Loveland

by Andrea Downing

  But the chance hadn’t presented itself as yet. It wasn’t something Jesse felt he could discuss with Lord David directly after he had stepped off the train. And it wasn’t until the day before His Lordship was leaving that Jesse finally found him alone at the corral having a quiet smoke.

  For a moment, the puncher stood there in the path leading from the bunkhouse watching the man who might possibly be his future brother-in-law. His stomach churned. David wasn’t as tall as he, and at twenty-four was three years the younger, but he bore himself like the nobleman he was. He was handsome in a very clean cut and manicured sort of way, with wavy dark hair neatly parted on the side, and pale blue eyes. The two men couldn’t be more different, one obviously aristocratic in a clean white linen suit, the other dusty from work, a tear in his shirt, chaps caked with mud, his hair unkempt and long.

  Jesse approached the young man.

  “Ah, Makepeace.” Lord David turned with a smile. “I wondered when we might have a good chance to chat. I was hoping it wouldn’t be in the carriage ride back to the station. Sort of leaves things a bit on the late side, don’t you think?”

  “Sir?” Jesse was somewhat taken aback at this turn.

  “Alex. We should speak about Alex. Shouldn’t we?”

  “I don’t quite follow, sir.”

  “Oh, come now. I’m not my uncle Oliver here. Nor my father, thank goodness. Let’s not beat about the bush, shall we?”

  Jesse heaved a sigh and moved up next to Lord David, resting his arms on the corral railing. He took off his hat and gave his hair a shake with his hand before looking out into the twilight and breathing the soft night air. David reached into his suit pocket and offered him a ready-made.

  “French, I’m afraid,” stated David. “I can’t really abide those American things.”

  Jesse smiled and shook his head, watching as David pushed the cigarette back into a pack and tucked it into his inside pocket once again.

  “My intentions are honorable, if that’s what ya wanna know,” started Jesse, “but I ain’t much with words.”

  “And yet Alex tells me you read every chance you get and could have gone on to the university here had you wanted.” He waited for a reply. “Look, old boy.” He turned to face Jesse squarely. “I know you’re a good sort, I know you love my sister and I know she loves you. Despite appearances, I don’t care a fig about the class differences, the background, nor the fact that—dare I say it?—you can hardly afford to keep her in the style to which she should be accustomed. Fact is, she had a damned miserable childhood until she came here, my father hated her from the day she was born, she was married briefly to the worst blighter imaginable, and you make her happy. Or so she tells me. And while she still likes her Worth dresses and Parisian finery when she dresses up, it ain’t too often she wants to do that these days, now is it? She’s far happier here in the middle of nowhere—though Lord only knows why.”

  He stopped to look Jesse up and down. “Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s Colorado. It can be the bloody cows, for all I care, but I’m satisfied she’s happier now than she’s ever been. And I can always buy her the odd Worth dress, for goodness sake.” He turned back to watch a young colt in the distance with its mother. “I wonder if Oliver’s ever thought of horse-breeding to increase his funds?” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Thing is, old boy, I can’t give permission for you to wed my sister, and that’s the problem. You have my blessing, of course, and I’ll do what I can to try to persuade Father but I can tell you he most likely won’t budge. You see, Alex is a card he holds…and he wants to play that card to his best advantage. And I’m afraid—”

  “Some two-bit cow puncher in Colorado is not it.” Jesse took a deep breath and adjusted his hat.

  “Just so, old boy, just so.” David dropped his cigarette to stamp it out with his heel, then carefully picked up the stub again and placed it in a small silver box he had in his pocket. “I’ll do what I can, Jesse Makepeace,” he said with somewhat less bravado. “I’ll do what I can. But I also think you’ll have to have a word with dear old Uncle Oliver.”

  ****

  “So?” asked Alex.

  “So. So nothing. You know I can’t do anything, and I told Makepeace that. Even if you cleaned him up, got him to stop saying ain’t and stuck a few pounds in his pocket, Father would still never approve. And you know he wouldn’t approve for the simple reason you love him. Our father, our dear old father, will do anything and everything to make you miserable.”

  Alex sat on the edge of David’s bed. He had dismissed his valet and was checking his tie in the mirror before they went down for dinner.

  “Do you know what I really think, darling?” David let out a long breath of exasperation as Alex picked at a nail. “I think you should go and get yourself accouchement—that’s what I think. Father will disinherit you and you’ll have your Jesse all tied up with a neat ribbon. How do you like that idea?”

  Alex’s eyes scanned David to see if he was joking or not.

  “Of course, there’s Oliver to consider,” David went on. “He may throw you out, throw Makepeace out as well—”

  “Jesse’ll get another job. Annie Yost told me some ranches up in Wyoming and Montana have written to Tom asking him to recommend a reliable foreman. He told her he’s asked Jess but Jesse didn’t want to move.”

  “Well then.”

  Alex paced the room. “In any case, I know something about Oliver.”

  “That he’s your father?”

  “He doesn’t admit to that, David. He says—”

  “I don’t give a damn what he says, Alex. I know what I saw. I was nearly seven, not a babe in arms—I know what I saw.” David leaned back against his dresser and sighed. “Well, what difference does it make now, I suppose.” He straightened up again. “So what is it? This information you have against Oliver.”

  Alex hesitated, then said, “He’s fixing the books.”

  “He’s what?”

  “As far as I can see. I looked at the books one evening while he was away, the ones he keeps downstairs. I saw them out on his desk one day when I was chatting with him—well, chatting is rather polite, we were arguing actually, but never mind. I just thought, well, I wonder...so I went back and found them when he was out. I’m not good at maths, as you know—”

  “So you’re not even sure?”

  “No. But I’m fairly sure what I saw meant Oliver had withdrawn funds from the Frederic Faringdon Cattle Company, which he has never really paid back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I could have tried to go look.”

  “What difference does it make?” Alex stopped suddenly, her frustration evident. “The biggest loser is Papa. So why should I care? But if I did get into a family way, and if Oliver tried to throw me out so he wouldn’t lose his position, I can hold that over his head.”

  “Well then. Why don’t you just force him into letting you marry Makepeace? He’s your guardian here, he can do that.”

  “I thought about that. I can’t—Papa would fire him and he would have to leave if he did that, you know that’s true.” She paced a bit more. “I can’t...I can’t ruin him outright like that. If I was carrying Jesse’s child it would be different and, in any case, we could leave if we really had to. But to just ruin Oliver outright like that—I can’t bring myself to do it. He hasn’t hurt me, not the way Papa has. I just can’t do it.”

  Alex loved her brother, loved his company, but also found she missed her time with the punchers, missed her visits with Annie and Tom, and certainly missed the lack of formality and the freedoms she had come to enjoy. What with dressing in the evenings and the extra social occasions David’s visit had engendered, his stay, more than anything, marked the differences in her life between England and Colorado. So when the time went by, she was almost relieved when David finally went home to England.

  Her paintings were now once again centered on activities around the ranch: the Yost children cuddling, the punc
hers in a card game down by the corral, Joe cleaning some tack, and Jesse leaning back against the office wall. She also did one of Oliver standing with his horse out on the range, but this was hung above the drawing room fireplace and not for sale or display in New York. By August, she was ready for Jonathon Strugis’ visit and Oliver welcomed the news of a New York visitor rather more happily than he had her notice she intended to marry Jesse Makepeace. She had decided to test his resolve.

  “Has he asked you?” he inquired when she told him.

  “Not yet, but he will. We’re in love,” she said simply.

  “And what, exactly, do you think your father is going to say?”

  “I don’t give a damn what my father says. It’s none of his business now.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Alex. You cannot marry without your father’s permission—until you are twenty-one.”

  “But I can marry with the permission of my guardian in Colorado, and that’s you.”

  “I cannot do that. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” She stood staring at him, anger rising in the set of her mouth. “I would lose everything, Alex, you know that. Your father would dismiss me if I let you marry Jesse Makepeace. I can’t do it. I’m forty-seven years old. I can’t start again. Where would I go? What would I do? This ranch is my life.”

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it. You could…” Her voice trailed off. He was right—in her heart, she knew he was right. Oliver could never start again; he hadn’t the guts for it. He’d built his little empire here and, such as it was, it was this or nothing. She let the matter drop. “Well, we’ll wait until I’m twenty-one, if that’s necessary. But I can tell you now, Uncle Oliver, if you try to send me home, I’ll run away. I won’t go back.”

  He stared at her and said nothing. Alex knew full well that if her father demanded it, Oliver wouldn’t hesitate to comply. She tossed her head and walked out. It was a gesture Oliver had once told her reminded him of her mother. He seemed to be more or less resigned now to his inability to comprehend her nature or to build any kind of close relationship with her. Certainly she could not possibly resemble her mother in character.

  For a moment she stood quietly outside the study door and pondered whether her mother ever really would have followed Oliver to America. Would she have left her wealth and her position behind for this rugged, wild land? What kind of woman had her mother been? Did Alex resemble her at all in character?

  She heard the creak of Oliver’s desk chair as he collapsed into it. A shuffling sound followed and, as quiet settled, she wondered exactly what he was reading.

  ****

  Jesse stood on the platform holding hands with Alex as the train pulled into Greeley. It was a Saturday afternoon and he had taken the day off to drive Alex in to meet Sturgis, knowing how nervous she was about the possible criticism of her work. Her nails were bitten down and smiles faded easily from her face. For a moment he felt threatened by this other part of her life, a part with which he had nothing to do, a part he couldn’t even begin to understand or try to understand.

  The train chugged slowly past him before coming to a halt. A porter sprang off and put the steps down, and a man in a three-piece tweed suit carrying an umbrella stepped off. Jesse laughed.

  “Ssh!” whispered Alex, “It’s not funny,” but she was smothering her own giggles. “Jonathon! So good to see you.” She extended her hand, then introduced Jesse as her very best friend and slipped her arm through his possessively, until he moved to take Sturgis’ bag.

  “Y’all have a good trip?” Jesse asked politely.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said—”

  “He asked if you had a good trip, Jonathon,” Alex interpreted. She looked askance at Jesse and raised her eyebrows, biting her lip against another burst of nervous laughter.

  Conversation on the way to the ranch centered mostly on Jonathon’s journey out. He had never been beyond Chicago, so this was a first, a revelation, he said.

  “Well, I’ve never been east of Nebraska,” said Jesse. “And then there’s Lady Alex who’s been the whole world over, I reckon.”

  “So I can tell you Colorado is best and not to bother with any place else, really.” She pulled his hair a bit from her place in the back seat.

  Oliver went all out, naturally, to entertain this visitor from the east. He had planned a dinner party, which Jesse declined to attend, using the excuse of nighthawking again. Alex knew full well Jesse would have felt out of place and underdressed in his Sunday best with everyone else in formal attire. She didn’t argue. She’d rather have been out with him.

  Sturgis appeared greatly impressed with the house and grounds and ranch in general. He’d expected, he said, something rather more rustic and certainly not the servants and food he was offered. But most of all, he was here to see Alex’s paintings as well as the world in which she now lived. She took him up to her studio the very next morning.

  He was silent as he walked around. It made her nervous and she bit her nails as he first lifted one painting and held it out to view, then stood back from another one leaning against the wall, pulled the cloth from yet another on her easel, held another to the light. At long last, he stood and looked at her.

  “Genius,” he said quietly. Alex watched the dust motes dancing down a triangle of light to where he stood. “Sheer genius.”

  “Do you think they’ll sell?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Sell? Sell?” He looked at her as if she hadn’t heard him, or was mad. “Darling girl, they’ll be killing each other to own one of these.”

  ****

  The summer rolled on, the heat bearing down on them relieved only by the afternoon storms that seemed fewer this year than most. The earth was parched and flowers wilted early, the gardens around the house looking as if they had been hit by a plague. The cattle still had plenty of grass but if the rain didn’t increase soon it might be a tough autumn.

  Alex and Jesse tried to find time alone but it was difficult; either he was working or she was painting and couldn’t just stop. The time they did have together grew increasingly intense and Alex knew Jesse would soon propose; she dreaded it. Telling him there would have to be a three-year wait was not going to be easy.

  But Jesse already knew. Uncomfortable with not being able to ask her father for her hand, he finally got up his courage to go see Oliver. He stood uneasily in front of Calthorpe, who stayed seated behind his desk, never offering a seat to Jesse and obviously knowing full well the reason for the requested interview. Jesse would not be deterred.

  “I cannot give you permission,” Oliver said. “It’s not mine to give.”

  “But you are her guardian here. Doesn’t that—”

  “No!” Oliver cut him off. “Even if I could, I’m not convinced this union would be in Alexandra’s best interests.”

  Jesse stared at him for a moment, trying to keep his temper from boiling over. “You talk about it as if it were some business arrangement. You don’t hold her happiness foremost then?” He kept his voice under control.

  “Of course I do!” Oliver slammed the desk. “Of course I want her happiness.” He got up and sat on the edge of the desk, looking at his hands for a moment, then back up at Jesse. “I want her happiness. Only, I’m not sure this union…what she feels…or what she thinks she feels for you is long term. I cannot believe someone born to the wealth and comforts she has thus far enjoyed can really see herself in a lifetime of second best. Third-rate if the truth be told.”

  Jesse looked at his boss and let the insult pass. “Mr. Calthorpe, sir, do you think you really know, really understand, your niece? I mean…” He let his voice trail away. Jesse felt Oliver’s eyes burn through him, as if his boss were seeing him for the first time. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, but maybe you should think of that little girl who first came out here when the ranch was nothin’ but a hardscrabble set of buildin’s. Think about the girl who wore pants and rode and helped at times with the horses and cat
tle, about the girl struggling to make her own way and—might I say it?—to be free of her father.”

  Oliver froze. A look crossed his face that Jesse remembered later as the look of a condemned man, a man consumed by guilt.

  Oliver moved back behind his desk and lowered himself wearily into the chair. “Well, you have savings I take it?”

  “Some. Maybe not a whole lot but enough to homestead I reckon.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know what my blessing is worth, Makepeace. I cannot give permission. I would only lose my position as manager if I flagrantly let you go ahead and marry Alex. But for what it’s worth, I won’t stop you from courting her. It’ll be a pretty damned long engagement though.”

  Jesse just smiled. “I’m learning to be tolerant,” he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On August 27th while preparations were underway for Alex’s birthday party, Jesse found her in the shaded walkway between the gardens and the front of the house.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here, Mr. Makepeace. Was there someone you were looking for?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “All my life. And I finally found her.”

  Alex laughed a bit, then pulled him to her and kissed him. “So now what are you going to do—now you’ve found me?”

  “Marry you, of course.”

  There was a long silence as each searched the other’s eyes for some comment or statement or response. Alex still had her hands on Jesse’s neck but she slowly let go and stood back.

  “I hope you’re a patient man,” she said at last, but knowing he wasn’t.

  “I think I can be patient with you,” he replied misunderstanding.

  “No. I mean, I can’t marry you until I’m twenty-one, Jesse. I—”

  “I know. I know all about that, Alex. I spoke to Mr. Calthorpe, to get his permission, as I should.”

  “I should have realized—”