Where the Heart Chooses

by Tinnean

  The squeak of rubber soles signified the departure of the nurse. Another hand took mine, pressing it to a stubbled cheek that was damp.

  Tears, Quinton? Oh, sweetheart, don’t weep for me.

  I sank back into the comforting cushion of unconsciousness.

  * * * *

  Chapter 12

  Arlington National Cemetery.

  It was a gray, dismal day, in spite of the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  Nigel had served in Korea, that other war that wasn’t classified a war, and was entitled to military honors.

  Quinton stood beside me, in the same black suit he had worn when we flew to India to claim his father’s body. And although he didn’t make a sound, I felt the tremors shivering through his body.

  Behind us was family—Mother and Father; Tony, still alone after all this time; Jefferson and his partner, Ludovic Rivenhall—the same Ludovic who’d stuttered in my ear during my season in London; Bryan and his wife, and as usual, her children were with their grandparents, although they were of an age to pay their respects on this occasion.

  As for Nigel’s family, his father had passed away in ‘67, and Mrs. Mann had been so unwell in recent years she’d been confined to a nursing home. Addison was there with his wife, whose name I could never remember, because he changed wives so frequently and we so rarely saw them.

  Nigel’s colleagues and friends were in the numerous rows of chairs behind us, and there was even a representative from the White House. I should have been surprised to see Sidorov there, but I was too cocooned in grief to pay it much heed.

  The honor guard raised their rifles and fired a salute, and a bugler played “Taps.” For just that second I wavered, and Quinton’s hand found mine, gripping it tightly.

  We watched dry-eyed.

  The flag that draped my husband’s coffin was removed, folded, folded, and folded again, and presented to me.

  After the funeral, Mother embraced me, and Father’s hand rested on my shoulder. I held myself stiffly. If I allowed myself anything else, I knew I would break.

  “Do you want Quinton to come home with us, Portia?”

  “No!” My son’s voice cracked, and then firmed. “No.”

  “No, Mother, thank you. We’ll be fine together.” We needed to be together.

  “Mrs. Mann, you wish I come with you?” Alyona Novotny stood beside her brother. Both of them looked as grief-stricken as I felt. I shook my head. “I will be with Gregor, then. Call if you have need of either of us.”

  “Thank you.” I tried to smile, but I knew it was a failure.

  Quinton and I were silent on the drive home in the limo supplied by the Company.

  At home I heated the crab-tomato bisque soup that Alyona had prepared the night before, and toasted Russian black bread, neither of which we ate. We sat in Nigel’s study and looked through the photo albums, but didn’t really see.

  Quinton fell asleep on the huge recliner that was his father’s, and I removed his shoes and covered him with a soft throw.

  I was starting to get a headache. I pulled the pins from my hair, and it spilled around my shoulders.

  The doorbell rang. I padded down the long hallway in my stocking feet and gazed through the etched glass that framed the door.

  I wasn’t surprised to see the violets. I was surprised to see Folana. I opened the door and let her in, then locked the door behind her.

  “Portia.”

  My lip quivered, and I firmed it. I took her hand and led her to the small parlor at the rear of the house.

  “I never…I never told him…”

  “He knew, my dear friend. He was a very smart man.” She saw my confusion. “He chose you, didn’t he?”

  She held me while I wept, listened while I talked, and stayed with me until I slept.

  In the morning, she was gone.

  * * * *

  Chapter 13

  It was a miserable spring, summer, and autumn. However, life did what it always did; it went on. And I had no choice but to go on with it. I had my son depending on me.

  I kept my grief to myself, enhancing my reputation as the ice queen—screaming and railing against the injustice of it was useless. My sister-in-law assumed that meant I didn’t care at all, and she rarely spoke to me without making her disapproval obvious. Of course, she was careful never to do so when Bryan was present.

  Now the holiday season was approaching, but the joy had gone out of it for me. Quinton was aware, as were Alyona and Gregor.

  “Mrs. Mann, please let me put up a Christmas tree for you.” Gregor had served in the Navy for six years after college, and from there had joined the FBI. Now he worked out of their New York office, but in the months since Nigel’s death, he’d been driving down at least every other week and dining with us, and over the summer he’d spent a good deal of time with Quinton.

  “Gregor, don’t you think you should call me Portia?”

  He flushed. “P-Portia.”

  I was tempted to say, “There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” But I wasn’t sure how he’d react to being teased, and I wasn’t sure if teasing him would be wise. “I think a tree would be a very good idea. I’ll call Mother and see if she has one for us.”

  “I remember the size tree she let you and Ni- you had last year. You’re going to need a larger car. I’ll rent something suitable. It’s too bad Quinn’s still at school.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Shortly after our son was born, Nigel and I sat down and discussed the path his education would take. Nigel had gone to a preparatory school in Virginia, and although his father and stepmother hadn’t lived very far away, they’d boarded him there.

  I wasn’t really surprised when Nigel’s expression grew cold. “I won’t send my son there.”

  “All right, darling.”

  “I think…If you have no objection, I think I’d like him to attend Phillips Exeter.”

  Which all male Sebrings had attended.

  I hugged him and kissed the hinge of his jaw. “I have no objection.”

  And so, when the time came, Quinton and I packed his bags, and he flew to New Hampshire in the company of all three of his uncles. It broke my heart to send him away to school, but I wouldn’t keep him tied to my side.

  While Gregor saw about the car, I called Mother. “I’d like to pick up a Christmas tree,” I told her after we’d exchanged pleasantries.

  “I’m pleased to hear that.”

  “Actually, it was Gregor’s idea.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I see.”

  “It’s for Quinton, Mother.”

  “Even better. I’ll select a tree and have it ready for you. When will you come?”

  “I’d thought this afternoon, if you have no objection?”

  “I must say I don’t like the idea of you making that drive home by yourself. Why don’t you plan on staying the night? Your brothers will be here. Your father won’t. He’s in San Francisco.” She didn’t sound happy about that, which wasn’t usual, and I wondered briefly what had called Father to California. But she was going to be even more unhappy with what I was about to inform her.

  “Gregor will be driving me.”

  “I…see.” And the fact that she repeated herself showed me how perturbed she was by the situation. “Very well. I imagine Shadow Brook is large enough to accommodate an FBI agent.”

  “Thank you. You know he’s been very good with Quinton.”

  “Yes, we’re all aware how much he adores the boy, but Portia, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  As much as I wanted to, I didn’t scream. “Nigel’s been gone for less than a year. I’m not looking to replace him.” He was too precious to me to ever be replaced. I decided to change the subject. “Is Jefferson bringing Ludovic?”

  “Of course. Johanna won’t be joining us.”

  “Why aren’t I surprised to hear this?” She always found some excuse to avoid coming for a visit, or when she did agree t
o come, she left her children either with her mother or their other grandparents.

  “Bryan’s not happy.”

  “Of course not.” Two months after I lost Nigel, Johanna had gone into premature labor that had resulted in an emergency C-section. The tiny boy had too much against him, and my brother held his son as he took his last breath.

  “I’m not talking about losing Bryan Anthony, although it’s unfortunate Johanna can’t seem to carry to term.” There had been four miscarriages, and Bryan had been so hopeful for this pregnancy when his wife made it past the fourth month. “He thinks he’s concealing it, but I’m his mother. As little as he might think it, I can see…” Mother briskly changed the subject. “If you want to get here at a reasonable hour, I’d better let you go.”

  “All right. Thank you, Mother. We’ll see you in a few hours.” I hung up just as Gregor walked in.

  “All set, Mrs.—Portia. We just have to stop by a friend’s and borrow his pickup truck.” He handed me the lynx coat that Nigel had given me. “I realized the kind of trees Mrs. Sebring has would dwarf a wagon.”

  “Whatever you think, Gregor. However, there’s been a slight change of plans. We’ll be staying at Shadow Brook overnight.”

  “Okay. Give me two minutes to pack.” After Nigel…Nigel died, Gregor had moved some clothes back into the room that had always been his.

  “You’ll need a suit for dinner.”

  “Right. Make that five minutes.”

  And five minutes later, we left.

  * * * *

  “Have you met anyone in New York, Gregor?” I asked after we’d been on the road a little while.

  “Yeah.” He flashed me a grin. “It’s nothing serious yet.”

  “What’s her name? What does she look like?”

  “Her name is Virginia, and she’s five-foot-eight, brown hair, and blue eyes. And she’s a field agent.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, like I said, it’s early days yet. Please don’t tell Alyona! She’ll be marching me down the aisle before Christmas.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “So…uh…how are you, Portia?”

  “I’m fine.”

  After a long moment of silence, he said, “I miss him, you know. When Jeff sent me word of the crash…Oh God, it felt like someone reached in and tore my heart out.”

  “Yes,” I said softly. I still felt like that.

  “Alyona was the only family I had for the longest time. Our parents never make it out of Czechoslovakia.” For the first time his accent was obvious. “She like mother to me more than sister. Finally we get to United States. Cousins in New York let us stay with them.” He cleared his throat, and his accent was gone. “They did what they could for us, but times were tough, and even with Alyona working two and three jobs, it was hard to make ends meet. I told her I’d quit school and get a job, but she wouldn’t let me. And then you and Mr. Mann hired her.” He glanced at me. “It was your father’s doing. One of her jobs was as a maid in the Roosevelt Hotel.”

  I didn’t say anything to let him know I was aware of this.

  “You hired her, and you let me come along. Just an eighteen-year-old kid. Most people wouldn’t have taken on an extra mouth.”

  “Ah. So you’re the reason why our grocery bills jumped that year. I was certain it was being pregnant.” As I’d hoped, that made him laugh.

  “I’d have done anything for you or him or the baby. Mr. Mann used to slip me a few bucks so I could go out with the guys on Saturday night.”

  “You were more than worth it. You worked on Nigel’s car so that it ran better than when the Company had it brought in for a tune-up. You were wonderful with Quinton—” He made a scoffing sound, and I reached across the seat and touched his arm. “Yes, you were. Not many young men that age would have the patience to take care of an infant, to change his diaper, or feed him when Alyona had to prepare dinner. And last February…” It would have been Nigel’s fiftieth birthday, and I’d been planning the party for months. “You took personal time to be there for Quinton, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  He started to say something, but then shook his head. “We’re all family now.”

  “Yes, we are.” And I leaned across the seat again, this time to brush a kiss over his cheek.

  * * * *

  Quinton returned home for the Christmas vacation, and I saw his relief when he walked into the morning room and found the ten-foot tall tree there, as it had been every Christmas.

  “It’s lovely, Mother.” He came to me, put his arm around my shoulders, and leaned his head against mine. When had he become so tall?

  “I think…I think I want to visit Arlington on Christmas Day,” I told him. “I didn’t have last Christmas with your father.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll go with you.”

  * * * *

  And so began a tradition we honored every Christmas after.

  * * * *

  Chapter 14

  Quinton’s dreams of participating in the 1980 Summer Olympics were on the verge of being fulfilled—we were notified that he’d been selected for the Three Day Equestrian Event.

  He and Andrew Gallagher, his coach, worked unceasingly with Jack Be Nimble and Quasimodo, the geldings who were going to accompany Quinton to Moscow.

  Andrew and I leaned against the rails of the indoor ring, watching as Quinton set Jack Be Nimble to trotting forward and sideways in a half-pass across the tanbark.

  “Poetry in motion. Y’ know, Mrs. Mann, I think he and the team have a good chance of bringing home a medal.”

  I was so proud to hear that. Quinton worked so hard…

  Then, on March 21, those dreams were dashed when the Carter Administration decided to boycott the games to protest the USSR’s invasion of Afghanistan.

  * * * *

  “Stupid government,” Alyona grumbled one evening as she was clearing off the dinner table. “Missus, what we do for Quinton?”

  The spring term had started, and he was back at Phillips Exeter. Although he’d put on a brave front, I’d detected how disappointed he was by this turn of events. The last thing I wanted was for my son to brood over missed opportunities.

  “What’s the condition of the wine cellar, Alyona?”

  She frowned at me. “Is almost empty. You know.”

  “Yes.” I’d sponsored a number of charity auctions and had offered bottles of Chateau Margaux. “I imagine a wine-buying trip is called for.”

  A smile bloomed over her face. “You make arrangements. When is time, I pack for you and Quinton.”

  * * * *

  The school year was over, and Quinton was home.

  “Would you mind going for a ride with me, sweetheart?”

  “Not at all, Mother.”

  Jack Be Nimble and Quasimodo were both at Shadow Brook, and Penelope had long since been put out to pasture, but the country club had a decent stable, and I’d often used one of their horses with pleasant results.

  We changed into riding clothes and drove there. The weather was lovely, and a number of the horses had been taken out.

  “Mrs. Mann! It’s good to see you! And who’s this young man?”

  “This is my son, Quinton. Quinton, Ken McIlvoy, who’s recently taken over the stable. He does an excellent job running it.”

  “Mr. McIlvoy.” Quinton offered his hand, and McIlvoy took it with a smile.

  “Is Mary Lincoln available?” I asked.

  “Yes, she is. And so is Mr. President.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. Mr. President was one of the most placid mounts in the stable, and he was the horse Gregor usually rode. Gregor had never mastered the art of horseback riding, but during those times when he visited, he would join me, sitting stoically atop the palomino. I didn’t question his insistence on riding with me; it was enjoyable to have a male companion who didn’t assume that because I was a widow, I was desperate for someone to take me to bed.

  “No, I
think the Godfather.”

  “Uh…”

  “Trust me. My son is a very accomplished rider.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you say so.” He watched as Quinton swung up into the saddle and let the gelding shake out his fidgets, and finally nodded in satisfaction.

  We cantered for a while, and then dropped the horses down to a walk. “What did you need to talk to me about, Mother?”

  I smiled over at him. I hadn’t said anything about needing to talk, but he was his father’s son. “The stock in our wine cellar has been sadly depleted. I’d like you to accompany me to France.”

  The corner of his mouth curved for a moment in a grin very similar to his father’s. “Aunt Johanna wasn’t very pleased when she learned you couldn’t lend her a few bottles for one of her dinner parties.”

  I didn’t ask how he was aware of that. He had my permission to visit his uncles during the various vacations, and he’d spent Easter with Bryan and his wife and stepchildren.

  “Well, Aunt Johanna knows we have the best cellar.” I’d never warmed to her, but I would have made an effort to get her the wine if she hadn’t acted as if she were entitled to it. As little as I cared for her, I wouldn’t disparage my brother’s wife to my son. “And Uncle Bryan doesn’t have the time to travel to France to restock his own cellar.”

  “He never takes time off. And you plan on buying some stock for him, don’t you?” Quinton reined the Godfather toward me and touched my shoulder. “I know you’re doing this because of this mess with the Olympics—”

  “Shhh. I’m doing this because you’re the man of the family now, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you, Mother. Of course I’ll go with you.”

  * * * *

  Throughout that summer, we traveled from one vineyard to another. I was friendly with most of the men and women who ran them, having traveled with Father when he’d gone on similar trips.

  I’d heard excellent word-of-mouth about a new vineyard in Avignon. Tartarin Bauchet ran La Vigne d’un Dieu. I knew him from previous visits to his vineyard in the Bordeaux region, and I thought we’d stop by to see him.