Loveland

by Andrea Downing

  “Alex please,” Oliver pleaded, “listen to me!”

  “Listen to you? Listen to your excuses for not telling me the truth? My goodness, but we are—what? Tell me, I want to hear these excuses, these reasons you never told me you are my father. Please. Go on!”

  Jesse paced in the hallway. What they were overhearing was upsetting him to the point that his flesh crawled. His anger spread like a disease until he clenched his fists and stood facing the study door. He inhaled deeply, ready to intervene.

  “I think we ought to go,” Tom said.

  Alex stormed out of the study, stopped, surprised to find them there, started to say something but didn’t, and ran up the stairs.

  She laid in her room for days, barely touching her food, the letters, which she read and re-read and read again, lay scattered about her bed. She couldn’t understand how her mother could love this coward, this feeble, self-centered, covetous man. Then she realized she didn’t know her mother, not from the letters, certainly, which just went on asking Oliver to come back, then apologizing to him for her own weakness in marrying Frederic, and finally telling him their last reunion had resulted in her being “with child.” What a quaint expression, Alex thought, how refined and decorous for someone who had broken her marriage vows. No, she would never know her mother, never understand a woman who had loved one man yet wedded another just for the security and position he offered, someone who had ostensibly accepted without question all the rules and regulations society laid down yet managed a clandestine affair outside of her marriage. To Alex it was incomprehensible for someone to be so hypocritical, so duplicitous as this.

  ****

  Jesse came in one evening, was permitted to go upstairs to see her and found Alex lying there, fully dressed, a plate of food uneaten on the floor, her red-rimmed eyes staring at the ceiling. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

  She looked at him blindly. “What’s happening with the ranch?” she asked after a time.

  Jesse was reluctant to tell her. “Well, it’s pretty bad. Tom says it’d be nothing short of a miracle if we can keep going.”

  Alex sat up a bit. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. Do you know that? Who am I, Jesse? Where do I belong? If the ranch goes under—”

  “If the ranch goes under we’ll get that dream house of ours and start our own.”

  “Living in sin for the next three years?”

  “Well, it’s almost two now,” he said with a small smile. He caressed her hand for a bit. “I know who you are, Alex. And so do Tom and Annie and Cal, and the rest of the punchers. You’re that durned wonderful gal who paints and rides and cracks jokes with the best of us, who makes us all think every day is worth living jus’ because you’re here. Don’t you go takin’ that away from us when we need you the most, don’t you do that.”

  Oliver came in to see her the following afternoon. He quietly took a chair opposite her, nodding for Rose to leave them alone. Lying on her bed, Alex continued to stare up at the ceiling.

  “Listen to me.” He spoke very calmly and steadily. “It’s important you listen. I’ve been into town to see Higgins, the lawyer. Frederic will soon put me out for mismanaging the ranch, but I’ve settled my shares in the Faringdon on you, signed them over some time ago so they can’t be sold by my creditors when they come calling, as no doubt they will. It won’t be enough to out-vote your father— Frederic. He still has the controlling percentage. But perhaps you can reason with him, put some pressure on him to let the ranch continue.”

  “Is it worth continuing?”

  “That’s up to you. You do what you want now.”

  “What will you do, where will you go?”

  “Oh, back to England, I suppose. I’ve received a letter from David. It’s taken a while to get here of course but it says Frederic’s health is failing. He may be more, well—”

  “Well disposed toward me? Toward you? Please!”

  Oliver got up then sat back down heavily. “I never meant to hurt you, Alexandra. Believe me, I wanted to tell you everything. Your mother meant the world to me. When I heard she had married Frederic, I was devastated. She said, as you no doubt read, she believed I wasn’t returning, that I would never make anything of myself—”

  “So you spent your whole life trying to prove her wrong, is that it? It wasn’t greed, just wanting to be as good as Frederic? Really, Oliver—did you think you could compete with a duke whose money and holdings are beyond encroachment? The ranch’s losses will be nothing to Frederic, but he will close the company to spite me. Or you.” She kept her voice monotone, quiet. She no longer had the strength to fight.

  “Well, when I eventually got back and saw your mother, some six years later, she believed she had made an awful mistake. We planned on running away together, coming back here to America and living as a couple. Of course, I realize now it would never have worked, she would never have left David, first of all. And with so many people in the vicinity with connections at home, well… But that was the plan. I came ahead to start the ranch—”

  “Mostly with Frederic’s money!”

  “Yes. Well, be that as it may, that is what we were going to do. Frederic and I had already founded the company. The shares had been sold. The money was there. Then Elizabeth found she was carrying a child…you. By the time the letter found me and I headed back, it was too late. She was gone and you were there, a small helpless bundle.”

  “Please, spare me the dramatics.”

  “Surely you can see it was for the best. I couldn’t have taken you with me, not a baby. Frederic knew, of course. He suspected you weren’t his but we made a deal and I was conveniently sent back here as manager. For your mother’s sake that her name not be sullied with this…this indiscretion—”

  “More likely Frederic decided he didn’t want to be known as a cuckold.”

  “Frederic said he would raise you as his own if I kept my mouth shut, but the deal was I could have you with me when you were old enough—”

  “Hence the four years from eight to twelve.”

  “Exactly. He said you must come back to mix in society, be presented at court, make your debut and get married. That was it. I would have no other say in your upbringing except I would have you for four years.”

  “You knew then, when I came, how long I would be here.”

  “I knew, but I didn’t know if he would be good to his word. With Frederic, as you well know, nothing is ever written in stone if he cares to change it. I got letters through the earlier years, written mostly by his steward, telling me how you were. You didn’t find those, I’m not even sure where they are now. I knew, according to them, you were, shall I say, ‘a handful’? I knew you were headstrong and ungovernable, that you had gone through a line of governesses, driven David’s tutors to distraction. Maybe what you call my ‘greed,’ my self-centeredness, has come out in you in this manner?”

  Alex took a deep breath. “What now?”

  “Well.” Oliver rose to his feet. “Now, while I’m still manager, I’m just going to take a ride and see the devastation, see if I can do anything at last.”

  For a time Alex continued to lie there. She picked up a letter and started to read, then put it down and thought maybe it was time to bathe, to change her clothes and start again. She pulled the bell rope to call Rose, but as soon as Rose came in the door, she knew. Like a bolt, it struck her, Alex absolutely knew. She pulled on her boots, pushed past a startled Rose and started down the stairs. Breathless, she ran out the door, down the path to the stables, running faster, running…running.

  “Don’t!” she screamed. “Oliver, don’t!”

  And then she heard the shot.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tom had asked Alex to move into the Homestead with his family for a while, at least until after the funeral, but Alex declined. From somewhere, somehow, she found some inner strength to deal with everything, knowing Jesse and Tom and Annie and everyone else at the ranch were there to help her
. Jesse worried she was wasting away, not eating, and hardly sleeping. But he worried, too, that she would leave and not come back.

  She gave instructions for nearby ground under trees overlooking the Thompson to be consecrated so Oliver could be buried there. She said if the shareholders decided to pull out and sell the ranch, the new buyer would have to take Oliver with it. So on a windy, cold afternoon in late March, Rose helped her into a black dress, coiled her hair back, and pinned a hat and veil upon her head. Jesse and Tom and Annie all called for her in their Sunday best, Annie insisting Alex put a coat on. As they got to the vestibule, Alex stopped and picked up a small reticule, then Jesse opened the door.

  Outside were twenty-five or so men of the Faringdon. The plumes on the horses in front of the hearse wavered in the blustery weather but there was silence except for the suspiration of the wind and a door slamming somewhere in the outbuildings. Jesse led her down the path, holding her tight, his arm about her shoulders. They stopped at the carriage and he made to help her in but she shook her head.

  “I’ll walk behind the hearse,” she said quietly. And so, they walked in silence to the grave site, the wind at times lifting Alex’s veil as if it wanted to dry her tears.

  Outsiders, friends and townspeople, other ranchers were all there. The minister from the English Church talked about how Oliver had been a man of vision, a leader who had put his mark on an untamed country and made it his own. Flanked by Tom and Jesse, Alex hardly moved throughout the service, hardly heard what was said, just stared ahead and listened to the wind. Tom whispered to Alex that he would help her lift the first shovel of earth for the grave, but she just shook her head and said, “You do it.” When Jesse went to take the shovel next, she moved forward to the edge of the grave and stood there for a moment, then opened the bag she had and took handful after handful of torn papers from it and let them fall into the grave or fly out on the wind, as they might.

  Many of the mourners, including the punchers, came back to the house for refreshments and Alex moved among them, accepting condolences, playing the hostess, trying to act normal. She had removed her hat and veil and Jesse could see how worn and tired she looked, how red her eyes were, how thin and pale she had become. He was standing with Cal when she finally made her way over to him.

  “Higgins says he wants to see us when they all start leaving. I think he wants to read the will.”

  “Well, do you want me there?” he asked.

  “He mentioned you himself, and Annie and Tom and the servants.” She looped her arm through his and smiled at Cal. “No punchers, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we’ll just count ourselves lucky to have jobs at this point, Ladilex.”

  Alex nodded and wandered off again.

  They assembled in the study, Alex leaning in to Jesse as if she would fall asleep.

  “You may want to set yourself down, Lady Alex. It’s been a long day,” the lawyer said kindly. Alex shrugged and sat in the chair in front of the desk with Jesse standing behind her. Higgins made himself comfortable at the desk and cleared his throat. “I have to tell you before I begin, this will is dated only ten days ago. That may serve to answer some questions you have arising from the bequests in this will. I must also tell you that, as far as I can now ascertain, the bequests are virtually…well, they are worthless. Oliver Calthorpe died owing more money than can be raised from his goods and chattels. Only the Homestead was actually in his sole name as per his filing with the government. This house, of course, belongs to the Frederic Faringdon Cattle Company and was therefore not his, although the furnishings and décor were his responsibility. It would appear he borrowed large amounts of money from the ranch accounts to that end, which he never re-paid. The shareholders will naturally want to claim back these funds from his estate and will no doubt employ a lawyer to do so, most probably putting a lien on the Homestead.”

  Higgins started by reading the small bequests to “my loyal staff who have served me faithfully over these many years.” This included, of course, Rackham, Wilson, Rose and several others. To Tom Yost, “the most honest man I have ever met and who I, without reservation, trust to serve in loco parentis for my daughter, Alexandra, until she comes of age, I leave, free and uninhindered, that property known as the Homestead.”

  Tom and Annie both gasped. “Good Lord,” Tom started.

  “I’m afraid, Mr. Yost, it is as I said at the beginning. Oliver Calthorpe died owing more than he had—”

  “What does that mean?” interjected Alex. “Surely you can’t sell the house out from under them?” Oliver would have known. Of course he would have known. It was his last flamboyant gesture, sending messages of affection and respect without any substance behind them.

  “I’m afraid that may be—”

  “No! No, never,” said Alex, getting up.

  “Alex…if it’s law.” Tom’s voice had a note of resignation in it.

  “No, no.” Alex moved to the door. “I’ll see you in your office tomorrow, Mr. Higgins.” She made to leave.

  “Lady Alexandra? I’m not finished. There’s more.” He waited for Alex to turn and re-seat herself. Her mind was already working, forming plans, figuring what might be done to keep the ranch going.

  “To Jesse Makepeace,” Higgins continued, “who has sworn to look after Alexandra and care for her always, I leave the sum of One Thousand Dollars.” Now it was Jesse’s turn to gasp. “As I said.” Higgins looked up briefly. “These bequests are worthless.”

  “Finally, to my beloved daughter, Alexandra, I leave the bulk of my estate and that letter written to her which here attaches as codicil to this will. Signed this day etc. etc. etc.” Higgins put the paper down, looked over at Alexandra and handed her an envelope. She stared blankly at it, then folded it and held it between her hands. “As you know, Lady Alexandra, Oliver’s shares in this ranch were signed over to you some time before his death. Those cannot now be touched by his creditors, and you will find he set up a separate account for you in which the dividends have accumulated. Everything else here that belonged to him I’m afraid may have to be sold, although I hasten to say the full amount owed is not yet known.” The group watched as Higgins picked up his briefcase and stuffed the papers back into it.

  Tom said, “How long have we got? At the Homestead, I mean. I have a family.”

  “Oh, it will be months yet. Probate has to be filed, amounts worked out. A year maybe, if you’re lucky.”

  “If Tom is now…what was it you said?” asked Jesse.

  “In loco parentis?”

  “Yes, that. Does that mean he can now give permission for me and Alex to marry?”

  “I’m afraid not. It means he is only a local guardian. Her father would be able to sue him if such a marriage took place against Faringdon’s will. In actual fact, it was not Calthorpe’s place to appoint Mr. Yost. And I don’t think you would want a man as wealthy and powerful as the Duke of Faringdon suing your friend.” He started toward the door.

  “But Faringdon isn’t Alex’s father,” Jesse persisted.

  “I’m afraid, in the eyes of the law, he still is.”

  “Tomorrow in your office, Mr. Higgins please,” Alex called after him.

  Four days later a telegram arrived from David telling Alex their father was critically ill and begging her to return forthwith. She knew she would have to go back, if only to be there for David, and so instructed Rose to pack certain items and get them both ready for the journey to England. She told only Tom.

  Life at the ranch was returning to a routine although at times, when the wind direction dictated it, the stench from the dead cattle blew in. There was not a lot the punchers could do but leave the carcasses as carrion and get on with saving the living.

  Tom, now manager, and Jesse, as foreman, worked out a plan of what might be sold to bring the ranch down to a manageable size, where fences could be put up, how much extra forage could be bought in, how many extra acres they could give over to growing winter feed and where sto
rage could be built for all. Tom also envisioned diversifying the ranch and slowly changing over from Longhorns to Herefords. He wrote to the Duke’s steward to outline his plans and awaited a reply.

  Alex rode out to find Jesse on the Thursday afternoon, Ranger being about as unmanageable as he could be after staying inside virtually all through the storms. Jesse watched as she came in at a gallop toward him.

  “He really wants to go, doesn’t he?”

  “I should have put the damn hackamore back on him or more steel in his mouth, damn horse.”

  Jesse shook his head at her, then leaned across to kiss her gently. “Awful lot of damns for one young gal.”

  Alex looked away to watch the other men for a moment; they were putting in fence posts. “The end of open range,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I can bear it.” She looked back at him. “I’m leaving my bedroom door to the garden open. Will you use it?”

  “I’m an early riser, lady. You gonna keep me awake all night?”

  “If I can, if I can.”

  ****

  Their lovemaking was different, slower, gentler, as if they were each trying to memorize the other’s body, draw maps of every muscle and sinew and joint. To Jesse, Alex’s body was still like satin, smooth and flowing and curved, but he felt he was somehow not reaching her, her heart or mind were somewhere else, she was holding something back. As he entered the damp center of her awakening and she pulled her legs up to take him further into her being, he sensed a part of her was not with him, she was withholding herself from him, keeping something back. Their bodies moved together to find release, but it was purely physical—without emotion. There was still tension in the air, like electricity after thunder. Jesse propped himself on his elbows and looked down at Alex, taking a tendril of her hair and wrapping it around his fingers for a moment. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he said at last.