by Holly Bush
Jolene looked up to see that all the others in the room had gone but for one man in the doorway. Maximillian. She stared at him as she held Felicity’s hand.
“I had a son, you see, William was his name. He was a sturdy blonde boy, whom my father said was a replica of his brother. I had been so sad for so long for many reasons, but when I held William in my arms for the first time, all my troubles lifted. He was everything to me. Everything. I did not believe I could ever love again after his death, but that is not true.” Jolene dabbed her eyes and stood. “I’m sorry, Felicity, so very sorry for your loss. But I need to speak to my husband. Can I get someone to sit with you?”
Felicity shook her head, and Jolene turned to Maximillian. He took her by the elbow and led her into the Timothy’s office and shut the door.
* * *
Jennifer told him that Jolene was going to speak to the minister’s wife who had just lost a child. He couldn’t help himself but to follow her to the sitting room and watch her hold hands and cry with the grieving mother. When she looked up at him, her blonde hair piled high, and her navy velvet gown matching her tear-filled eyes, he was nearly undone. And then she spoke to him, and her grief was so new and so real that it was all he could do to keep from gathering her in his arms right there. But she would need privacy, his wife, proud, beautiful woman that she was.
Max held her now, shaking and sobbing on his shoulder, when they were alone. He kissed her temple and hair and rubbed her back until her deep breaths quieted. He held her face in his hands. She laid her hands over his.
“I want to hear about William. I want to hear about his life and about his death. I want to hear everything, Jolene. He would have been my son,” Max said.
“You would have been a wonderful father to him,” Jolene said and stared at him quite intensely. “I didn’t think I could have ever loved again, but I do, Maximillian. I do. I love you. I love you more than I thought possible. I love Melinda. You have both loved me even when I was impossible to love.”
“I love you, Jolene. I have missed you.”
Jolene stepped out of his embrace and wiped her tears. “We will talk later when we are back at the hotel. We have guests to attend to now.”
“I want to leave,” Max said. “I don’t care about anyone else.”
“Yes, you do, Maximillian. You care desperately about others. It is the thing I love the most about you.”
* * *
There was a quiet intensity to their love-making that night. Maximillian kissed her slowly and patiently let her shed her sorrows to focus fully on their joining. When he finally entered her, Jolene felt a surge of triumph, of life affirmed, and everlasting. He murmured in her ears his love for her, and she replied adoring words, soft and reverent. It was more than a sexual union, Jolene thought afterwards, nestled in Maximillian’s arms. It was the victory of life and love over death. She felt a tenderness for him, for her husband, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
They slept soundly, and when she woke that morning, she found him staring at her. She rolled onto her side to look out the long window of the hotel room, and Maximillian stretched out behind her with a hand draped over her waist.
“Turner came home feeling unwell, you see,” she said finally. “We didn’t know then that there was an epidemic. Then William started to sniffle and became feverish. My father brought in, probably paid a king’s ransom for, the doctors from Boston Hospital to treat William. I was with him constantly, and Turner visited him, too, having recovered quickly from his dose. That was when I learned about the masks and burying the dead and the spittle and all the other horrible facts of the disease. The doctors said science was on the brink of discoveries about influenza, but, of course, none of them would be in time to save William.”
Jolene twined her fingers through Maximillian’s. “He thrashed constantly, and we had trouble keeping the willow bark tea down. He must have been having horrible nightmares from the fever because he would wake up crying and calling my name. I was never far from his bed. And then he was still. It was strange, really, I’d been trying to comfort him to have some restful sleep, but then he was limp, and his breathing was shallow. The doctor that examined him looked up at me, and I knew. I knew it was the end. I tore my mask from my face and crawled into bed with him. I held him and kissed him and told him I loved him until all the breaths stopped. He had slipped away from me. Thirty-six hours from the moment he sneezed the first time to breathe his last breath.”
“Turner came in the room and kissed William and tried to get me to get out of his bed, but I wouldn’t. Father finally convinced me to get up and let the maids get his body ready. I screamed at Turner and Father. I screamed at them both and told Turner that he’d killed William by bringing home this plague. I remember his face, Turner’s, I mean. He hadn’t thought about it that way until I said it. His eyes were dead then. I suppose that’s why he chose my rooms to kill himself in. I drove him to suicide, you see.”
“No. I don’t believe that. You were hysterical with grief. He had to have known that. You did not kill Turner. He took his life with his own hand, and certainly would have thought about how his son contracted the disease at some point, even if you hadn’t said what you did.” Maximillian kissed her hair and wiped her eyes. “Tell me about William. Tell me what he was like.”
Jolene smiled then. She told Maximillian all the stories she’d stored up inside, desperately afraid that no one but her would remember them, remember him, but guarding them, too, as if to keep them private, just for her. She and Maximillian dozed off again, woke and made frantic love, as if to cement everything that had happened and all that had been said.
* * *
Max stole glances at Jolene on the ride home. She stared off in the distance through the window of the carriage, sometimes closing her eyes with a smile on her face. An occasional tear fell and she reached for his hand without turning. He was silent, as was she, and he thought she was sorting out thoughts and memories, maybe thinking about them in a new light, with gladness and some peace.
When the Hacienda came into view, she turned to him. “Look how beautiful, Maximillian. You have built a lovely home here in the Texas wilds.”
He squeezed his head beside her and smiled. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I’d like to ride today. Would you? It’s such a pleasant day.”
A short time later, the two of them rode off, across the open plain, pushing their mounts until the wind whipped at them, and the only sound they could hear was the steady pounding of hooves on the packed earth.
Jolene turned to him when they eventually slowed to a walk and headed back towards the Hacienda. “Where is Melissa buried, Maximillian? I would like to pay my respects.”
Max pointed to a massive tree that sat away from the house. He saw that all was neat and trimmed as he required around the metal fencing surrounding the single headstone when it came into view.
“There. She is there,” he said when they arrived.
Jolene slid down from her horse and opened the metal gate, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. She stood at the foot of Melissa’s grave, silently, hands folded in front of her, for some long minutes. She walked back to her horse and let Max give her a leg up into her saddle. She looked down at him then.
“I thanked her for letting me love you. I thanked her for Melinda. I asked her to watch over Little William if such a thing is possible,” Jolene said to him.
Max nodded, suddenly unable to speak for the lump in his throat. He mounted his horse and looked at her. Jolene, his wife, his love.
“Take me home, Maximillian.”
Max turned his horse and tipped his hat to her. “At your service, Mrs. Shelby.”
Epilogue
“Are you sure you want to go to Willow Tree instead of coming to Washington with us?’ Jolene asked Jennifer as the two women supervised the packing of Jolene’s clothes and shoes.
“I think I should go home. Mother’s last letter
was insistent, you know, and I imagine Jeffrey is not happy either,” Jennifer said. “Dear Lord, Jolene, you must have twenty-five nightgowns and robes.”
Jolene shrugged. “I’ve always loved soft beautiful things, and Maximillian, well, he likes them, too.”
“You two seem to have found the harmony that you felt you were missing. He certainly is attentive,” Jennifer said.
“Maximillian loves me, and I love him. He is my world, Jennifer. It should be encouraging to you to know that the Crawford women can find real love, as Julia and I have done.”
Jennifer fingered Jolene’s jewelry sitting out on the bed she sat on. “It won’t be like that for me.”
“Because of Jeffrey Rothchild?”
Jennifer shrugged.
“What is it? Is there more pressure besides what Mother is exerting on you, although I can’t imagine there being more pressure without an explosion,” Jolene said. “You have your secrets, as we all do, but do not allow Mother to make you marry someone you do not want to. You do not have to live at Willow Tree. You are welcome to live with us. Maximillian has said so in the plainest terms.”
“I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I’ve got to make my way on my own as you have done, and there are things in Boston that I miss. I will go to Willow Tree and avoid Mother at all costs.”
“And how is that accomplished? Are you involved with some charities or something that takes you from home regularly?”
“I am involved with something that takes me out of the house regularly,” Jennifer said. “But we shouldn’t be talking about me, we should be thinking about your home in Washington and all the excitement that being married to a U.S. Senator will bring. It will be dazzling!”
“Changing the subject is a favorite tactic of mine, too, Jennifer. If you don’t wish to tell me, that is fine, but you are always welcome here and at our home in Washington. And yes, I am actually very excited about our move. Mr. Dentraub has found us a large home, a mansion really, built shortly after the Revolution that I think we are going to take. It will have to be renovated from the attics to the basement. Maximillian thought we should just build something new, but I like the challenge of restoring it and, of course, my husband is content to leave me have my way. We will be closer to Boston which makes Maximillian happy, as he will be close to his sister, her husband, and his parents. I, on the other hand, am trying to figure a way to not invite Mother, ever, to my home.” Jolene laughed, and then covered her mouth. “How dreadful I am!”
“Why is she so mean to us, Jolene?” Jennifer asked. “Have you ever wondered?”
“Truthfully, no, as I was too caught up in my own miseries to consider anyone else, especially the person who had been the source of so much unhappiness for me. But I have thought about it lately, and do remember hearing one thing Grandmother Crawford said, and there is no doubt I was not supposed to hear. She said Mother’s father was a cruel, mean man, who never felt justly rewarded, and took it out on his children.”
“And she has continued this miserable legacy,” Jennifer said.
“She has. But I will not. I am done looking at the people around me as a means to an end. I am done being sad for my precious little boy, but will remember him, and treasure the time he was here with me. I am done blaming myself and second-guessing myself. I am done judging others. I have found love, precious and real, much like the love Grandmother Crawford, and even Father to some extent, bestowed on us.”
“I am so very glad for you,” Jennifer whispered.
“I have sent a letter to Julia and told her to consider traveling to Washington with her husband and family for the inauguration in February. I don’t know if she will, as her youngest is not quite two-years-old. I hope you will be there, too. The ballroom should be done and ready for a grand party,” Jolene said.
“Of course, I will be there. It is only one day travel from Boston. I’m really very proud to be connected to such an important person like Maximillian. I will lord it over all my friends,” Jennifer said with a smile.
“Mr. Moran will be there, too, Jennifer. Won’t that be nice?” Jolene said and turned to hand dresses to Alice to be placed in trunks spread across the room. “I imagine every bit of clothing that Maximillian owns will fit in one trunk. I have six so far and am not done.”
Alice nodded. “I have planned for fifteen to be packed.”
Jolene shrugged and smiled. “My husband spoils me excessively! I am extraordinarily lucky!”
* * *
“No bunting,” Jolene said to the woman helping her decorate their new home in Washington.
“None? Even with Senator Shelby in residence? People do so love a patriotic theme.”
“There is to be no theme. This is our home. I do not care for bunting. I think it is crass.”
“And we don’t want to be crass, now do we, Melinda,” Maximillian said as he grabbed Jolene by the waist and swung her around. “No bunting!”
Melinda was laughing and twirling around in her new pink dress, and the puppy was chasing her and barking.
Jolene held a hand to her head. “It is never quiet in here, you see, Mrs. Wilson. Please order the carpets we’ve agreed upon and have the furniture in storage delivered shortly after. And no bunting.”
The woman hurried out the front door with her instructions, and Maximillian followed Jolene to her office where Alice was waiting. Her maid stood when she entered.
“Do sit, Alice,” she said. “Mr. Shelby and I want to speak to you about something.”
Alice looked at each of them and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she said.
“We would have lost many more lives last October if you hadn’t been as selfless as you were.”
“It was my job, sir. I couldn’t let Mrs. Shelby alone to do it all anyway.”
“We know and we are very grateful. We understand that your brother is still sickly and your mother is getting on in years.”
“Yes, sir, he is,” Alice said. “And Momma gets tired, but some neighbors and a cousin help her from time to time.”
“We would like to provide you with an income so that you would not have to work, and you could take care of your brother for as long as it was necessary,” Jolene said. “I will miss you, but this illness must weigh heavily on you.”
Alice swallowed. “I don’t know what to say. I never dreamed I’d be able to do more than send a few dollars a month.”
“It will make my wife very happy if you would accept this gesture. We’d like you to stay until you’ve trained another maid. Perhaps a month from now?” Maximillian said.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Alice said. “It is too much to believe.”
Jolene stood and went to Alice’s chair. “You have watched out for me, little did I realize, for many years. It is long past time I was able to return the favor.”
Alice stood, teary-eyed and hurried from the room.
“Well, Mrs. Shelby, you’ve done another good deed,” Maximillian said, kissed her on the lips, and followed her into the entry way of their new home.
“I only hope I can find someone as good and as efficient as Alice,” Jolene said. She stopped and turned to face him. “You see I will need extra help over the next few months.”
Maximillian looked around. “There’s still a lot of work to do on this old place you couldn’t resist we remodel from top to bottom.”
“That is true, Maximillian, but that is not the reason why I’ll need additional help for the next, oh, nine months or so.”
Maximillian shook his head. “Wait a second. Wait a minute. Are you saying? Did I hear you right? Are you?”
“I’m in a delicate way, Senator Shelby, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Maximillian dropped his hat to the floor, picked her up and swung her around. “I love you, Mrs. Shelby. I’m going to be a Daddy again!”
Maximillian was swinging her in fast circles and the lights and colors of the room blended together in a whirlwind. She held onto him a
nd tilted her head back, laughing and smiling with joy. Jolene was home.
Hello Readers,
Thank you for purchasing Contract to Wed, Crawford Family Book 2, and I hope you enjoyed Max and Jolene’s story. Please share your thoughts with friends and family and with others on review sites and social media. Follow me on Face Book or at hollybushbooks.com to hear about Jennifer’s book or leave a comment. I love to hear from readers!
You can also read excerpts from my other Prairie Historicals, Romancing Olive, Train Station Bride, Crawford Family Book 1 and Reconstructing Jackson, and Victorian Romances, Cross the Ocean and Charming the Duke at my website. Red, White and Screwed, a Women’s Fiction title, is a new category for me and I’m hoping you’ll give it a try! Find these books at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Itunes. Thanks again for your purchase!
A sample of Reconstructing Jackson is below.
Reconstructing Jackson
Chapter One
May 19, 1867
“Need some help, mister?”
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Reed Jackson said.
The conductor approached through whirls of black smoke and repeated, “Do ya need some help?”
The whistle blew as Reed replied. “I’m a cripple, not deaf, you jackass. I said I’d be fine.”
The conductor squinted through ashed air and hefted himself onto the train’s step. “OK, son,” he shouted.
The train pulled away and Reed struggled to pull his bag on to his lap and wheel himself to the step of the station house. A sign, swinging in the locomotive’s draft, read ‘Fenton, Missouri - Population 6,502.’
“Is there a boy about who can get my trunks to the hotel?” Reed shouted into the dim building. The scrawny station manager shaded his eyes as he stepped into the dirt street.
“Where ya be headin’?” he asked.
