eat it right there. I drank water out of the hose. Before bed, my mother would read to me.”

  “What did they look like?” I asked.

  “Mother had fair skin and dark hair—light blue eyes in a square face. She was small, barely over five feet tall and quick, in mind and body. Father said the first time he saw her he wanted to put her in his pocket for safekeeping. He was tall with dark, wavy hair and brown eyes. Ciaran looks like him. But his personality was more like Ardan, gentle and quiet. I can’t remember him ever raising his voice. They were only a little older than Ardan when they died. Isn’t that strange? I thought of them as ancient back then.”

  “You don’t look like either of them?” I asked.

  “No, I was blond like my mother’s mother. People always said I looked like Doris Day, which infuriated me.”

  I laughed. “Why?”

  “She was cute. I wanted to be beautiful.”

  I took in her fine bone structure and alabaster skin. “You’re still beautiful. Some women are born with a certain elegance and class which never goes away, no matter what age they are. Especially if they toss in a little plastic surgery for good measure.”