Fated Memories

by Judith Ann McDowell

  Fated Memories

  By

  Judith Ann McDowell

  World Castle Publishing

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  World Castle Publishing

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Judith Ann McDowell 2011

  ISBN: 9781937593032

  Library of Congress Catalogue Number 2011937306

  First Edition 2010

  Second Edition World Castle Publishing September 15, 2011

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover Art: Karen Fuller

  Editor: Beth Price

  Dedication

  For Dave McDowell, my real life Wolfer.

  The greatest pain one will ever know

  Is pain that touches the soul;

  For the soul is immortal

  And can never be erased.

  Chapter One

  Boston, Massachusetts 1904

  A cold December wind swept along the cobblestone lane, bending age-old branches of sturdy oak and large maple and shrouding the frosted gas lamps in a whirlwind of snow and ice. Tiny flames, encased within soot-covered glass tops, burned low, and the now deserted lane leading up to a three-story stone mansion seemed lost in a thick, ever increasing fog.

  Pulling back the heavy drapery, a young girl stared out into the storm-filled night. She turned as, without warning, the wall lamps flickered then dimmed, stealing the warm glow from the spacious room and leaving the far corners steeped in shadow.

  Seated before a marble fireplace, a middle-aged woman glanced towards the mantelpiece, assuring herself the oil lamps still stood in readiness. She allowed the warmth of the fire to relax her and, with a relieved sigh, turned her attention to across the room.

  “Jessie, I wish you would come away from that window. A branch could break off that old maple and shatter the glass.” Laying aside the needlepoint she had been working on, she peered over her glasses at the young girl staring into the darkness.

  When her plea drew no response, the woman got to her feet, pausing a moment before walking towards her. She placed a slender, well-manicured hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Jessie, what is it? What has you so troubled this evening?”

  “I was rememberin’ the snowstorms back home, Aunt Martha,” the girl declared, turning once more to stare out the window. Flames from the fireplace reflected the decorated tree onto the window, making it a part of the swirling scene outside. A fond memory crept into her thoughts of a Christmas many years ago, when she was a child of eight and her father had given her a glass snowball that played music and sprinkled the tiny flakes inside when it was turned upside down.

  “Now you can have snow all year round, my little Jessie,” he had told her, what seemed now a lifetime ago.

  Dragging her mind back from the painful memory, she walked away from the woman watching her to take a seat beside the fire. Pulling the cumbersome, dark red gingham dress up to her knees, she settled herself, with some awkwardness, into an overstuffed chair.

  “It won’t be much longer, Jessie,” Martha soothed, walking over to her chair to seat herself once more. “According to the doctor, you have a little over three weeks, and then it will be all over.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, lifting her swollen, slippered feet with some effort onto the large ottoman, “then it will be…all…over.”

  Martha glanced at her, a feeling of unease moving over her. “Are you worrying about the birth, Jessie? Doctor Hinley says you are in excellent health. In fact, he plans to come here and stay a few days before your due date to make sure everything will go well.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of him.” She smoothed the thick material of the dress over her protruding stomach. “He must be a very busy man.”

  “My dear,” Martha declared, as though stating a foregone conclusion, “Doctor Hinley is the best obstetrician in all of Boston. Your parents are sparing no expense in seeing you are taken care of, believe me.”

  “My parents, Aunt Martha? My mother is the only one who takes time to write. My father couldn’t care less!” Jessie swallowed against the bitter bile trying to fight its way upward in her tight throat at the thought of the man who had been the center of her world, now unwilling to raise a hand to help her in the slightest.

  The utter contempt in the girl’s tone did not go unnoticed. “Jessie, your father loves you very much. You broke his heart when you conceived this child out of wedlock,” Martha tried to reason with her. “It’s going to take time for that wound to heal.”

  The unfairness of it all seemed to threaten the last thread of Jessie’s sanity. Bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she pulled herself forward. “What about my wounds, Aunt Martha? I never wanted to come here! I wanted to stay in Montana with the man I love! But…no! The all-powerful Eathen Thornton couldn’t have that, could he?” A deep flush crept up her throat to her face, turning her olive complexioned skin a bright, unhealthy red. “He couldn’t let anyone know his daughter had slept with a lowly Indian! Better to ship her off to Boston where her dirty little secret could be hidden away.”

  Jessie’s outburst of anger, and her matter-of-fact disclosure of the man responsible for her predicament, drained Martha’s pale face to an even lighter pallor. With as much decorum as she could call forth, she replied, “All right, Jessie, let’s say you had stayed in Cut Bank, where everyone knows you.” Martha stood to begin pacing the floor, caught up in a chance to impart some much-needed, mature advice. “Do you believe all those people are going to turn away and ignore what is happening to you? To the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the state of Montana?” Her well-modulated voice rose with her passion until she all but forgot that she herself could not tolerate the man. “Do you feel Eathen deserves the shame of having it known his daughter is carrying an illegitimate baby?”

  “Eathen!” Jessie’s blue eyes flashed fire. “I’m sick to death of hearin’ ‘bout his embarrassment! What about me, Aunt Martha?” She slapped a hand against her heaving chest. “What about me?”

  “Jessie! Settle down.” Martha hastened towards her. Sweeping her long green and red plaid skirt to one side, she sat herself on the arm of the chair.

  “Jessie,” she draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, “you mustn’t get yourself all upset like this. It isn’t good for the baby.”

  When she felt Jessie’s body stiffen, she drew back, surprised at the girl’s refusal to be brought around. Seeing the full pink mouth tremble into a childish pout, she brushed Jessie’s long, auburn hair back from her heart-shaped face, tipping the defiant chin upward.

  “Jessie,” she admonished, “no one wishes to hurt you. We want to protect you. Young girls of your breeding have an obligation to do well in life. It makes no difference whether they live in Boston, Massachusetts, or Cut Bank, Montana. They can’t take it upon themselves to conceive a child out of wedlock, yet expect to keep that child. And for certain not one whose father is an….” She broke off her words, her long pink nails plucking at the lace trim bordering the sleeve of her white silk blouse.

  “Why don’t you say it, Aunt Martha?” Jessie pulled away. “Not one whose father’s an Indian.”

  “I’m sorry, Jessie.” Bright color rode high on her che
eks. “I had no right to be so judgmental. I am trying to think of what is best for you.”

  “It’s funny, you know,” Jessie’s voice filled with bitter doubt, “that’s what everyone says. But no one really means it.” She drew her head back until her eyes were even with those of the woman seated beside her. “What they’re really sayin’ is they don’t want a half-breed little bastard in the family.”

  “Jessie!” Sliding off the arm of the chair, Martha balled her hands on her slim hips. “I won’t tolerate that kind of language in my house. I realize you’re upset, young lady, but this is a respectable home, and as you are now a member of this home, I will accept no less from you.”

  “I’ll go to my room.” Jessie inched herself forward in the chair.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Martha put a restraining hand on her shoulder, breathing against the sharp stab of guilt at her outburst. As Jessie reclined back in the chair, Martha seated herself on one side of the Ottoman. Removing the girl’s tight slippers, she took Jessie’s swollen feet into her hands, rubbing them in a brisk manner while her mind whirled with ways to best approach the subject at hand. When she felt she could speak, she said, “Jessie, I think it’s time we talked about what you are planning to do after the baby is born.”

  Lacing her fingers over her bulging stomach, Jessie stretched her legs out straighter, trying to relieve the knotted muscles in her calves. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

  “Then perhaps you should, dear.” Martha pulled Jessie’s legs across her lap, kneading the knotted muscles, her slim hands working until she saw the tension in Jessie’s face begin to relax. “You know, of course, you can’t take the baby home with you. Eathen has already made that quite clear.” She rushed ahead with what she wanted to say, as Jessie started to pull her legs away. “However, John and I have talked it over and we are fully prepared to offer you and the baby a home here with us.”

  “That’s very generous of you and Uncle John.” The awful cramping in Jessie’s calves started to ease and she left her legs stretched out across Martha’s lap. “But how will you explain us? I’m still an unwed mother.”

  “Not according to the people here.” Martha smiled, doubling her efforts to soothe and relax. “Your uncle John and I have let it be known you have come to stay with us after the recent death of your husband from a hunting accident. Which reminds me,” she paused, her green eyes darting towards the stairs, “I have an old set of wedding rings up in my jewelry case I want you to start wearing.” She gazed over at Jessie with a conspiratorial wink. “We have to make this story as believable as possible, you know.”

  Oh, what tangled webs we weave, Jessie thought to herself, bracing an elbow on the arm of the chair as she reached the other hand behind her, trying to rub away a small cramp beginning in her lower back. “Then I’m to remain in Boston the rest of my life.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Martha pursed her thin lips in concentration. “I think in a few years Eathen will relent and allow you to come back. Without the baby of course.”

  “I feel like I’m livin’ in a world that ain’t even real anymore.” Jessie’s eyes closed for a brief moment against the cold truth. “An empty void filled with lies and a child I gotta keep hidden as though I’m ashamed of her.” She swiped at the tears seeping from beneath her thick, dark lashes.

  “Jessie. Jessie!” Martha moved the girl’s long legs to one side out of her way. “You can begin a new life. Here, with John and me. You’re young, sweetheart.” She stood motionless beside Jessie’s chair for a moment then leaned down, placing a light kiss on her damp cheek. “Life doesn’t have to be over because of one mistake. And as far as the baby is concerned, we couldn’t be happier than to share our lives with him or her.”

  “How come you and Uncle John never had children, Aunt Martha?” Jessie wiped her eyes then blew her nose into the lavender-scented handkerchief Martha handed to her. “You sure have enough room for them.”

  “We tried, Jessie.” Martha seated herself on the arm of the chair once more, snuggling Jessie close. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I’m fifty-two-years old, so it’s too late now. But with you and the baby here, everything could change.” A childish whine crept into her otherwise soft voice. “Please say you won’t begrudge us this last chance to have a baby in our home.”

  “It looks as though I don’t have a choice.” Jessie tried to inch herself out of the constricting embrace. “I can’t very well live on the street with a new baby.” Martha’s nearness and the sweet cloying scent of her perfume made it hard for her to breath. “I feel like I’m bein’ backed into a corner, with nowhere to turn.”

  “Nonsense, dear.” Martha smoothed Jessie’s wild curls into place. “Everyone is doing what we think is best for you. Given enough time, I’m sure you will forget all about that young man who took advantage of you. Just leave everything in our capable hands and, I promise you, everything will work out for the best.”

  Too tired to argue any longer, Jessie nodded.

  Withdrawing her arm from around Jessie’s shoulders, Martha glanced toward the old grandfather clock which stood tall and stately against the north wall of the parlor. “Goodness! I wonder what could be keeping your Uncle John. I hope he hasn’t been stranded in this storm.” But she had no sooner gotten the words out of her mouth than the shrill ringing of the telephone beckoned her.

  “I’ll be right back, dear. With any luck, it is John calling to tell me he’s on his way home.”

  Alone in the large, well-furnished room, Jessie sat looking at all the wealth surrounding her. Sturdy walnut tables, handcrafted and shipped all the way from England, caught her eye. Firelight, from the Italian-marble fireplace, danced in the bright sheen of the well-polished black wood of the tables, placed just so beside twin Queen Anne couches and their equally uncomfortable-looking matching chairs. Their royal blue velvet material was offset by a large East Indian rug, with its subtle hues of green and gold, which took up much of the floor space in the oversized room. A small, white, spinet piano graced one corner – placed at just the right angle so the light spilling from the window would shine on its ivory keys. From there, Jessie’s eyes moved over the many portraits done in oil, enclosed in thick wooden frames. The people in the paintings, dressed in their finest, sat with their hands folded in their laps or stood with their arms straight down by their sides, each wearing the same self-important look on his or her face, as they took their turn on the immortalizing canvas. She reached out, running one hand over the papered walls of light ivory with just the slightest hint of lilac in the flowered pattern. The only understated touch that resisted Martha’s lavish hand in the entire decor.

  A lot of people would give all they owned to live in a house like this, Jessie thought. But, she wasn’t one of them. Her heart ached for her own room, sitting empty in the big ranch house at home. If she could crawl into her big bed with the feathered mattress and pull the soft blankets up over her head, all this would be gone. When she woke, she would be back in familiar surroundings and her heart wouldn’t be breaking as it was now.

  “John is going to stay in town tonight,” Martha said, interrupting her thoughts. “It seems we’re in for a big storm. I should have thought to tell him about my giving the servants the night off. I so hate to be alone in this big house.” Her eyes swept the large room, lingering on dark corners the light couldn’t quite reach. “The way things are shaping up, they won’t be able to get here in the morning either. Well,” she drew in a deep breath, waiting for the twinge of unease to subside before releasing it from her lungs, “it can’t be helped. We will have to make do alone.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be all right, Aunt Martha.” Jessie glanced up at her. “At least the telephone lines ain’t down yet.”

  “Bite your tongue! We will really be cut off from everyone if that happens. It’s times like this, I wish I hadn’t been so adamant about buying all the surrounding lots. At the time, I wanted to safeguard our privacy, an
d of course, since this is one of the oldest estates in Boston, preserve the historical aspect of the estate.” She smoothed her hair, ash-blond and streaked with gray, neatly into place. “One can never be too careful with a house as valuable as this one. Still, sometimes,” she shivered, looking around the quiet room, “I feel so isolated.”

  “Why don’t you come sit down, Aunt Martha, while I go and see what the cook left us for dinner?” Jessie rocked herself forward, then pushed the ottoman out of her way to get to her feet. “I’m sure a hot pot of tea and somethin’ to eat will make us both feel a lot better.”

  “Yes.” Martha eased herself into a chair. “I think a pot of tea and some nourishment would do us up just fine, Jessie.”

  The girl took but a few steps when a stabbing pain, low in her stomach, stopped her in mid-stride. With real fear clutching her heart, she stood for a moment, trying not to panic.

  “Jessie, what is it?” Martha moved forward in her chair, her attention riveted on Jessie as she stood there, one hand pressed against her stomach.

  “I don’t know. I just had a sudden pain. Oh, Aunt Martha,” her head snapped up, “it can’t be the baby. It’s too early.”

  “Oh, good God!” Martha whispered, her hand clutching a small cameo broach, pinned beneath the collar of her blouse. “We aren’t taking any chances.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to call Doctor Hinley right now! Go sit down, Jessie, and put your feet up,” Martha directed over her shoulder. “Maybe this is just a false alarm.”

  Martha tried to quiet her jumping nerves as she hurried her steps towards the hallway and the telephone. “God in heaven, please make this just a normal part of her pregnancy,” she prayed. “I can’t handle this alone.”

  On shaking legs, Jessie turned back to the chair, holding onto the arms and sliding her feet around to the front. She lowered her bulk into the soft fullness of the overstuffed chair, thankful for John’s refusal to throw out the old relic. Within moments, she had another reason to be thankful, as she felt a warm gush of liquid burst from between her legs to soak the entire cushion of the chair.