Remember My Love

by Elise Dee Beraru

  "It's not my fault the bitch didn't tell me she was pregnant until the kid was four years old. Do you seriously think I'd marry the little tramp to make an `honest woman' of her?"

  "No," Stephen responded, "I don't think you would--now."

  "What do you mean now?"

  "Sometimes I think I don't know you anymore. In the six months since I've been home, I don't think I've heard you laugh once. You work seventy, eighty hours a week. You smoke too much, drink too much and order me around like I'm some lackey instead of your brother. Your attitude about women is the worst I've ever seen. You made Julia cry, and the last time that girl shed a tear was when Lincoln was shot."

  "What gives you the right to be so goddamned self-righteous? Who ran this company so you could go to Harvard and dear old Dad could go gallivanting all over Europe with Alabama Dodge? That piece of Southern fluff ruined my life and Father never has married her. If I don't laugh, it's because there's nothing to laugh at. Carroll Enterprises is the largest import-export on the Pacific Coast and I don't see you or Father pulling your weights the last few years. And if my fiancée is crying, it's because she's afraid I won't let her redecorate the house. Julia is an ornament. She'll look good at parties and she won't interfere in my life. I've never met a woman yet who wasn't more fascinated by the Carroll purse than the Carroll looks."

  Stephen didn't respond for a few moments. He held up his glass and stared at the light playing off the cut crystal. Stephen drank very little as a rule. More often than not he would merely play with the glass. It might take him the entire night to empty the contents.

  "What? Nothing more to say, little brother?" Blair mocked.

  "Not much. Just thinking. I guess I don't think of women as ornamental. Maybe I still believe in love."

  "Then you're more naive than I thought, counselor." His posture ramrod straight, Blair moved over to the door and started to put on his overcoat, top hat, muffler and gloves. "Going out tonight?"

  "No, I guess I'll stay in and work on the custody petition and then turn in. I'll have to go to the county courthouse in the morning and familiarize myself with the local rules and fees. I'll need to engage Wisconsin counsel to make appearances. Besides, it's colder outside than a pawnbroker's heart."

  "Whatever it takes, you have carte blanche, just get me that boy. I'm going out to get a drink. I'm suffocating in here. Damn!"

  "What?"

  "Never can get gloves on smoothly over this damned ring," complained Blair, adjusting his glove to fit more comfortably over a large gold engraved signet ring with a small diamond set in it that he wore on the little finger of his right hand.

  Stephen looked at his own hand. He wore a similar ring. Both had been presents from their father, Oscar Carroll, on their twenty-first birthdays and were identical to his own. "I never have trouble. I just buy bigger gloves."

  "I don't know why I wear it."

  "I always remember Mother telling us how Grandfather gave Father a ring like her brothers wore because he had joined the Blair family. It's really the only connection to her anymore."

  Blair's response was a frustrated grunt as his glove pulled into place. "Couldn't even budge the damned thing off anymore if I needed to." Then he was gone, yanking the door shut behind him.

  Stephen sighed. Until tonight he'd not been so fully aware of the resentment Blair felt about not being allowed to go to college. Instead he was drawn into the business because Oscar Carroll, newly widowed when Blair was sixteen, wanted to get himself out of San Francisco and away from unpleasant memories as soon as possible.

  Blair had kept his disappointment to himself, and had even sent Stephen to Harvard on the money he'd saved to send himself to Yale. His letters had been short and business-oriented. If he had a personal life, he mentioned little or nothing about it. Stephen had returned from Massachusetts with the ink on his law degree barely dry and immediately began to act as staff counsel for Carroll Enterprises.

  As for Oscar Carroll, Stephen hadn't seen his father since he was fourteen, when he'd shown up back home with that Southern belle he'd called his fiancée. Something had gone wrong with Alabama Dodge's divorce, and Oscar had taken her to Europe via South America and had not been home since. So the now thirty-year-old woman was traveling through Europe as Oscar Carroll's mistress, where such arrangements were not nearly as frowned upon as in the United States. Blair kept his father supplied with a generous allowance and considered it the price to pay for his staying out of their lives.

  Having left for college at the age of seventeen, just barely grown into his looks, Stephen also remembered envying his older brother's success with women, when they flocked around his handsome face and vied for his attention. Blair could get anyone he wanted with hardly any effort, if he even cared to.

  Blair was right, in a way. Julia Longridge was largely ornamental. A more buffleheaded girl Stephen hardly knew. Stephen had the feeling Blair would be faithful though, if only because he made himself too busy with work to need physical fulfillment. Even Cherry Leval, the actress whose son Stephen was now charged with wresting away--had been a brief affair nearly five years ago.

  Oh, Blair would marry Julia and they'd live an opulent if sterile life forever after.

  "Not for me," said Stephen aloud into the quiet air. "Blair, I hope you meet someone who sweeps you off your feet and makes you believe in love." He toasted the air with his whisky glass, drained it in one swallow for once, and walked over to the work desk in the suite, where he began to jot down draft notes for the petitions he would need. He worked until about midnight when he hauled himself into bed.

  Blair came in sometime much later. He had gone to a gentlemen's club he found through a business acquaintance and spent the night playing poker with other businessmen like himself. He had a few drinks and played well enough to break even. Finding Stephen asleep, he merely hauled off his own expensive evening clothes, draped them over a chair in his room and dropped off to sleep in his own bed. If he had any dreams that night, he wouldn't remember them in the morning.

  "MR. CARROLL, why does your brother want to take my son away from me?" Miss Cherry Leval asked plaintively. "All I wanted was some help until I'm feeling better and can go back on the stage."

  Stephen looked at the actress. She was gaunt, her cheekbones prominent, her blue eyes slightly sunken and glassy with dark shadows beneath them. Her blond hair was lifeless; her bodice loose enough to make it obvious that she had a more prominent bosom not long ago. She had tried to hide her pallor with a little rouge, but only succeeded in looking like a painted bisque doll. In her nervous, gloved hands she grasped a handkerchief, into which she periodically coughed, although she appeared trying to fight the spasms that regularly rocked her wasted body.

  Consumption is a terrible way to die, Stephen thought.

  "I believe my brother feels he can best provide for the boy in our own home in San Francisco, rather than just providing a property settlement or support drafts. Having found out about the boy, he wants to do the right thing."

  "But Joshua is all I have. He's only four. He needs his mama."

  "I understand how you feel, Miss Leval, but I think your own lawyer would agree that you need to consider the best interests of the child." Gritting his teeth against the next statement, Stephen continued, "Surely a fine house on Nob Hill is preferable to a ramshackle boarding house in a Milwaukee slum."

  "But he's my baby and I love him." She turned to Blair, who was sitting silently beside Stephen at the conference table in Cherry Leval's lawyer's office. "Blair, can you say the same?"

  Blair looked through her, almost as if she wasn't there. "What the hell do you know about love, Cherry?"

  "Blair...." Stephen cautioned.

  "What do you want from me, Cherry? Money? Is that why you had that scum-sucking manager contact me about the boy?"

  Tears appeared in Cherry's eyes. Right now it was hard to believe she was five years older than Blair. "I wouldn't have asked him to write to you a
t all, except that I've been sick lately...But the doctor says I'll be getting better soon."

  "And in the meantime you'll sponge off my hard work. That's quite a price for a few nights of pleasure, wouldn't you say, Cherry?"

  "Blair," Stephen snapped, "will you shut up and let me do my job? I think it would be better if you left now."

  Blair rose quickly to his full height and strode with long strides out the door. Cherry Leval's control broke down and she collapsed into a violent coughing spasm.

  Her attorney glanced from her to Stephen. "Mr. Carroll, I think our discussions for today are over. We will contact you tomorrow."

  "Please, Mr. Garrett, there are a few things I must ask Miss Leval privately...that is, with Blair not here...Are you all right, Miss Leval?"

  Cherry's cough slowly calmed. She folded her handkerchief in such a way as to hide the flecks of blood her coughing left on its white surface. "Blair didn't tell me he had a brother."

  "I don't doubt it."

  "You look just like him."

  "I know."

  "And my Joshua looks like both of you."

  "That's what I need to ask you. It's my job, you understand, but are you sure that my brother is your son's father?"

  The gaunt blonde looked at Stephen through rheumy eyes.

  "My baby was born in August of 1869, Mr. Carroll. Regardless of what your brother might have told you about me, I'm no harlot. I'm an actress. I did have lovers, but when I did, it was one man at a time. When we played San Francisco the end of `68, the only lover I had was your brother. The next February I found out I was expecting. I'm no saint, and I certainly wasn't a virgin, but I'm absolutely sure that Blair Carroll is Joshua's father. If you saw him, you wouldn't doubt it. He's got the blackest hair and grayest eyes you've ever seen, and he's already tall for four years old."

  "I must tell you that I have instructions to start formal custody proceedings if we don't hear from you by Friday with a voluntary custody agreement."

  "Mr. Carroll," said Cherry, "I only needed help because I'm sick. When I get better and can go back on the stage, I'll be able to support him the way I have since he was born. We've been all right together, Joshua and I. I don't want to give him up."

  "I understand, Miss Leval, but even though your son is my nephew, I have to follow Blair's instructions in this matter."

  "We understand," cut in Mr. Garrett. "Miss Leval is very tired, as you can see. Please go now. We'll be in contact."

  Stephen picked up his briefcase and his winter coat and hat and left the offices. He found Blair on the street, angrily dragging on a cheroot.

  "You're not coming along next time," Stephen stated flatly.

  "You're not telling me what to do, little brother." Blair tossed the cheroot into the gutter, where it hissed out in the snow.

  "Do you have to be so hostile, Blair? The woman is dying, for God's sake. Couldn't you see that? She's holding on for dear life because that little boy's probably all that's keeping her alive. I'm sure I can appeal to her better nature. Why litigate if I can negotiate?"

  "Who in his right mind can negotiate with a woman?"

  They hailed a hack and returned to the hotel.

  UPON RETURNING to the hotel, a telegram was waiting for Blair.

  Opening it in their suite, he read:

  "SERIOUS DELAY IN ARRIVAL OF CHINA GIRL FROM SINGAPORE HAS BACKERS ALARMED STOP NEED YOUR RETURN TO FORESTALL PANIC STOP WINSLOW."

  "Guess you got your wish, little brother, I have to get back to San Francisco immediately. Negotiate, litigate, whatever it takes, just get the boy. I'll wire from home when I get there."

  "LADIES AND Gentlemen, may I have your attention please," the station master announced to the passengers. "On account of there being unseasonably early heavy snowfall there has been an interruption in train service on this line. We expect a delay of between three and four days. The Central Pacific fervently apologizes for the delay and will assist all passengers in securing lodging here in Rock Springs for all passengers until the track is repaired."

  Blair tossed his cheroot out the train window and strode toward the station master. "Look," he said angrily, "I have to reach San Francisco as soon as possible. Is there an alternative to remaining here?"

  The station manager eyed the tall man, measuring him up. The look in those steel gray eyes allowed no nonsense. "The only alternative is not particularly pleasant this time of year."

  "What is it?"

  "We're about seventy miles from Green River, Wyoming Territory. On horseback you could be there in twelve to fifteen hours--even in this cold--and pick up westbound train the other side of the break. But I wouldn't recommend it."

  "Why, because of the cold?"

  "Well, that, sir, and bandits. A lone traveler is not safe in these parts."

  HE ARRANGED with the livery stable to rent a horse and leave it for retrieval in Green River. The livery barn owner knew of no one who would hire out as an escort in this weather. Blair walked over to the General Store. Once inside, he pulled off his gloves against the warmth the stove gave off in the store and purchased a six-shooter and bullets. He'd never even owned a gun before and certainly had never fired one. Probably the station master was exaggerating. He'd have no occasion to use it.

  He pulled his wallet out of his suit pocket and paid cash for the pistol. Blair was unaware of two pairs of feral eyes following him from over near the checkers table next to the stove. He returned to the livery stable, where a roan gelding stood saddled and ready, and tied his portmanteau to the saddle. He left his trunk in the baggage car. He had an armoire full of clothes to wear at home. He mounted and began to ride in the direction of Green River, unaware that he was being followed not too far behind.

  THE WEATHER was clear but biting cold, sub-freezing with enough wind to make it seem even colder still. The trees in the forest near the horizon were barren of leaves, looking like skeletal fingers giving an eerie welcome. The sky was a blue-gray with clouds streaking white through it. It was clear now, but snow could fall imminently.

  Blair rode along, his mind on where he was going and on controlling the unfamiliar horse in even more unfamiliar surroundings. This was hardly a Sunday ride in Sausalito on a spring day, which was the limit of his horseback riding. He passed farmlands, sometimes sighting lonely farmhouses and barns standing brown and red against the snow, but mostly it was open range, miles and miles of miles and miles. Lulled by the monotony, Blair didn't hear the riders approach until he heard the percussion head click a few feet behind him.

  "Throw down yore gun and put yore hands up and ya ain't gonna get hurt," growled a husky voice, muffled by the bandanna and scarf that covered the speaker's nose and mouth.

  Blair complied, knowing he couldn't handle his own gun well enough to defend himself in this situation.

  "Git off that horse and turn around."

  Blair dismounted and turned to see two masked men training revolvers at him. The smaller of the two dismounted and walked over to Blair.

  "Open yore coat and give me yore wallet and watch." As Blair was doing so, the smaller man reached over to untie the portmanteau. As it slid off the saddle, the horse, which by now was nervous and cold, moved, bumping into the smaller bandit. The little one fell, his scarf sliding to reveal his face, nondescript and in need of a shave.

  "Holy shit, Rafe, he's seen me."

  "Look," said Blair, thoroughly frightened for his life, "you've got my wallet, my watch and my case and my gun. The horse isn't even mine. Let me just ride into the next town, get on my train and I'll be on my way. No one need ever know."

  "Do ya think we're stupid?" Rafe, the larger man snarled, dismounting and racing over. He grabbed Blair by the arm and began to punch him in the face.

  Blair fought back as best he could, but he was not an experienced brawler. The two men together were too much for him. Both his eyes blackened and his jaw and ribs bruised and sore, he was thrown against the rented horse, which galloped off back towar
d Rock Springs, reins dragging. The smaller man landed a blow to Blair's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and he fell to his knees. Rafe then grabbed his revolver by the barrel and struck Blair hard on the side of the head with the gun butt. It cracked the skin near the temple, sending Blair into the darkness of unconsciousness, bleeding from the blow.

  "What are we gonna do now, Rafe? Do we have to kill him?"

  "He needs to die, Jack, but we're not gonna kill him."

  "What d'ya mean?"

  "This fool is out riding alone in the middle of snow country. If he falls off his horse and lies unconscious, the cold'll get him. That's what everyone will think if they find his body, if animals don't get it first." He thought for a moment and then added, "Take his clothes off."

  "Why do we want his clothes?"

  "First, half-wit, they're good clothes, we can sell `em. Besides, now that I think of it, he'll freeze faster nekkid."

  Jack and Rafe worked fast, stripping Blair of his coat, suit, shirt, boots, even his union suit, until their victim lay naked and helpless in the snow. When Jack pulled off Blair's gloves, he spied the large ring on Blair's small finger.

  Jack whistled, "Will ya look at that ring, Rafe. It's got a diamond and everything. I'll bet it's worth a fortune!"

  "Well, don't stand there lollygagging. Take it off."

  Jack tugged at the ring. It wouldn't budge. He twisted at it. It still remained. "I can't budge it, Rafe," Jack complained.

  With a snort, Rafe answered, "Ya really are useless, ain't ya." Pulling his hunting knife from its sheath at his waist, Rafe lifted Blair's right hand off the ground. The bandit slid the knife blade between the ring and small fingers and with one stroke severed the little finger of Blair's hand. Blood immediately spurted from the wound as Rafe dropped Blair's hand. With Blair unconscious his hand fell limply into the snowdrift. Rafe pulled the ring off the bloody end of the finger, tossed the severed digit aside and pocketed the ring.