by Carol Arens
‘No, he is a sweet child. His attention could never be that. Don’t worry, though, I will not lead him to believe there is anything Heaven-sent about our meeting.’
Olivia blinked, pressed her lips tighter to keep from—well, she did not know what—but there was her brother’s laughter. She heard it as clearly as she heard Joe sigh.
‘He’ll believe it is true no matter what, Joe.’
‘Will you keep doing that?’
‘Doing what?’ What was she doing other than sitting here and being a friend?
‘Calling me Joe.’
Oh, she had been doing that! And doing it so naturally that she was not aware of the slip. She could hardly switch back to calling him Josiah now. Not even if she wanted to. Which, to her surprise, she did not. It would be awkward.
‘I’ll call you Joe.’
‘Good, then.’ He leaned his head so that his cheek rested on her hair.
For a while all she could hear was his quiet breathing, feel the rush of it stirring her hair.
‘Will it always hurt so much, do you think?’
‘I think so, but from what I can tell it will not happen as often—and, as odd as it seems, sometimes it will make you smile.’
‘I feel like I will never smile again. I know that’s wrong, but it hurts so blamed much I don’t know how to see my way through it.’
‘Live little moments between the sadness, I think. As time goes by the living gets longer and the sadness shorter.’
‘If we didn’t love so much, it wouldn’t hurt this way.’
‘And yet we choose to love.’ All of a sudden what she said, and said with all sincerity, hit her hard. This was not the way she had been living her life since Henry’s betrayal. To the contrary, she had hidden from anyone who might cause her heartache.
‘I suppose, when you look at it just so, it is a privilege to grieve so deeply.’ Oh, please let this make sense, she thought. ‘Some people never love enough to be able to ache this way.’
‘A comforting pain?’
‘Perhaps, yes—and yet it hurts all the more for it.’
He began to quietly weep. He was so still about it that she would not have known except that her hair was being dampened by his tears.
She sat still, silently holding his hand because sometimes the wave of sorrow needed to be ridden until it left you breathless, gasping on its barren shore—and yet after it somehow able to breathe again.
After a time he let go of her, but only long enough to change position so that he was gazing down at her.
He lowered his mouth and kissed her, very slowly, very gently.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, his tears salty on her lips.
‘Living—for just a moment—I am living.’
* * *
Joe came into the dining room the next morning, not to eat, but because his mother was there.
He did not expect to see Roselina up and dressed, but she was, sitting close to Ma and staring at a slice of toast on her plate.
Ma was slathering jam on it and telling his sister she must eat it.
Seeing him come in, she stood, came to him and kissed his cheek.
‘Good morning, Joe.’ She tugged his arm, leading him towards the dining table. She pointed for him to sit so he did.
Ma turned towards the sideboard, industriously loading a plate with food. She set it front of him, but he had to look away. Sadly there was no escaping the mingled scents of eggs, ham, jam and clotted cream.
Ma looked well. But, of course, she had had a bit of time to adjust to what had happened—no, not adjust. That might never happen, but to come to terms with it.
Joe wished time would somehow advance to this time next year so he would feel—what?
Better, was all. Just better. And he had last night, in the brief instant he was kissing Olivia. For those few seconds the pain lessened.
‘You must eat, my boy—look, Roselina has licked every bit of jam off her toast.’
‘Can’t stomach it, Ma.’ There was something he needed to ask, had to know. ‘It has been more than a month since Pa—’ it hurt to even say the word ‘—since he died. You ought to have sent a telegram. We’d have come home right away.’
‘I suppose I ought to have, you deserved to know first thing, but it was—when it came to it, I simply could not put those words into print. This was news you needed to hear from a heart that loves you.’ She clasped her hands in front of her, looking at them both as if she needed absolution.
‘It is all right, Ma.’ Roselina gave Ma her bravest smile. ‘I’m glad you told us first hand.’
‘It is just as well that I am here, my loves, otherwise you might starve.’
Without looking at his plate, Joe shoved a fork of something in his mouth. Ma looked strong and in control, but it had not been so long ago that she would have been where he and Roselina were this morning—trying to cope with a world dumped on end.
He ate until the food was half-gone because the last thing he wanted to do was cause his mother more heartache than what she had already been through.
Apparently satisfied that he would not starve, she turned her attention on his sister. ‘Are you happy here, Roselina? Have you found a young man who suits your fancy?’
The way Ma smiled and talked like life was normal made him think it might be that way again. All they needed was time to come to terms—to say goodbye.
‘A few.’ Roselina blushed when she said so.
‘I cannot wait to hear about them.’ Ma kissed Roselina’s cheek, reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘We will go on. It might not seem like it now, change can be difficult. I understand this, but change we must.’
One change would be that they would be going home before Roselina married her nobleman.
Needs were that they must depart for home as soon as possible. The running of the ranch was all up to him now. Perhaps he could hire a reliable man to oversee Haversmere. Yes, was there not already a fellow who did it for Pa?
Or surely Olivia would know someone.
Olivia—he had not thought to part company with her so soon. Knowing he must hit him hard. Like a blow to the gut. There was only so much parting a man could take in a short amount of time.
He would not think of it now.
‘I’ll arrange passage for home this afternoon,’ he said, surprised that he was not more eager to do it. ‘I’m sorry, Roselina. I know how you and Ma had your heart set on a fellow from here.’
Roselina nodded, accepting his decision with a great deal of grace. She really was one of the best people he knew. Lord Mansfield was not likely to take the news half so well.
‘Joe.’ His mother touched his hand, patted his knuckles. ‘You are Baron now in your father’s place. You are Haversmere.’
That detail had crossed his mind along with a thousand others over the past day. The importance of it dimmed, being jumbled up with everything else pressing upon him.
As Joe grew up, his father’s title had seemed something from another world—a duty he attended to each year. Even though Pa had discussed it with him, taught him what was required of a baron, to Joe, his father was a rancher first. His life in England seemed no more than a duty he attended to in order to spend the rest of the year at home with his family.
‘I’m Joe Steton from Wyoming.’ There was nothing more to say in answer. ‘I always have been, Ma.’
‘Not always, you were born at Haversmere. The place is your birthright and your sister’s. Haversmere was always close to your father’s heart. He would not have left at all, you know, except that he feared for you.’
‘Why would he?’
‘Your grandmother was adamant that it was the wet climate that killed your mother—you know that much.’ Yes, Pa used to talk about it. It seemed his grandmother had let everyone know her
opinion of Haversmere and of Pa. ‘In his grief he half-believed it. Do you have any memory of falling in a river, Joe?’
He shook his head, not sure what that had to do with anything. He had a queer feeling in his gut when she asked, but no memory of such an event.
‘It is not surprising. You were very small. But you took sick afterwards, extremely sick. You must imagine how that scared him happening so soon after your mother’s death.’
‘He never talked about it.’
‘Well, I believe it is because he was looking forward and not back. We were building our new lives, son. But you must understand that he still loved Haversmere. It never quit feeling like home to him.’
‘I can understand it.’
Ma reached down to pet Sir Bristle, who was asleep halfway under the table near her feet. He had the distinct feeling she was avoiding his gaze.
‘I will not let Pa down. I’ll care for everything the same as he did.’
‘Yes, and you will do it well.’
An odd sensation—a new odd sensation—fisted his gut. Something in his mother’s words did not set right.
She looked back up at him, her fingers clenching the dog’s fur so tight her knuckles turned white.
‘I have sent your father’s body to Haversmere for burial.’
Joe’s heart began a slow crawl up his throat.
Roselina stood, her hand clutching the lace collar of her gown.
The silence in the room was broken only by Sir Bristle’s tail sweeping the rug.
‘Why, Mama?’ Roselina asked.
‘It was your father’s wish. He used to tell me it is what he wanted.’
‘We will bury him there, then.’ The unsettled feeling continued to grip his gut. ‘Is there something else, Ma? You don’t look yourself.’
She stood up, pressed her hands to her middle. Joe thought she tried to contain their trembling.
Why would she be trembling?
‘As much as it was your father’s wish to come home, it is my wish to not be separated from you ever again. There will be no ocean between us. Our home will be Haversmere.’ She took a very deep breath, let it out in a rush. ‘I have sold the ranch.’
He might have remained where he was for hours, stunned and disbelieving, had Mr Bowmeyer not entered the room.
‘You have callers, my lord. Lady Olivia and Master Victor.’
* * *
For as brief as Olivia’s visit had been, Joe found that her presence grounded him.
In the instant when he thought he could not go on, her smile encouraged him—reminded him he could.
Even Victor’s presence felt like a salve. When the little boy tugged at his jacket, wanting attention, he could not very well dive into a pit of sorrow.
The visit was short and he had not had an opportunity to tell Olivia of the ranch being sold. For some reason it seemed important to share the news with her.
‘Some reason’ being obvious when he gave it a few seconds of thought. Olivia Cavill Shaw was important to him. She was the one he could speak to when everything was chaos. He’d had friends, he’d had lovers, but in Olivia he had both.
Although he did not reckon she saw herself as such. But they had kissed which made them more than mere friends.
This afternoon, so many questions ate at him. His mother had explained, but still, he needed to speak more about it with her.
Why would she do such a thing? Sell his home—his life?
At the moment Ma was in conversation with Mr Bowmeyer, but as soon as she finished Joe went to her.
‘Will you walk with me in the park?’
‘Thank you, Mr Bowmeyer. I do appreciate your service.’ Bowmeyer nodded, then left the parlour. ‘A walk will be lovely, but I only have a short time. I’m to meet one of your sister’s beaux. Lord Mansfield—do you know him?’
He helped Ma put on her coat before they went outside. Even though it was sunny this afternoon, there was a chill.
‘We have met, first at the opera, and now every day since. Are you sure Roselina is ready to receive callers?’
While they crossed the street a nippy breeze bit through his shirt and pebbled his flesh. He ought to have worn a coat, but blame it if he didn’t need a distraction from what was going on inside him.
He couldn’t say that he welcomed the discomfort, but he did need it to keep from living completely within his head.
His mother slipped her hand into the crook of his arm when they entered Hyde Park.
‘Perhaps we should have brought Sir Bristle along. I have truly missed that dog.’
‘Everyone would think he was a wolf on the prowl. Better to keep him inside.’
‘London is very lovely. Your father always said it was, especially in the spring.’
‘Mayfair is, but parts of the city are not so blessed.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that as well. From all I understand, it is quite nice up north, though. Did you know your father always told me Haversmere was a bit of heaven on earth?’
‘I wonder why you never came with him?’
‘I could not have an ocean between us. I felt the same then as I do now. We are family and meant to be together.’
‘I hear what you are saying—but, Ma, the ranch was your home as much as ours. Why would you sell it?’
She stopped walking, placing her small hand on his vest. There were blue veins showing in skin that looked more fragile than he recalled.
‘Listen closely, Son.’ Brown eyes the colour of melted chocolate pleaded with him to. ‘I did not make the decision easily. Nor did I make it out of grief—and believe me, I did and do grieve your father. But you must understand that the ranch is not my home. You and your sister are my home. The thought of being separated from either of you—I could not. I think perhaps you did not realise how difficult it was for me over the years. Every time your father went away I feared it might be the last time I would see him.’
‘I did not know you worried, Ma.’
‘Good, it was my intention that you would not. But crossing an ocean is risky business—it was even more so years ago. I never knew if he would come home safely until I saw him galloping up to the front porch. And even then—Joe—there was always a part of him that remained here.’
‘I didn’t know that, either.’
‘You were a child, such a thing was not for you to know. Then later you assumed he felt the same as you did about the ranch. Why would you not?’
She straightened his vest, then they walked on.
‘All you ever knew was the ranch, but think of it, Joe, Haversmere has been home to the Stetons for many generations. Had your mother not died, your father would have carried on that way and never come to America.’
‘You are my mother.’
‘And you are my son. It is why I sold the ranch.’ She crossed her arms over her middle while they walked. ‘I could not have you go away every year like your father did, especially with Roselina in London, married and having babies. I could not have.’
A gentleman nodded in passing. Somehow both he and Ma found an answering smile.
‘Don’t you see?’ she continued. ‘You would have found yourself as torn as your father was, once you married. Besides, it is only fitting that your children be raised at Haversmere.’
Marriage—children?
Olivia’s face flashed in his mind. The image of her smile felt like refuge. It did not seem a bit odd that he should see in her the home he no longer had.
He would be saying some goodbyes in his heart over the next few days—to the land and the herds—to the hands who had worked side by side with him.
At least he would not be saying goodbye to Olivia. She was the bright spot in all the heartache.
‘Who did you sell to?’
‘Our neighbour, Tom Holden. We already shar
ed grazing land so, when he offered to buy me out, it was only natural to say yes. Of course, at first I did not. Truly, Joe, I gave the matter a great deal of thought. The land transfer won’t be official for another week or so, but I have given my word on it and I will not go back. It is the future we must look to now.’
He nodded and they walked on without speaking. She probably knew thoughts and emotions were whirling around inside him with the chaos of a tornado.
‘There is a bit more you should know.’
What could there possibly be? Had she arranged him a marriage, or purchased him a commission in the Royal Navy? Sold Sir Bristle to a travelling circus? What?
‘A letter came from the estate manager at Haversmere. Something is not right at the estate and he is asking for your father to come with all haste.’
‘What isn’t right?’
‘“Mischief afoot” is what he wrote.’
‘Did he mention what it was?’
She shrugged. ‘Very little, but one thing he did say is that planks from a bridge over the brook had been chopped halfway through. Three lambs fell in the river and had to be fished out.’
‘There must be more to it than that for him to ask Pa to come quickly.’
‘According to your father, mischief near Grasmere is a rare thing. It was only ever the increasing number of tourists tramping here and there that troubled him. So he did take the estate manager’s concern seriously. As weak as your father was when the letter came, he tried to pack a bag—’
She bit her lip, blinked hard and was silent for a moment. ‘At any rate, the more quickly we go to Haversmere, the better. It is what your father would want.’
It was not what Joe wanted. He longed for the wide open spaces of home, the rugged land and the tall, sky-kissing mountains, wanted it more than his next breath.
His next breath came, though, and here he was looking somewhat like any other gentleman strolling in Hyde Park.
‘What shall we do about Roselina? Her Season has only begun and there are several young dandies vying for her attention,’ he pointed out.
Faced with leaving Mayfair, he was suddenly hesitant to do it. It was no great mystery why.
