by Jane Peart
What would Rex think if he could look into her heart and see what lay hidden there? She shuddered to think. Of all character qualities, he valued honesty most. Honesty in himself and others.
She remembered when she had tried to search the Scriptures for guidance and come across David's anguished cry in Psalms: "Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me and know my anxieties and if there is any wickedness in me, lead me in the way I should go." But it was another verse that had seemed to speak more directly to her: "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked: Who can know it?"
It became very clear to Addie that God was answering her through David's own plea. He had shown her "the wickedness" within. He was leading her "in the way" she should go. If she were ever to know peace or happiness with Rex, be able to accept what he was offering as God's will for her future, there was something she had to do.
Chapter 18
The following morning Addie awakened to a sensation of purpose. She could see from the bedroom window a day of sunlight and blue sky, fields golden with mustard, the vines already heavy with grapes. Spring had come to the valley at last, just as happiness had come to her after the long winter.
Freda was already up and gone when Addie came downstairs. Elena told her the señora had taken the small buggy to attend to some business at another ranch but had left word that if Addie wanted to go anywhere, Rico would saddle Fiddle for her.
Addie wrote a short note to Freda, telling her where she was going and that she should be back by noon. She dressed quickly, and when Rico brought Freda's gentle mare around the front of the house, Addie mounted and started down the lane onto the road.
All the way into town Addie had to keep bolstering her resolve. Everything in her rebelled against what she knew she had been directed to do. She could not leave the conflict with Mrs. Amberly unresolved.
Running away had not solved anything. It might even have galvanized peoples' opinions, strengthened the suspicions planted against her. She knew Rex was more than willing to fight her battles for her, shield her from gossip and slander, provide her the security of his name, prestige, and position in the community. But that would be cowardly. It would still leave things unsettled. To salvage her pride she must do this herself.
It seemed a contradiction that to save her pride she had to humble herself this way. Addie argued with her conscience. Didn't she have the right to hold on to her righteous anger? Mrs. Amberly had treated her dreadfully. Wasn't Addie justified to exact her "pound of flesh" from her? She had not been paid her last month's salary—wasn't she due that? She wasn't asking "a red cent" more.
It was not a matter of money. It was a matter of pride. In all sorts of ways during the time Addie had worked for her, Mrs. Amberly had consistently stepped upon Addie's pride. It was her reputation, tarnished by Mrs. Amberly's accusations, that Addie wanted to restore.
Pride in who you were was only part of it. Louis had probably been right about one thing. Perhaps Mrs. Amber-ly's tirade would soon be forgotten, perhaps nobody cared. What was important were the other things—character, integrity, tolerance—that gave a person worth. Addie had clung to her pride, in her family name, her background, what it stood for throughout it all.
What had been lacking in her attitude toward her employer were compassion, understanding—forgiveness. Mrs. Amberly couldn't help who she was. How and why she had become that way made no difference. All she had was money. In everything else that really counted, she was a pauper.
Addie knew now that while she had shown her employer courtesy in public, in private she had held her in contempt. Her opinion of her employer had been unkind, critical, and unforgiving. The unforgiveness rooted itself in her heart and was festering there. It was spoiling her newfound happiness. Addie knew it had to be taken care of. How could she expect God to bless her new life when there were things of which she was ashamed in her old one?
Addie thought of her father. In his law practice he had often run into dishonesty, ingratitude, betrayal—clients who revoked sworn statements, witnesses who promised to testify then disappeared. Although he had met all the inconsistencies of humankind, Addied never saw him angry or vindictive or condemning. She had often heard him speak tolerantly about the very people who had let him down. One of his favorite sayings had been, "He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he may one day need to pass himself."
Closer to town Addie reminded herself of the passage she had read this morning before she left Freda's. To be truthful, she had picked up her Bible as a matter of habit. However, when she turned to Matthew and read verse 24 in chapter 5: "Be reconciled with your adversary quickly," it seemed prophetic.
Ironically, now that she had the guidance she had prayed for, she did not want to follow it. In the time it had taken her to ride into town, the focus of her coming had shifted. At the gates of Silver Springs, she was strongly inclined to turn the horse around, but there was no turning back now. It had become a matter of pride to live up to her own highest ideal.
The grounds looked deserted. No guests strolled around the arboretum, going to and from the bathhouses. There were no gardeners about, clipping hedges or raking; no sign of the usual activity. A strange pall hung over the place. Where was everybody? Addie hitched Fiddle to the fence in front of the main building, then went determinedly up the steps. As she entered the lobby the clerk at the reception desk looked up.
"Miss Pride!" The desk clerk recognized her immediately. Although many of the hotel's women guests were possibly more beautiful, more fashionably dressed, he had always thought Adelaide Pride far more attractive and interesting looking. She had a kind of understated elegance about her.
"It's good to see you, Miss Pride!"
"Good morning, Michael," Addie replied, hoping her nervousness did not show. "I've come to get my trunk and other belongings. Could I have one of the boys help me load them?"
His face flushed and he looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Miss Pride. There's no one left to help. You see, with Mr. Stanton gone—well, they weren't paid and ..." He lifted his shoulders. "I'm only staying on because the sheriff—well, as you can see," he gestured to the empty lobby, "most of the guests have left too, or are leaving...." He shook his head. "What can I say?"
"Is Mrs. Amberly still here?"
"Yes, but—" his face got redder "—about your things, Miss Pride. We got your note, and we would have sent out your trunk, but Mrs. Amberly locked her cottage and said not one thing could be taken out because ..." He stopped in an agony of embarrassment.
"I see." Addie tried to absorb this bit of unforeseen information. After a moment she asked, "Where is Mrs. Amberly now?"
The clerk leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I believe she's in the card room with some of the other ladies."
"Thank you. I'll attend to it myself then."
Addie unconsciously squared her shoulders. There was no alternative. She would have to confront Mrs. Amberly in public, something she dreaded to do. For a moment, she stood perfectly still smoothing each finger of her gloves, gathering her courage, knowing Michael was watching her curiously. Then she took a deep breath and started across the lobby toward the card room.
Harriet Brunell saw her first. Seated at the card table facing the lobby, she looked up from her cards just as Addie stepped into the archway. Her mouth made a silent O, and she darted a quick glance at Mrs. Amberly, whose back was to the door.
A kind of hush fell on the room as others became aware of Addie standing in the doorway. Addie knew she must have been the target of much gossip, speculation. The sudden quiet, followed by a collective murmur rippling through the room, the squeak of chairs as heads turned for a better look—all this must have alerted Mrs. Amberly. Slowly she shifted her chair, stiffly turned, and saw Addie.
As Addie approached she felt every eye upon her. All card playing stopped. Every ear strained so as not to miss a single word of the expected confrontation.
Mrs. Amber
ly's face twisted in a sneer. "So you've come crawling back?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Amberly. I came to collect my things. But I understand you have not allowed anyone to get them from my room and send them to me."
"Certainly not!" retorted Mrs. Amberly, giving her head a little toss. She glanced around the table to be sure she had the attention of the avid spectators, then said loudly, "Not until I'd personally inspected them, made sure you were not taking anything that did not belong to you!"
Addie felt a quiver of rage at this insult. She willed herself not to give in to it. With supreme effort she ignored the implication and spoke evenly. "Now that you have assured yourself of that, may I have the keys to the cottage so that I can have my trunk and other belongings removed?" Addie held out her gloved hand palm up.
Mrs. Amberly looked both startled and uncertain. Perhaps she had expected to create another scene, bait Addie into an angry denial or rebuttal. Addie's composure seemed to rattle her.
While Addie stood there waiting, Mrs. Amberly pulled her beaded, fringed handbag from beside her on the chair and fumbled in it until she pulled out the ring of keys. She clutched them as if still not quite ready to hand them over, as if she were trying to think of something more to say.
"Thank you, Mrs. Amberly," Addie prompted.
Mrs. Amberly fidgeted. "So, you didn't come to get your job back—"
"No, Mrs. Amberly. We both know that would be impossible." Her hand was still outstretched. Finally Mrs. Amberly detached one of the keys and grudgingly dropped it into Addie's cupped hand.
Her fingers closed around the key clutching it so tightly its edges bit into her gloved palms. She remained standing there, knowing she still had to say what she had come to say. As she looked at the woman's smirking face, the hate-filled eyes, pride gripped Addie's throat as if to choke off the words. This woman did not deserve her humbling herself. Why should she give her such satisfaction?
But something else, something stronger than pride hardened in Addie, giving her the strength to finish it once and for all. She forced the words out over her aching throat, her dry mouth.
"Just one thing more, Mrs. Amberly, I want to tell you that . . . " she swallowed, " . . . that, I forgive you for the things you said about me, the way you treated me."
Mrs. Amberly's face collapsed into a doughy mass. Then it reassembled itself into a reddish-purple mask of indignation. "What did you say? You forgive me? Forgive?"
Addie realized she would have to say the rest quickly and leave fast before Mrs. Amberly had an apoplectic fit.
"Yes, Mrs. Amberly. I do." Her voice was steady. "I also ask you to forgive me for failing to be the kind of companion you thought I'd be. That's all."
With that Addie spun around and, head held high, walked out of the card room. As she came through the card room into the lobby she saw the desk clerk hunched outside the door. He'd been eavesdropping. He clapped his hands silently in a gesture of congratulations, winked. Addie simply held up the key triumphantly, pointed out the door in the direction of the cottage, and they both marched out of the hotel together.
Within minutes her trunk was loaded onto a cart and trundled over to the main building. The desk clerk told her he would put it on the hotel's wagon and deliver it to the Wegner ranch that afternoon.
Addie thanked him, remounted Fiddle, and was on her way. Just outside the gate she began to laugh. The fantastic scene with Mrs. Amberly replayed itself in her mind as though she had watched it on a stage. Riding through town she tried to suppress the laughter—not too successfully—that kept bubbling up inside. On the road heading out to the countryside, her laughter started all over. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she could not stop laughing. Addie had always had a sense of the ludicrous, often finding things funny when humor was not necessarily appropriate. But there were so many things in this experience that were both heartening and amusing.
At least she had done what she set out to do and had done it without malice. What she most prided herself on—in the best sense of that word—was that although she certainly had provocation to wither Mrs. Amberly with sarcasm, to use the most blistering words to validate herself, she had resisted that temptation. That was something of which she could legitimately be proud.
Again she felt the laughter come, and she let herself laugh. She was truly free now, no longer bound by resentment, animosity, or revenge. Giving forgiveness had a wonderful bonus to it—freedom!
Addie clicked Fiddle's reins and eased her into a canter. She couldn't wait to share it all with Freda. And of course with Rex.
She was about a quarter mile from the Wegner ranch when she saw a buggy drawn by a high-stepping horse coming down the road from the other direction. She soon recognized it as Louis's smart phaeton. In it were Louis and Estelle. At the same time he saw her but did not recognize her until they were almost alongside. Then he shouted, "Whoa!" and pulled to a stop.
Addie felt an urge to ride by without speaking, then thought better of it. She reined Fiddle to a walk then halted.
Louis's expression was a mixture of irritation and worry. "Addie! Where have you been? No one at Silver Springs knew and—"
Addie regarded him coolly, she saw Estelle's face tighten anxiously.
"Where have you been?" he repeated. "I've been frantic." Then, "Where are you going?"
"That no longer need concern you, Louis." Addie answered then picked up her reins again.
"Addie!" Louis protested, "We must talk."
"There is nothing for us to talk about, Louis. Once there might have been a chance that we could have found something together. But you—well, let's say we both failed to be what the other one needed or wanted. I forgive you for that as I hope you'll forgive me."
Louis's face underwent a rapid series of changes. Shock, disbelief. Regret? Addie did not pause to see what came next. She gave Fiddle a nudge with her heels, flicked the reins, and started off.
"No! Addie, wait!" Louis called after her.
"Let her go, Louis, she isn't worth—" Estelle cut it.
"Oh, be quiet, Estelle, will you? Just for once, be quiet," Addie heard Louis say curtly.
Their raised arguing voices followed her as she cantered down the road. She felt herself smiling, then laughing out loud. The wind blew her hat back, tore at the ribbon holding her hair, and she let it stream down behind her like the horse's mane as they raced away. Addie had never felt so free in her life.
At last she turned into the road leading up to Freda's house. At the turn of the lane she saw a tall, familiar figure standing at the bottom of the steps, talking with Freda on the porch. It was Rex! Addie's heart lifted joyously.
As she trotted up, he came toward her, put his hand on Fiddle's neck. "Is everything all right? Did you have any trouble getting your things? Why didn't you tell me what you planned to do? I would have been more than glad to go in, get them for you—"
"Thank you, I know you would have, but this was something I had to do myself."
In that brief exchange, Addie's heart knew what Rex was really saying was that his strength, his protection, his love, and his life were hers for the asking.
Rex took hold of Fiddle's reins and helped Addie down out of her saddle. Standing in front of him, she put her hands on his shoulders and looked up into the face regarding her with tender concern. She reached up and touched his cheek with the back of her hand and whispered, "Yes, Rex. The answer is yes."
"Oh, Addie, Addie," he murmured, drawing her into his arms. She felt his body tremble as he held her close.
Nothing more was said, nothing else was necessary. In that moment of surrender Addie knew there would be time later to explore the depths of their passion, to fulfill each other's dreams. There would be a whole lifetime together.
Epilogue
HEART'S HARVEST
Napa Valley shimmered in the golden haze of early autumn as Adelaide rode her tawny mare from Calistoga on a late September afternoon. On either side of the eucalyptus-lined road
stretched vineyards harvested of their bounty, but not yet pruned nor stripped of their leaves. Their glossy leaves now turned rich colors of cabernet, claret, peridot, and amethyst glistened like stained glass in the sunshine.
Addie, graceful and elegant in her russet velvet riding habit, was deep in thought. She was returning from the post office after sending the monthly check to her aunt and uncle. Its amount was greatly augmented by Rex's generosity, and they would never want for anything again. There among her mail she had found a much-traveled postcard bearing a South American postmark. Although unsigned, in a handwriting she recognized was an enigmatic scribble.
Riddle of destiny, who can show?
What thy short visit meant or know
What thy errand here below?
Brook, Addie sighed. Who else could have written her such an obscure verse. Much had happened since his mysterious disappearance. Gentleman Jim had never been caught or brought to justice. In time, the stagecoach robberies had stopped, but no trace of the members of the gang or clues to what became of the "loot" had ever turned up. Brook seemed to have simply vanished. Now this. Addie tried to remember the good things about him and hoped he had mended his ways and was not just pursuing some other doomed enterprise.
Only a few weeks after the hold-up in which the identity of Gentleman Jim was alleged to be Brook Stanton, Silver Springs, the main building, and some of the cottages, were ravaged by a terrible fire that swept so rapidly through the resort that little could be saved. There was talk of arson but nothing could be proved. It stood there as a blackened reminder of all Brook's amibition, his extravagant dreams, and in the end, their destruction, all in ashes.
Addie's life, too, had changed drastically since then. Emily's inscription in the journal she had given her had proved prophetic. Her journey to California had, indeed, ended in "lovers meeting." She and Rex were married in June, the time of year when valley vintners could take their ease before the hectic harvest season began in August. Freda insisted on giving their wedding in her garden. It was in full bloom and the ceremony was a beautiful affair. At least, so Addie had been told. To be truthful, Addie was so dazed with happiness, even now she found it hard to remember the details of that day. Afterwards, she and Rex left by steamer for a honeymoon in San Francisco, and returned to make their home at Lyon's Court.
