[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years

by Tracie Peterson

  “This man is responsible for designing our airport. Of course, that is but one of his many accomplishments. He was the first to cross the Atlantic, and he sealed Winslow’s prosperity when he made her a part of the new Transcontinental Air Transport service. I give you Charles Lindbergh.”

  E. J. nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing. He didn’t really have a chance. Other people began to talk around him, asking Lindbergh questions and listening to the somewhat shy man speak about his exploits.

  “What was it like to fly across the Atlantic?” one rather enthusiastic man questioned. E. J. recognized the man as one who assisted Mary in her scheduling.

  “It was long,” Lindbergh replied with a grin.

  The conversation went on, but E. J. found himself bored. Flying was a fascinating thing but much too expensive for the common man to really take note of. There was discussion of how flying would soon put train service out of business, but E. J. found that hard to believe. Trains were more accessible. Trains could be routed via spurs to every city in America—even very small towns could have train service. Planes would never have that kind of accessibility. Besides, he didn’t know many people who would trust themselves to such contraptions. Hanging high above the ground was hardly his idea of sensible.

  As the conversation at the opposite end of the table continued in the direction of flight, Mary Colter focused on the hotel. “I’m wondering if you found those swatches of material for me to examine, Mr. Birt.”

  The man perked up at the sound of his name. “I have the silk velour in mulberry, mauve, and plum. Each varies a little from the other, but I think it will give you a nice selection to choose from.”

  Mary nodded. “I want it for seat padding on the horseshoe chairs,” she said, looking to E. J. as if he’d asked a question. “The wood is a lovely walnut, and I believe the cushions will be just as vital as the rest of the chair.” She turned to Birt. “I’ll see them in the morning.”

  “I’ll have them ready. Also . . .” He hesitated momentarily. “I have some questions regarding the chandeliers you wanted carved. The wood isn’t the quality I’d like to see.”

  They continued to talk about the light fixtures while E. J.’s thoughts wandered back to his own dilemma. Ashley and Natalie were never far from his mind. He toyed with the prime rib he’d ordered for dinner, pushing the pink meat around his plate to give the appearance of actually eating. From time to time he put a piece of the tender beef in his mouth, grateful it wasn’t tough like some meat he’d endured. Ever since his jaw had been damaged in the war, his ability to chew had suffered. Funny how something so simple and commonplace could sometimes cause him great pain.

  “Mr. Carson, you’ve not said more than two words this evening. Is there a problem?” Mary Colter demanded.

  E. J. smiled. Mary brooked no nonsense from “her boys.” “No, ma’am. I’m just reflecting on personal matters.”

  She nodded, her probing gaze bringing him a moment of discomfort. “Are you able to come with me to that old Mormon fort tomorrow? I want to bring in more of that stone for the west wall. It’s perfect for landscaping and giving the grounds an antique appearance. The more we utilize the natural resources at hand, the better off we are.”

  E. J. had heard it all before. “I can come with you if you need me to. There is still the matter of seeing to that list of issues you had with the west wing.”

  Mary considered this for a moment then waved her fork at him. “Stay here. I need those things taken care of. I’ll take a couple of my boys to help me. If you talk to any of the locals, see if you can round up some old relics that might make pleasant objets d’art.” She didn’t even wait for E. J.’s reply but turned to the man beside her. “Now, Mr. Altaire, we need to discuss the designs for the hall. I have in mind a vining leaf and flower.”

  E. J. let his thoughts recede to Ashley and Natalie. It felt strange to realize and truly accept that he had a wife and child to consider. Even if he couldn’t be sure Natalie was his child, he knew if he took Ashley back into his life, Natalie would naturally come along too.

  Memories of his short whirlwind romance with Ashley Murphy came to mind. He’d first set his gaze upon her in the park. She was there with friends, laughing as she seemed wont to do. She appealed to him because of her vivacious spirit and her simplistic elegance. She’d worn a plain white muslin dress, pleated in the bodice and layered in the skirt. The sunlight gave her face a delightful glow, but her eyes seemed to sparkle with a light all their own. Ethan had been mesmerized.

  He’d spied a couple of his college classmates talking with Ashley and her girlfriends. They seemed to be enjoying a leisurely game of croquet and the afternoon air. Ethan knew their social circles separated them, but as a college student he felt he could cross some barriers better than others. He longed to be included in that group, and barrier or no, the next time he saw them gathered, he made certain someone introduced him to the young beauty.

  The opportunity came at a war-relief rally. Americans were doing their part to aid their European brothers, and if it presented a reason to have a celebration at the same time, people seemed all in favor of that. Ethan worried that the war would soon spread to engulf the Americans, and he wondered if he would go and fight or avoid taking up arms. He was still contemplating this matter when his classmate introduced him to Ashley Murphy.

  He could still picture her warm chocolate brown eyes. She looked at him with such intensity, almost as if he were a piece of art she would study in detail.

  “Ethan is an architect,” his friend announced.

  “Well, at least I’m in training to be one,” Ethan corrected. “So far, no one’s hired me on.”

  “It’s just a matter of time,” his friend interjected. “Ethan is top in the class.”

  “I’m glad to meet you,” Ashley said, reaching out to shake Ethan’s hand.

  The moment their hands touched, Ethan felt the overwhelming sensation of electricity that moved between them. He wouldn’t say it was exactly love at first sight, but it was certainly fascination at first sight.

  From that point on, they began a conversation that didn’t seem to end until three weeks later, when they agreed on a whim to get married.

  E. J. shook the memories from his mind. I was a different man then. She barely knew me, and what little she knew was completely lost in the trenches of France.

  He nodded as a Harvey waitress in her pristine black and white offered him coffee. The hot liquid helped warm the chill left by the memories of what had been.

  Glancing across the room, E. J. noticed a man watching him most intently. The man was just a bit stocky in build, with a head full of curly brown hair. He wasn’t at all familiar to E. J., but he stared in his direction as if he knew him. An uneasiness crept along E. J.’s spine. What did the man want? Who was he?

  You’re just being paranoid, he told himself. He drank from the cup and tried to steady his nerves long enough to take a second glance. The man was still watching.

  Then it dawned on E. J. Charles Lindbergh sat at their table. The man was a notable public figure. No doubt the watcher had in mind that he might meet the famous flyer.

  E. J. stole another glance and felt his heart pick up its pace. He’d so long hidden himself away from the press and anyone at all who knew him for who he’d been when he called himself Ethan Reynolds. He’d grown weary of his hero status, feeling that people were always trying to claim a piece of him. One woman had even snipped his hair, proclaiming she would have good fortune for the rest of her life because she had a locket of Ethan Reynolds’s hair. Now there were Ashley and Natalie to consider, and until he was ready to let them know his identity, he certainly didn’t need someone else spilling the news.

  E. J. forced himself to go through the motions of drinking his coffee and eating his peach shortcake. It had to be Lindbergh the man was watching. No one knew he was really Ethan Reynolds. Even his wife didn’t know, and she’d spoken to him twice now.

&
nbsp; He’d convinced himself that his identity was safe, until the man got up from his table and moved across the room. E. J. tensed, fighting the urge to flee. This is stupid, he told himself. It’s been ten years. No one knows what I look like or where I’ve gone.

  “I wonder if I might be so bold as to introduce myself,” the man said, standing just to the right of E. J. “I’m Marcus Greeley. I’m a journalist and author by trade. I saw Mr. Lindbergh here and I couldn’t help myself.”

  E. J. breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t even bother to look up as the conversation continued at the other end of the table and introductions were made.

  “Miss Colter,” E. J. said, putting his fork aside, “I’m afraid a headache is keeping me from being any real use to you. I’m going to make it an early night.”

  Mary Colter nodded. “I’ll speak to you in the morning before I head out. Why don’t we meet here and talk over breakfast?”

  “I’ll be here,” E. J. promised.

  He moved past Mr. Greeley, only to have the man extend his hand. “The name’s Greeley. Marcus Greeley.”

  E. J. didn’t look up but nodded. “E. J. Carson.” He shook the man’s hand rather abruptly, then turned without another word. The man might think him rude, but he’d never guess his true identity if E. J. had anything to say about it.

  The last thing I need, E. J. thought, is for someone to declare that the famous Hun killer, Ethan Reynolds, is in town.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I need to send two telegrams,” Ashley announced as she approached the telegraph operator’s counter. She’d only learned a few minutes ago that the wires were finally up and running. Grandpa was fading fast, and she knew that time was of the essence.

  “What do you want to say?” the man asked, taking up a pencil and pad.

  Ashley opened the first of the two missives. “This goes to Mrs. Lavelle Guzman. ‘Please come to Winslow, Arizona, immediately. I am dying and wish to see you. If money is a concern, please advise. Father.’ ”

  Ashley gave the man the Los Angeles address for her aunt, then folded the piece of paper away and opened the second. “The other telegram is for Mrs. Leticia Murphy.” The message read the same, but Ashley added, “ ‘Please be aware I currently reside with Ashley and her daughter.’ ” She again had him sign the missive, “Father.”

  “These are urgent,” she told the man. “My grandfather hasn’t got long to live, and he wants to see his daughters before he dies.”

  “I’ll do what I can from this end,” the man assured her. He figured the cost and Ashley paid him before he asked, “If there’s a reply, where should it be delivered?”

  Ashley hadn’t thought of a reply. She wrote her address down for the man and pushed it across the highly polished counter. “Just bring any response here.”

  She hurried to leave before she could change her mind. She knew the telegrams had to be delivered—knew that Grandpa was only holding on in order to see his daughters again. But Ashley could imagine the conflict ahead and it caused her stomach to ache just thinking about it.

  Pushing open the door, she stumbled into the brilliance of the morning sun. Stubbing her toe, she sucked in her breath and fought to keep from crying. Then suddenly it wasn’t her toe at all that brought the tears.

  “What if Mother refuses to come because of me?” she murmured, wiping her eyes. She tried to straighten and regain her composure. Then it will be my fault that Grandpa dies without feeling he’s made his peace with her. I’ll never be able to live with myself if that happens.

  There was a bit of chill to the air. It was well into September and the dry hot days of summer were behind them. Ashley had heard Mrs. Taylor mention the possibility of rain, but the clear skies overhead suggested nothing of the kind. Instead, as the wind whipped up, Ashley tasted the desert grit against her teeth and lips. It only served to make her more uncomfortable.

  “Are you all right?”

  She looked up into the face of E. J. Carson. Funny how he always seemed to turn up when she least expected it. She drew a deep breath and quickly looked away. “I’m fine.” She choked back a sob and shook her head. “No, I’m not fine. I’m sorry.”

  “Would you like to take a walk, maybe talk it out?” The compassion in his tone became her undoing.

  Ashley bit her lower lip as her tears spilled. “I’m afraid I would be a poor conversationalist.”

  “Never mind talking, then. We can simply walk, and if you feel you can share the burden with me, I’ll be here ready and able to listen.”

  She nodded ever so slightly and allowed E. J. to lead her away from the busyness of town.

  * * *

  E. J. had no idea what had gotten into him. How in the world did he find himself walking along Second Street with his wife? He stared at the ground, trying to think of something to say. A tiny green lizard darted across the tip of his shoe, causing E. J. to make a bit of a side step. Ashley didn’t appear to notice, however. Her sorrow, for whatever reason, seemed more than she could bear at the moment.

  “Did you have more bad news?” he asked, hoping his tone wasn’t too prying.

  “No,” Ashley replied, using her handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “I just had a difficult job to do.”

  “I see.”

  She shook her head. “No, you can’t possibly understand. I’m sorry. You really don’t have to walk with me.” She looked around as if to figure out how she might escape.

  E. J. didn’t want her to get away just yet. He longed to comfort her, but even more, he longed for her company. He wanted to know the kind of woman she’d become. They’d married so young and so quickly that neither one really knew the other one at all.

  He reached out to touch her arm gently, cautiously. “Please tell me what happened.”

  Ashley looked at the sky and then lowered her gaze to his face. “I had to send a telegram to my mother. She needs to come see my grandfather before he dies. It was very hard to send the message.”

  “Oh, because she’ll be so upset about his situation?”

  Ashley laughed bitterly. The sound chilled E. J. to the bone. “Hardly that. She’ll be upset because we’ve dared to disturb her peace. After all, she warned us both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wanted nothing to do with either of us,” Ashley explained. “My grandfather took away her financial support when he became a Christian and decided to follow the Bible’s teachings. She swore she’d never speak to him again.”

  “Because he turned to God?” E. J. vaguely remembered something from the past. Hadn’t the old man been doing something illegal—but financially beneficial? He rubbed his jaw, trying to remember.

  “It’s a long story,” Ashley said with a sigh in her voice.

  “I have the time if you do.” He looked at her face and saw the need there. Her dark eyes, still glistening with tears, seemed to consider him momentarily as if to ascertain his worthiness.

  “My grandfather was not concerned with business ethics when he was younger. He made a lot of money and in turn he gave generously to his children—my mother and her sister. When his dealings caught up with him—or rather, when God caught up with him—Grandpa knew he had to give up his life of crime and turn over a new leaf.”

  E. J. nodded and stared ahead at the sandy, rock-laden landscape. How desolate and lonely it all seemed. The barren wasteland made him ache to create something beautiful and lovely to put in its empty space. But wasn’t that why he’d come in the first place? He was here to help with the Harvey resort—beauty amid the ancient, inhospitable land. And somewhere in the midst of that aspiration, God had brought him face-to-face with the past.

  Ashley halted rather abruptly, causing E. J. to walk past her. He stopped and turned to look back at her. She stared off to the south, past the railroad tracks. He wondered what she saw there.

  “I know it sounds completely ridiculous,” she began, “but I’m terrified of my mother coming here.” She glanced at E. J. “I
’m afraid of her and what she’ll do. I’m afraid of myself and who I’ll become when she’s around.”

  “What can she possibly do to hurt you?”

  Ashley shook her head back and forth slowly. “I’m not sure, but if there’s a way, she’ll find it. She doesn’t know I’m here—well, once she gets the telegram she’ll know. But for a very long time, she’s had no idea of my whereabouts. She doesn’t even know about Natalie.”

  “But why?”

  A train whistle blew, signaling a Santa Fe freighter coming in from the east. Ashley watched the train momentarily, then turned back to E. J. and began walking again.

  “My mother is a difficult woman. She wasn’t pleased with my choice of husbands. When he was killed in the Great War, I figured she would end her tirade about my choice and leave well enough alone. After all, I was in mourning.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No. She made matters worse, demanding I annul the marriage, telling me it wouldn’t matter to my husband because he was dead.”

  “Annul the marriage? But if your husband was supposed to be dead . . .”

  Ashley seemed to understand his confusion. “She wanted the slate cleaned, as though the marriage had never happened. That’s how they do it in high society when they want to pretend things are different than they really are. She wanted me to marry a very wealthy man who could benefit the family name.” Ashley’s voice lowered to an almost inaudible tone. “But she didn’t understand the situation at all.”

  “You mean Natalie?” E. J. asked, hoping to learn once and for all if the child was his.

  “No,” Ashley said, leaving him disappointed. “She didn’t understand that I could never love another man. I loved my husband and would continue to love him until I was in the grave beside him.”

  Then, as if realizing she’d become much too personal in her revelations, Ashley stopped again. “Look, I’m sorry. This is too much of a burden to put on anyone, much less a stranger.” She gave him a tight smile. “Natalie said you were easy to talk to.”