by Holly Bush
McDonald
Blake’s hands shook wildly. The letter was dated nearly a month ago. Some large son of a laird in the wilds of Scotland may have his Melinda in his clutches at this very second. Some beefy heathen dragging her along to a cave of a castle, never to be heard from again. He unfolded Ann’s portion of the letter.
Blake,
Donald is fine, riding horses and exploring McDonald’s home. He’s grown a foot, I imagine since you’ve seen him. He misses you.
I pray you have found William and he is safe. I know Miss Finch is able and smart, but I still worry. Is he eating well? If Miss Finch’s home is in the wilderness, who sees to his bed and his clothes? I know these worries sound silly to you, but I cannot help myself. I am still his mother after all, and I don’t rest for imagining him thin and wan without the comforts of home. Have you two come to a truce of sorts?
Melinda has been to a whirlwind of parties and balls, and she and Claire have become fast friends. Men and women admire Melinda wherever she goes. There is a small matter that I’m sure McDonald exaggerated wildly concerning Melinda. A young man, Connor McDougal, has been paying her court as young men do to young women as charming and as beautiful as our daughter. Connor is handsome as well, and Melinda has accepted his attentions. He will be laird of his clan one day, but I’m afraid you’ll find his position lacking for the daughter of a duke. His family is prosperous, and his sisters and mother gently bred. The McDougal laird, his father, is well, more Scottish. And so is the son. Throwing poles at festivals and tossing huge sacks over their shoulders as if they weighed nothing. But by the by, our Melinda may have fallen in love. And I do believe Connor will tear this castle down in her pursuit if need be. But fear not. McDonald and his family guard her and Claire most faithfully.
Please write and apprise me of poor William’s condition.
Ann
At some point in the reading Blake had stood up. He didn’t realize his position until he plopped into a chair behind him. Blake reached for the decanter of whiskey on Fred’s desk and uncorked it. Seeing no glass, he guzzled from the bottle. The wildly varying accounts had his head spinning. Ann was worried William was wan and pale all the while he was tan and gaining muscles and confidence by the day. She claimed McDonald exaggerated, but yet Blake did not think her new husband was given to flights of fancy. His Melinda was being pursued by an untitled heathen capable of tearing down a castle with his bare hands.
“Esmerelda’s gone now, and Mary Alice is really a nice woman. She’s resting. Blake! What is the matter?” Gertrude asked from the door. “What is that?”
Blake stared at her for the longest time. “My life has fallen apart. Spiraled out of control. I have no say over anything, anyone.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
Blake stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Everything I’ve been sure of, valued, everything has changed. I fear I’m too old to take it all in.”
“Are the children alright, Blake?” Gertrude asked. “You are acting very strange.”
Blake sat down at the desk and folded his hands in front of him. “You arrived in England and my life changed, Gertrude. And I’ve no rules any longer to rely on.” He picked the letters up from the desk and stared at them. “And when problems arise I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do. I can no longer hide away at my club or forget things in the arms of a mistress.”
“I’m sure Helena will welcome you back, Blake.”
Blake heaved a breath, angry. “I don’t want Helena. I want you. Ever since you smacked my nose with your hand as I tried to kiss it, nothing has been the same. You waltzed into my life and announced I was worthless after knowing me a week. You charmed my children to the point that William followed you across an ocean. I have found I liked your silly little country and most of its inhabitants. I dragged Benson three hundred miles out of our way as I chased sunsets.” Blake grabbed the neck of his shirt. “I fear I will never be satisfied without my Levi’s and six-shooter.”
“I didn’t drag you across an ocean. You came here on your own. And who cares what you wear or if you got lost?”
Blake stood and slammed his hands on the desk. “I’m not talking about my clothes, Gertrude. I’m talking about me. I’ve changed. I managed to escape outlaws, skin a rabbit and deliver a baby. And all the while I thought about you. Do you know I rocked a newborn infant to sleep in a mud hut?” Blake straightened and drew his hands to his hips. “I never once rocked any of my own children. I have done poorly by them and vowed to make a fresh start with you and this child. And now I fear I won’t be able to. My new found understanding is tearing me in two.”
“Sanders,” she shouted. “Get hold of yourself. You’re making no sense.”
Blake took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he slipped into the red leather chair. “Melinda has tried to run away from McDonald’s home to elope. I know nothing of these people. There is very little Melinda wants she does not succeed in gaining.”
“You are worried then?” she said softly.
Blake’s shoulders lifted on a shrug and he laughed grimly. “Worried, you ask? I just realized I needed, well, wanted to get to know my daughter, and she is in danger of being hauled away like a sack of flour over a moor.”
“What did you mean your new understanding is tearing you in two?”
“Ah, Gertrude. Don’t you know? If I tend to my daughter an ocean away, I will not be here when our child arrives. I promised myself I would be at your side.”
“I never expected you to be here. I knew full well what I was doing, Blake.” She twisted a long strand of hair in her fingers. “Granted, I was not thinking of a child at that moment, but I knew, Blake.” She whispered the words. “I knew.”
Blake stared hard at her. He leaned forward in the chair. “What were you thinking of, Gertrude? Was your mind far away, like mine, in emotions I’d never felt or wanted to? Can you honestly say we were merely swept along in passion? Can you look me in the eye and tell me we didn’t make love but just had sex?”
“I don’t know.” Gertrude’s lip trembled wildly. “I had no experience to compare it with.”
Blake stood and walked around the desk to the door. He stopped and dropped his head, hand on the knob. “I’ve had more experience than necessary. Experience I’m no longer proud of. Whatever you choose to believe about me or about that night, I will tell you with certainty, it was far beyond mere sex.”
Blake went to the corrals and asked Fred and Will to talk to him inside.
“I got lots to do today, Sanders. What do ya want?” Uncle Fred asked as he poured coffee and sat down at the table beside Will.
Blake told them of McDonald and Ann’s letters. Will’s eyes were wide, and Fred shook his head.
“So you see, I am in a quandary. Of my own making I might add.” Blake said as he sat down across from the men. “I have a daughter in Scotland trying to marry a man I’ve never met who may abuse her for all I know. Make her miserable at the least.” Blake heaved a breath. “And I’ve got Gertrude in the States with my promise to be here when our child arrives. And I’ve yet to convince her to marry me.”
“I’ll be here for Gert, you know. It won’t be like she’s going through this alone,” Fred said.
Blake laughed hoarsely. “But you know as well as I, if I leave, Gertrude will believe the worst of me.”
“You can come back, sir,” Will added. “If you’d like, I’ll stay with Miss Finch till the babe is born.”
“I know you would, son. And I know you are missing home greatly. No, this is not your dilemma Will, but mine,” Blake said.
“There is no dilemma,” Gertrude said from the doorway.
“Thought you were napping,” Blake said brusquely.
“No. I’ve been sitting in Uncle Fred’s office thinking,” she replied. “I think you should go, Blake. Go to Melinda. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”
“And leave you behind?” Blake asked. �
��I promised …”
Gertrude covered Blake’s hand with her own. “I know you promised. And I think you gave your word with all intentions of keeping it. But I’ve decided to marry Luke Matson.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, Blake, I can,” she replied. “He will be a good husband for me, I think. Esmerelda is right about one thing. I must marry.”
“Then marry me,” Blake said. “I’ve asked three times. I don’t understand why you will marry him and not me.”
* * *
Blake had changed. His journey alone was a testament of some kind, as to what, she was unsure. He looked different for certain. He said he wanted her. He had defended her to Esmerelda, but somehow through it all, the blame fell to her. Blake’s guilt over his inattention to his children reached to her and his unborn child. It was clear he wanted desperately to reach Melinda. The look on his face told not a tale of duty to his family name but rather the look of a father hoping and praying to do his best for a daughter. Weighed against his obligation to her.
Gert felt tears on the edge of her eyes. He had said nothing of love, of some elusive feeling, yes, but not love. What predicament would end his obsession with his new found conscience? In time, no doubt, these changes would fall by the wayside, and he would once again be the Duke of Wexford. He had had a lifetime and centuries of tradition pounded into his head to behave one way. How could she honestly believe, how could she be true to the vow she made to herself, and to her mother so very long ago, that Blake Sanders was anything but what he always had been.
She blinked back tears as she pictured herself holding the hand of her mother at her deathbed. Promising the woman who’d birthed her and loved her to do better. Never tie yourself to a man like your father. Know he’ll love you Gertie and be true. Know he’ll always be there for you. Know in your heart that you are the only one in his. She looked at Blake. And she so like her mother loved a man unable to be true.
Blake would never know it was him she spoke of rather than Luke Matson. “I love him.” Blake’s intake of breath was audible. He rose slowly and left the kitchen.
William stood to follow his father outside but stopped at the threshold. Blake Sanders was crouched, leaning against a tree, shoulders shaking. Will backed up in the shadow of the porch near an open window.
Uncle Fred stared at Gert as he had when she was girl, underfoot or in trouble. “That’s the biggest bunch of horseshit I ever heard. And I’ve heard some whoppers in my day.”
“It’s best for all concerned Blake goes to Melinda.”
Fred turned her towards him and shook her shoulders. “What about you, Gert? You don’t love Luke Matson. You love that damn Brit. You told me so yourself.”
Tears poured down Gert’s cheeks. “And he’ll never love me. Don’t you see? And I made a promise to Ma I’d never marry a man like my father.”
Fred stared at her. “I never thought I’d say this to you, girl. Never thought there’d be cause.” He waited till she looked at him. “You’re a fool.”
Chapter Seventeen
The stab to Blake’s heart was painful as if a dagger had been thrust there. He knew now, as he had never known before what poets meant when they spoke of heartbreak. Nothing on this earth or in his life had prepared him to endure the pain that now tore his heart in half. The woman he loved, loved another.
Blake had near convinced himself to say those three words in his heart. But then his Gertrude had gone and said it about another man. He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. The old Duke of Wexford would have ranted, having his way through intimidation and money. Assuming all those around him owed him homage by some fluke of parentage. Insulated from everything good life had to offer, blinded by rote and habits born of centuries. But without Gertrude nothing would matter and he would go quietly, and allow Gertrude the happiness Matson would bring her.
Blake saw Will approach and turned his head away to wipe his eyes.
“Father?”
Blake studied Will. How clear his sympathy was. Not belittlement or pity, for certain. Blake didn’t deserve a son as good as the one before him. “I’m fine, Will. I think we’d best plan to leave on the morrow. I want to get to Melinda as soon as possible.”
“I heard Miss Finch talking to her Uncle,” Will began.
Blake could not bear one more thought of Gertrude at that moment. He held up his hand and smiled with resignation. “I’ll go talk to Benson. We leave at first light.”
Blake found Benson sitting beside Miss Forsyth on the flowered davenport. He waited till the valet joined him in the hall. “I wish to leave tomorrow morning. Is that enough time for all to be in order?”
“Yes, sir, of course. We have no trunks to speak of.” Benson turned his head to Miss Forsyth before continuing. “Your Grace?”
Blake watched Benson’s eyes shift from the blond woman to his folded hand and finally to Blake’s face. “Go on, Benson. We’ve been through far too much up to this point to stand on formalities now. Say your peace.”
“I … I would like to resign my post,” Benson said abruptly, eyes wide.
“Somehow I knew that’s what you were going to say. What will you do?” Blake asked.
“Miss Forsyth and I will be married. She has a small home in Chicago and assures me I would do well with a clothing shop.”
Blake tilted his head and put his hands on Benson’s shoulders. “I’m glad for you, Benson. This trip has truly been an adventure, has it not?”
“Yes it has, sir. And it is quite possible with my forthcoming marriage I will actually have grandchildren to tell our tales to.”
Blake smiled. “I hope I’ve been as good a companion to you as you have for me. But I fear Miss Forsyth will outshine me in many ways.”
Benson shook his head firmly. “No, no, sir. It has been a great honor to serve you. You are the finest of men.”
Blake pulled the remaining money from his money belt. Benson hurried to undo his. “No, Benson. Keep it. And this share as well. You’ll be needing something to start with.”
Benson’s mouth dropped. “I couldn’t, sir. I have some saved at home in my quarters. I was hoping you would use it to ship my belongings.”
“Absolutely not. You will keep this all, and I will ship your things as well,” Blake said.
The valet’s head dropped, and his lip trembled, briefly. “Thank you sir. As I have said, you are too kind. Would you like me to see to Master William’s and Miss Finch’s packing as well?”
“William has as little as me, and Miss Finch will not be joining me on my voyage.”
“She is wise, Your Grace. Not risking her health with travels.” Benson smiled. “She will be ready to cross the ocean in a few short months.”
“Miss Finch will not be joining me, Benson. Ever,” Blake said. “And I’ve a favor to beg of you now. A task I have no right to ask of you. But it is of great importance to me.”
“Anything, Your Grace.”
“Miss Finch and Miss Forsyth are good friends, I understand,” Blake continued to Benson’s nod. “I wish…I wish to know if there is anything she ever needs.” Blake faltered and began again. “I want her to be happy. Write me, Benson, if you ever think my help is required. I will trust your judgment with my son or daughter. And with her.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I would be honored to watch after her,” Benson said and stared hard at his employer. “I waited years for love and family.” Blake Sanders’ head came up on the words. “If there is anything I’ve learned, it’s that patience is oft times required when we feel the least inclined to grant it. Patience and love. They will win out. You will see, sir.”
Blake Sanders clipped a formal bow to his valet. Benson’s head snapped to attention and returned the salutation.
Early the next morning, Blake stood beside Gertrude’s bed. She moaned and slept fitfully, tossing from side to side. Her hair was the color of coal and waved around her face like a half-mask. The eyes he knew were a unique green,
a color he would not see again. Her hands held her stomach as if already protecting their child. Her long legs shifted from under her nightgown. Silky and white. He drew a deep breath and touched her face. Knowing this vision would need to suffice. Blake pulled an envelope from his pocket and slipped it into her hand. He kissed her forehead and then left her. To put an ocean between him and his love.
Fred and Benson shook hands with Will and Blake. Fred guffawed and pulled Will into his arms and slapped him loudly on the back. Blake didn’t mount the horse Fred had given him to ride to the train station just yet. He had one more detail to attend to. Near as hard as kissing Gertrude goodbye.
In the bunkhouse, Blake pulled a sleeping Luke Matson to his feet. Cookie lit a lamp and the hands in their red under-drawers listened warily as Blake spoke.
“She loves you, Matson. Not I. I will concede defeat on that point,” Blake hissed to the groggy man hanging in his grip. “But if I were ever to hear that she were unhappy. If I were ever to hear you’d disgraced her. If I were ever to hear you didn’t treat her as the priceless diamond that she is, I promise you, I will cross the ocean and tear your heart out of your chest.”
Matson nodded wide-eyed. Blake dropped him to the floor. Not a word was spoken as Blake Sanders, walked silently out of the bunkhouse. Will stayed for a moment after his father passed him. He met the eye of every man there. Father and son rode into the dawn.
* * *
Gert awoke sweating and crying. She had slept in late. The air in her room was sticky and thick. Tears rolled down her face. Am I back to my blubbering? Gert wondered. Her hand came up to wipe her face. She clutched a letter in her fist, and her heart leaped in her throat. Blake’s neat script etched her name. She laid it down carefully on her pillow as if it might shatter, as her heart surely was. Gert knew what the letter said without reading a word. He was gone.
