A Matter of Marriage

by Ann Collins

  “Then you need to do so. The only way I was able to move forward after Lily’s death was to remember the happy moments I had with her—the first time she smiled at me or how she would fall asleep on my shoulder. Having had Danny for four years, you must have many treasured memories of him.”

  He nodded slowly. He did, but they were trapped, only occasionally sneaking out to surprise Alex with their poignancy. But then his failure and loss would smack him so hard he’d nearly double over with the pain. The happy memories would vanish, scurrying back to their hiding places.

  “Will you tell me just one?”

  “No. His death overshadows them all. He suffered and died because of me. My argument with Elizabeth led to the fire, and I couldn’t save him when I had the chance.” He pulled his arm from beneath her hands. “Danny was trapped by the fire. From the street, I saw him at the dormer window. It was closed. Locked too tight for his little hands to open. I tried to get into the house, up the stairs, but the fire was too fierce.” He lowered his head.

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  His heart pounded, his mind taking him back to that night. “I climbed the tall sycamore in front of the nursery. Its branches nearly touched the house. But it was an old tree.”

  When he didn’t go on, couldn’t go on, she got up, moved behind him, and put her arms around him. Her face pressed against his neck.

  At her touch, Alex felt tears leaking unbidden from his eyes. He had trouble speaking. “No. Don’t hold me. I’ll never get through this if you do.”

  She held him tighter. “Yes, you will. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself. Tell me the rest.”

  He struggled to regain his composure, but the tears kept coming, the first real tears he had shed after his family’s deaths.

  “Danny was crying for me, shouting for help between coughs. His small fists beat against the glass.”

  Her arms tightened on him even more, and Alex tried to keep talking through what he recognized as sobs coming from himself. He was glad Julia wasn’t facing him.

  “I was so close. But the fire was closer. One moment Danny was there, the next he was gone, devoured by smoke and flames. I couldn’t give up, though. I shinnied across a stout branch and reached for the edge of the roof below the window. The branch cracked. Broke. I was falling through space, helpless to save my son.”

  She pressed her cheek to his good cheek. Her face was as wet as his, and their tears merged.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she said, a quiver in her voice.

  “This”—he traced the ugly, raised ridge of his scar—“was my souvenir that night. On my way down, a branch ripped open my face. Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how I failed my son.”

  Her fingers touched the line of his jaw. “Alex, you risked your life for your son and nearly lost it in your efforts to rescue him. You did everything you could.”

  “But it wasn’t enough.” He pulled her hand away from his face. He didn’t want her comfort, didn’t deserve it.

  “Sometimes our best is not enough. Yesterday, though, you saved Joshua. You saved his mother from suffering as you have, from blaming herself for not acting differently when she had the chance. At that moment, she could not foresee the consequences of her son’s desire to fill his pail with water, just as you could not foresee a fire starting because of your wife’s tantrum.”

  Her rational comparison made sense, but he couldn’t let go of his guilt. “Rescuing Joshua doesn’t change how I feel about Danny’s death.” He pushed his chair back, forcing her to step away.

  “No, of course it doesn’t, but you can’t raise a wall against him, as if he never existed. He lived, and he’ll go on living in your heart if you let him. Do you have a photograph of Danny? One we could put up?”

  He stood. “I don’t have anything. Nothing was left.”

  “There must be something. Perhaps his grandparents have a toy that he played with. Or maybe they have a photograph you don’t know about.”

  “The Ellingsons hold me responsible for the deaths of their only daughter and grandchild. I wasn’t even allowed to attend the funerals. If the Ellingsons saved any kind of memento, I’m the last person they would give it to. Nothing I could ever do would change their feelings about me.” And nothing they would do could ever change his feelings about them.

  “Perhaps if I contacted them on your behalf.”

  “No. I don’t want your help, Julia. You can’t fix this. Or me.” She had no connection to his old life, and he intended to keep it that way. “I should not have married again. I don’t deserve to start over.”

  He turned from her stunned gaze, strode back to his room, and shut the door.

  * * *

  Four days later, Julia was working behind the registration desk, spelling Chalmers while he ate his midday meal. Theo usually filled in for him, more versatile than any of the other bellboys, but both he and Tilden were currently escorting a family of six and their luggage to their rooms.

  She turned to the wall of pigeon holes and checked that the keys had been placed in their correct slots. The lobby was quiet, and she took her time with the simple task. Every so often, she rubbed her eyes, tired from too many nights spent lying awake, her thoughts like a whirlpool. They swirled from her hotel responsibilities to her faceless assailant patiently awaiting his next opportunity to Tyler Wolff and his implied threats to Alex and his withdrawal from her.

  Her heart ached for her husband. He blamed himself for the loss of his wife and son, and he was punishing himself. Starting his life over with her, finding the possibility of happiness, must seem to him like a betrayal of his family—a selfish act. He was so used to suffering alone, not even able to grieve with others at the funerals of Elizabeth and Danny. Julia couldn’t comprehend the kind of power his in-laws must have in their church and community to be able to deny Alex the final good-bye he had needed to say to his loved ones.

  Before his admission, she had thought she understood his sadness, but she’d been very wrong. He had been keeping much more of himself, his emotions, and his past locked inside.

  After he’d unburdened himself, she had thought they would grow closer as a couple, but she’d been wrong. Though he continued to watch over her, escorting her whenever she did her rounds or left the hotel, he rarely touched her. Their stolen kiss in the park had not been repeated. It now seemed like a dream.

  Julia missed his touch, more than she ever thought possible. Last night, as she lay awake, she had seriously considered slipping into Alex’s room and climbing into bed with him, to be close to him, offer him comfort, and show him he was no longer alone. But she’d been too afraid to act on it. In his current frame of mind, he probably wouldn’t have welcomed her, and that would have hurt and humiliated her.

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacLean.”

  She whirled to find her desk clerk standing behind her. “Mr. Chalmers! I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and clicked it open. “I was gone twenty-eight minutes.”

  “My goodness, where did the time go?” she said, amazed to have been so lost in her thoughts. “I’ll leave you to your work then. Awaiting me is a stack of restaurant expenses to go through.”

  As she came around the desk, a tall, spare man wearing a dark plaid frock suit and carrying a brown leather case marched across the Rotunda. His nose was sharply hooked, reminding her of a hawk. She elected to leave the man to Mr. Chalmers, but then she overheard him speaking to her clerk.

  “Good afternoon. I am looking for Mrs. Julia Fairbanks MacLean,” he said in a no-nonsense manner. “Please direct me to her.”

  “Mrs. MacLean is just there.”

  She turned to see Chalmers pointing at her.

  “Much obliged.” The man approached her. “Mrs. MacLean, is it?”

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “Kenneth Atkins, First California Bank. I am here on a matter of urgent business. I
s there somewhere we could speak privately?”

  She suppressed a puzzled frown, as well as a wrinkling of her nose. He smelled of money, as if he, personally, had counted the bank’s assets that morning.

  “Of course. My office is just around here.” As she preceded the bank representative, Alex entered the lobby from the Garden Patio. She stopped and beckoned him over. “Alex, this is Mr. Kenneth Atkins. He’s from First California Bank, where I do the hotel banking. Mr. Atkins, this is my husband, Alexander MacLean.”

  “Mr. MacLean.” The banker looked down his nose at Alex’s work attire and eyed his scar warily, but he shook hands with him. “Congratulations on your recent marriage. I read the notice in the newspaper. Are you managing the Hotel Grand Victoria now?”

  “No, the hotel is my wife’s domain.”

  “I see.”

  Julia heard the disapproval in the banker’s voice, but his opinion was no different than most men’s, so she didn’t bother to challenge him. She loved how easily Alex spoke of her position, completely accepting of it. “Mr. Atkins wishes to speak to me on an urgent matter. Would you join us?”

  “Happy to.”

  They filed into the office. She perched on the edge of her chair while Alex shut the door and leaned against it. He folded his powerful arms over his broad chest. The banker cast him another wary look, then seated himself across from her, his leather case lying flat on his lap.

  “Mrs. MacLean, I won’t waste your time with trivial small talk. As I’m sure you know, the legal agreement between First California and your father included a clause protecting the bank should the borrower die before the term of the loan expired or the loan has been paid off.”

  No, she didn’t know. “I’m afraid I was not aware of that clause. What does it say?”

  “It spells out First California’s option of calling in the loan. We have decided to exercise that option. Full payment is due next Thursday, one week from today.”

  She nearly fell off her chair. The room spun, and Julia thought she might be sick. Suddenly Alex was beside her, his hand on her shoulder. When the room finally righted itself, she found her voice. “But that’s nearly eighty thousand dollars.”

  “Seventy-nine thousand four hundred twenty-three dollars and twenty-eight cents, as of today. A considerable sum, and one we are no longer prepared to carry.”

  “But we’ve never been late on a payment. How can you do this?”

  “Mrs. MacLean, this is obviously a shock to you, but if you had read the loan document, you would have known this was a possibility.”

  She should have known, but she had been too wrapped up in her efforts to take over the hotel’s management and find herself a husband.

  Alex squeezed her shoulder. “What if she applies to have the loan extended?”

  “Despite the hotel’s timely payment record, First California’s board of directors feels that immediate repayment is the best course of action. We are still suffering the effects of the Panic of Ninety-three, and we’d like to get out from under them. In addition, the board does not believe a woman can be trusted to run an enterprise as large as the Hotel Grand Victoria.”

  “Why, the narrow-minded—” She broke off when Alex squeezed her shoulder again, but she fisted her hands in her lap. The men running First California Bank wanted a man in charge of the hotel. Just because she wouldn’t play by their idea of the rules, they were going to force her out one way or another.

  “Mr. Atkins,” Alex said, “your news has shocked both my wife and me. As you can see, she is especially distressed. There must be a solution the board will accept. A smaller loan maybe. Or larger payments.”

  “The board has made its decision.” He unbuckled the flap of his case, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and laid it on her desk. “Next Thursday’s date is underlined, as well as the amount due.”

  “But I can’t pay that,” she said, looking at him and the paper through the blur of unshed tears. “The Panic hit us, too.”

  He latched his case. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaped up. “No, you’re not. You could care less about my feelings and what losing the Hotel Grand Victoria will mean to me and everyone who works here. You’re not sorry. Not one bit.”

  The banker stood, his chin high. “Good day to you, Mrs. MacLean, Mr. MacLean.” He walked out.

  The moment the door closed behind him, she collapsed back into her chair, her head in her hands. She was going to lose the hotel. After everything she had done, including marrying a perfect stranger, she was going to lose her home.

  “Oh, Alex, what am I going to do?”

  He turned her chair, knelt in front of her, and took her hands in his. “We’ll think of something. There’s time.”

  “A week? But that’s nothing.”

  “It’s about five days more than you had when you needed to find a husband.”

  A short, unexpected laugh popped out from between her sniffles. “It is, isn’t it?” She leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder, relieved to have him touching her again.

  He rubbed her back, and she made a little sighing noise as his comfort and support seeped into her. She didn’t want to move, but then she felt herself being pushed away.

  He cleared his throat. Twice. “You had better get busy. I suggest you look for another bank to take over your loan.” With that, he got up and left the office.

  She slumped in her chair, wishing he were still with her. Whenever he stood by her, giving her his support, she felt anything was possible. But he had walked out, leaving her with the responsibility of saving the hotel. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. From the beginning, she had made it clear he wasn’t to interfere with her work. The Hotel Grand Victoria belonged to her.

  Imagining the hotel in someone else’s hands, Julia fought off her tears and reached into her bottom drawer. She pulled out the San Diego City Directory and turned to the page marked “Banks.” One of them would certainly see the potential of financing a resort as renowned as the Hotel Grand Victoria. Wouldn’t they?

  Chapter Twelve

  Seated alone at the breakfast table, listening to Alex dress in his room, Julia pushed her half-finished plate away. After yesterday’s lack of success with the banks she had contacted, her scrambled eggs, toast, and even the fresh-squeezed orange juice tasted like paper. The life she had planned was spiraling away from her. No bank in San Diego, Los Angeles, or San Francisco was willing to loan her the money she needed to pay First California.

  The last bank officer she’d spoken to had summed it up for her by saying, “Mrs. MacLean, few banking institutions will risk such a large amount of money with economic conditions at their current level. And they will never risk it on a woman.”

  The only bright spot in her morning thus far had been the delivery of the hotel’s architectural plans. She looked forward to presenting them to Alex. She hoped they would cheer him up and bring back the man she thought she had married.

  Hearing his door open, she scooted her chair back and stood to greet him. He was dressed in his old work clothes, though Dr. Dolan had not yet permitted him to take up a hammer or saw. She had spoken to the doctor herself about Alex’s state of health, as well as the subject of childbirth and its inherent risks. She had begun thinking about what she had said to Alex, how important it is to remember the precious moments he’d had with Danny. Yes, the pain of losing his son, and her pain of losing Lily, had been devastating, but what if Danny and Lily had never existed?

  “Morning,” he said, a wary look on his clean-shaven face.

  “Good morning.” She twisted her fingers together, feeling an unaccustomed shyness with him. Yesterday in her office, he had held her hands and comforted her, but since then, he had only reluctantly taken her arm as they walked together.

  He stopped a good five feet away. His gaze skimmed over her white shirtwaist and pale blue skirt, then settled on her fidgety hands before moving up to her face. “What’s going on?”

 
She stilled her fingers, disappointed that he continued to keep his distance. She supposed she could take charge of matters by marching up to him and giving him a good-morning kiss, but could she possibly compel herself to initiate such intimacy between them? She chewed her bottom lip.

  “There’s obviously something on your mind,” he said.

  She sighed, unable to make the first move. “Yes, two things, in fact. One, there’s no need for you to accompany me downstairs and on my rounds this morning. I’m going to stay in my office and contact the largest and richest banks in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and wherever else I can think of.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” He pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “I can do your rounds for you. And since Dr. Dolan won’t let me work, I was thinking I’d inspect the building for areas needing attention.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. I’d appreciate having your trained eye look over the woodwork. However, I think you might enjoy doing something else first.” Feeling like a little girl about to present a secret gift to someone special, she grinned. “The second thing on my mind is a surprise for you.”

  His head tipped to one side. “Oh yeah?”

  She went to the sitting room closet and brought out the long roll of papers.

  Interest flared in his eyes. “Are those the Reid brothers’ plans?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Russell, my head housekeeper, delivered them earlier. They were in a storeroom with the old registers.” Hugging the plans to her chest, she carried them to the coffee table and carefully set them down. “You can indulge your architectural interest in the Hotel Grand Victoria to your heart’s content.”

  Alex didn’t move, just stared at the roll of papers.

  Her smile waned. “Don’t you want to see them? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “No, I mean, yes, I do want to see them, and I am pleased. It’s just that … I’m a carpenter now, not an architect.”

  She didn’t understand his reluctance. From the day of his arrival, he had been interested in the hotel. He had admired it, asked questions about it, and explored it. Had he seen enough?