Blue Ink

by Tess Thompson

  Red fury overtook me. I couldn’t see from rage, other than an image of my frail mother telling me she was tedious to her husband.

  Fred tried to calm me with some nonsense that it was not uncommon for men of a certain wealth and stature to have women on the side. “It means nothing. Passing fancy,” he said. Nothing!

  The way he laughed with her and held her arm did not look like nothing. It looked like love.

  I didn’t know he was capable of love. Apparently, he can’t love us, but there’s plenty for Miss Prescott.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Fred said. “Since before I worked for your family.”

  Fred’s worked for us since I was ten years old. Eleven years.

  Father and Miss Prescott exited the shop and headed further south.

  I leapt from the car and ran down the street toward them, shouting, unable to think of anything but confronting him. When I reached them, they were in front of a bistro. Father gaped at me like I was a ghost. His two worlds colliding right in front of his fat face must have been too much even for him. He propelled Miss Prescott toward the front door like she was a package. “Go inside. I’ll deal with this.”

  This? I was a this.

  He put his hand on my arm and had the nerve to speak without any inflection at all. “My personal life has nothing to do with you. I expect you’ll keep this quiet.”

  I cursed at him.

  His face turned red and he took me by the collar and shook me. “You remember your place. Any time I decide, you’ll be out on the street. Penniless. And that pansy brother of yours goes too. You hear me? You do as I say when I say it.”

  “You had the audacity to tell me to give up Augie? And you have this…this whore in a hotel.”

  He slammed me against the building.

  I shoved him, and we fell to the ground where I pummeled his face at least five times. Blood was everywhere. Fred arrived and came between us as my father tried to take hold of my collar. Next, a man dressed in a black tuxedo ran out the front door of the restaurant.

  He gave Father a handkerchief for his nose and asked him to come inside. “People are watching.”

  Fred managed to get me in the car. We drove home without a word. When we arrived, Fred turned around to look at me. “Leave this be. You need to be around to take care of your mother and brother.”

  I didn’t answer for a moment. None of this was Fred’s fault, but I couldn’t help but be angered by what feels like complacency in the face of evil. Everything’s fine because Father’s a rich, white man? He can do whatever he pleases without any thought to others?

  I came to my senses before lashing out at him. Fred is simply doing a job in order to feed his family. He doesn’t have the privilege of a high moral ground.

  I thanked him and told him to go home for the night.

  I’ve no idea if Mother knows about Miss Prescott. Would she care if she knew? I don’t know the answer to that either. Fred is right. If she did know, it would only hurt her.

  The moment I went inside, I headed to Father’s liquor cabinet and poured myself a drink. Thankfully, Mother and Boyce were already in bed. I wouldn’t have been able to face either of them.

  I spent the night packing. This morning, I went in to see Mother to tell her I planned on leaving with you tomorrow. We discussed whether she should send Boyce to us once we were settled or have him go with me now? She wants him to go with us.

  Boyce came in and we proposed the idea to him. He cried, saying he wanted to stay with Mother until the end. She begged him to go and he finally agreed.

  I bought three train tickets for Indiana, leaving tomorrow afternoon. We will go without a word to Father and never look back.

  I’m going to close and have Fred take this letter over to Mrs. Purdy’s. Please be ready for tomorrow afternoon.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  Dear Nicholas,

  I asked Fred to wait so I could scrawl a quick note back to you. Please, my love, be careful. Your father is a violent man. Get out quickly. Come here to me. I’ll be ready.

  Love,

  Augie

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  I’m not sure how to write this, only that I would never be able to speak the words out loud. This is about Boyce.

  When I came home from my last errands this evening, the house was quiet. I checked on Mother. She was asleep. Mrs. Lancaster said she’d had a good evening and had even eaten a little dinner. When I asked after Boyce’s whereabouts, Mrs. Lancaster explained that his friend Martin had come for dinner and they were studying together in the library. I knew he was probably saying goodbye to his only friend, not studying.

  Noticing how late it was and that Boyce had to pack, I went in search of them. They weren’t in the library or anywhere else in the house. Worried, I decided to check the pool house, but they weren’t there either. Growing increasingly concerned, I saw a flicker of a candlelight in Mother’s hothouse. How sweet and sad, I thought. Boyce and Martin were looking after Mother’s orchids one last time.

  I found them. They were fast asleep.

  Asleep together, Augie, without a stitch of clothing, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  I’d heard that some men were this way, but I never imagined Boyce to be one of them. Distressed and shocked, I stumbled out of there and ran into the house. I paced for a good hour, trying to decide what to do.

  When I saw them heading across the lawn, I ran upstairs. I couldn’t see them together just then. Not after what I’d seen.

  What should I do? Will you allow him to come with us now? I’m afraid for him. More afraid than I’ve ever been in my life.

  Pray for us, Augie.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “A motive, at last.”

  “Yes. Do you think he would murder his own son just for being gay?”

  “It was a different time. Are there more?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’ve got the rest of them right here.”

  * * *

  Dear Nicholas,

  I’m shaking from the shock of your letter. We have to take him in, especially now. I wonder if your mother suspected all along. Could this be why she was so adamant he come with us? We can’t break our promise to her. I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s not for us to judge. Only Jesus decides these matters. He is your brother and you love him. Bring him tomorrow. I’ll be here.

  Love,

  Augie

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  Around nine last night, after I’d gotten your letter delivered back by Fred, I was finishing my packing. I heard Father shouting from his study. I ran down the hall and burst through the door. He had Boyce by the throat, choking him. He called him an awful word, over and over. Boyce’s face was purple. Father was killing him.

  I threw myself onto my Father’s back and yanked him away from Boyce. I pushed him to the floor and held him there. Boyce ran from the room. Father and I threw punches at each other and rolled around on the floor until he finally relented and tossed me from him. His face is bruised and purple from our fight yesterday.

  How did he find out? Had he seen them together like I had?

  “What happened?” I asked him.

  There were rumors swirling around about Boyce. Loomis, his arch enemy, was drunk and said it to Father’s face, in front of the entire club. Someone had seen him coming out of one of the places they gather.

  Father called Boyce a degenerate and disgusting, and he said he wished he had never been born.

  That’s what he said exactly Augie.

  I ran out of the study and down the hallway. Boyce was in his room, shaking and crying. I put my arm around him and let him sob. When he quieted, he asked if I’d heard what Father called him.

  I said I had and that I’d seen him and Martin asleep in the hothouse. He wouldn’t look at me. “Yo
u told Father?”

  “No, no. I would never tell anyone. Someone saw you walk out of that place.”

  “Are you ashamed of me?” he asked.

  I told him I was afraid for him. “It’s a dangerous thing to do.”

  “To be,” he said. “I tried to change, but I can’t. I think Father would’ve killed me if you hadn’t come.”

  “There are others who will try and do the same. When we leave here, you have to keep it a secret.”

  He nodded and buried his face into his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m weak.”

  I went to the window and saw Father’s car leave. Going back to Miss Prescott, I thought.

  I let Boyce sleep in my room. When I woke this morning, he was gone. I’ve no idea where he went.

  I’ll leave this on Mrs. Purdy’s front step, so you’ll see it right away. If I don’t come this afternoon, I’ll come tomorrow.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  “Poor Boyce,” Mrs. Lanigan said.

  “I know.” I brought forth the next sequential letter. “Here’s what happened next.”

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  Please tell Mrs. Purdy thank you for giving you the messages and my notes. I found Boyce at Martin’s. I brought him home, knowing Father wasn’t there. We’re coming for you in the morning. Mother gave me a suitcase full of cash she’s been saving for years. It’s like she knew one day we’d have to escape. I’ll see tomorrow.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  Dear Nicholas,

  When you didn’t come this morning, I knew something was wrong. I begged Lois’s brother to take me over to your house in his car. When we got there, I saw all the police and the medical people. I panicked and ran around the back door. Mrs. Lancaster told me that Boyce was dead and that you were being interrogated by the police. She promised to get this to you. Please come to me as soon as you can.

  Love,

  Augie

  * * *

  “Interrogated?” Mrs. Lanigan asked. “Surely they knew he didn’t do it.”

  “The next one sequentially is the very first one we read, telling her they ruled it a suicide. Maybe it was just standard practice to interview everyone. And then there’s this one.”

  * * *

  Dear Augie,

  After the funeral, I brought Mother home and helped her to bed. I knew she would not get out again. She looked up at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. “I’ll go be with Boyce. I can’t let him be alone.”

  This is the beginning of the end, I thought. Boyce’s death was too much for her. She’s given up fighting. I sat with her all through the night, listening to her shallow breaths. As dawn broke, she slipped away from me.

  I’ll bury her next to Boyce and then I’ll come for you. This time there is no one left to die.

  Love,

  Nicholas

  * * *

  “So that’s that,” she said. “They went to Indiana and I know the rest after that.”

  “I have another bit to the story that I think you might enjoy,” I said. “It’s the epilogue of Ardan’s book.”

  “Did he say you could read it to me?” she asked.

  “He would like you to read the whole thing,” I said. “But you already know the story from the letters, so I’ll just read you the part that isn’t in the letters. The part about you.”

  * * *

  Nicholas called the midwife in the wee hours of a dark February night. She and his wife’s mother went inside the bedroom to tend to his wife. His father-in-law joined him in the kitchen and they nodded at each other but did not speak. The wind howled outside his windows, almost drowning out Augie’s cries from the pain of labor. He paced the floor and prayed until his father-in-law poured him a whiskey and asked him to sit with him at the table.

  “From now on, your heart will forever be at the mercy of your child. There is nothing you won’t do for him or her.” Mr. Devin placed his weathered, shaky hand on Nicholas’s shoulder.

  “My heart is already at the mercy of your daughter,” he said. “There is nothing I won’t do for her. I knew the first time I ever saw her that she would be my world.”

  “It’s all a father wants,” Mr. Devin said. “Knowing she is loved by a good man, I can leave the world at peace.”

  “No one leaves today,” Nicholas said. “Today our baby comes.”

  At sunrise, he heard his baby’s cry for the first time. Mrs. Devin came out to tell them the baby was a girl and healthy. “Quite fat for a newborn. Augie did well.”

  They allowed him to come into the room at long last. His Augie looked wan and pale. She held a bundle inside the patchwork baby quilt Mrs. Devin had made. He went to Augie’s side and kissed her cheek. “You were brave,” he said.

  “I wasn’t scared.” She smiled. “I knew just what to do.”

  He pulled back the blanket to look at his daughter. He studied her small, determined face. The jutting jaw and clenched fists told him she would grow into a woman of strength and determination.

  Augie asked if he would like to hold her. “I’m scared, but I will.”

  He took her from his wife and held the warm baby to his chest. “Have you decided what she’ll be called?” he asked.

  “Riona,” Augie said.

  His gaze returned to his baby. “Riona Devin Garfield, you’ll be a force in the world. But first, you’ll be my little daughter. I’ll teach you how the soil grows tomatoes and of the birds’ songs and of the simple pleasure of a hard day’s work. And then, I’ll send you out into the world and let you make your own life; however you want it—simple or exciting, bold or gentle. For now, you’re my precious girl.”

  He could not know of the future. He knew only that this woman and this child were the reason God had made him. They were worth more than all the treasures in all the world. He did not need to look back to know the truth of his life, only forward.

  * * *

  “How did my boy channel this?” she asked.

  “Ardan and I’ve decided it doesn’t matter, only that he did.”

  “You’ll read me the whole thing?”

  “As many times as you want.”

  She grabbed my wrist. “Charlotte, thank you.”

  “I love you, mean old thing.”

  “Now don’t quote me on this in the morning, but you’ve saved my life. I didn’t think I could live this way, but it turns out I can.”

  “I never doubted you for a minute,” I said. “Now get some rest.”

  “You’re getting bossier by the day,” she said.

  That night I fell asleep in Ardan’s arms and dreamt of orchids in a hothouse. I moved in damp, thick air, the scent of flowers thick in my nose.

  Ardan was there, only he looked different. Dark curls, wire-rimmed glasses, and a fedora. His eyes were the same. “Augie, do you have the tickets?”

  “I’m Charlotte.”

  “I brought your perfume.” The flower scent was replaced by Chanel No. 5. “Come home.” He smiled and held out his arms.

  Yes, I’m Augie. Wife to Nicholas.

  I woke with a start. For a few minutes I lay there, half in this lifetime and half in the last. Was it possible? I quickly dismissed the idea. It was the letters. I’d practically lived in their world since I arrived here. This was just my mind playing tricks.

  I snuggled closer to Ardan and went back to sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ardan

  * * *

  On the first day of June, I asked Charlotte to walk with me to the creek. When we reached the meadow, I spotted a Peregrine falcon. He dove and danced in the air, looking for prey.

  An image of my father standing in this very meadow came to my mind. We’d stood together in this same spot and watched a falcon.

  “Their strength and grace in combination is what a man should strive for,” he said.

  I was fourteen that summer, anxious and awkward, my face
peppered with acne and braces on my teeth, and I felt neither strong or full of grace.

  “You boys hang onto this land after I die. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Everything you’ll ever need is right here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Find a girl who loves this land like you do and build a home. Raise a family.”

  Now, I looked over at Charlotte. She smiled as she watched the falcon ride the wind.

  “Do you love it here?” I asked.

  She turned her gaze to me. “You know I do.”

  “And you love me?”

  “You know I do.”

  I reached into the side pocket of my cargo shorts and pulled out the box with the ring in it. I dropped to one knee.

  She took a step backward. “What’re you doing?”

  I opened the lid of the box and presented the ring. The diamond sparkled under the sun. “I’m asking you to be my wife. Moonstone and Bliss brought you here. I want to be the reason you stay. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll marry you.”

  I wiped her cheeks with my thumbs. Tears evaporated under my touch. We stared into each other’s eyes. A sensation passed through my body. Images of faces and times and places I’d never seen before came to me one after the other. Her eyes. They were the same, no matter what lifetime. A hundred lifetimes passed between us. We’d loved each other before. Hundreds of times. Different times, different bodies, but always us.

  “It’s you,” I whispered. “Always you.”

  “Always us.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte

  * * *

  Just before lunch, I went outside to the patio to call my parents. My mom answered after a few rings, sounding breathless.

  “Hey, Mom.”