The Lavender Field

by Jeanette Baker

  “Gabe is a very nice young man and he’s certainly attractive, but his first priority will always be his daughter. I think you deserve better than that. You deserve a husband who thinks of you first, and the children you’ll have together.”

  “Please give this up, Mom.”

  “You can’t mean that this doesn’t matter to you,” Pryor persisted. “Don’t you see? It will always be Claire.”

  Whitney turned on her mother, tiny forks of strain at the corners of her eyes. “What’s wrong with that? She’s a little girl. He created her. Is it wrong for him to feel responsible for her?”

  “Of course not. I admire him for his loyalty. I adore those children. I haven’t had so much fun in years. But what about you? I’m concerned for you. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. I want you to have the life you deserve with the right husband and your own children, not someone else’s.”

  Whitney shook her head. “It isn’t going to happen, Mama. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. I’ve avoided it for years, but I can’t do it any longer.” She took her mother’s face between her hands. “Look at me, and just this once, listen without interruption.” She swallowed, shook her head and continued. “There won’t be any children. Not ever. There was a baby, once, with Wiley. I lost it in the hospital after he hurt me. I can’t have any more children.”

  Pryor stared at her, registering the words. Something didn’t make sense. “That was nearly twenty years ago,” she whispered. “Modern medicine has changed. There are ways—”

  Whitney shook her head. “I’ll never carry a child. I’m so sorry.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorrier for you than for me. I can live without children of my own, but seeing you these last few days, I don’t know if you can live without grandchildren. I feel so terrible about disappointing you. All my life I was such a good kid. I made one terrible mistake, only one, but it was the mistake. I ruined your life.”

  Through the shock and pain of her daughter’s words, something clicked in Pryor’s brain, an instinctive knowledge that something needed salvaging. She wet her lips. “You did no such thing,” she said carefully.

  “Of course I did. Look at you. You’re miserable because of me. Your only daughter can’t do the one thing you’ve asked her.”

  “Stop it,” Pryor ordered. The fog was gone now. She was completely lucid. “It just isn’t true, Whitney. You’ve been the most incredible gift. I wouldn’t trade you for the world. A large part of the reason I was so set on your having children was because I hoped you’d have at least one just like you, and I could relive those wonderful years all over again with another little Whitney.” She laughed. “The chances of that were ridiculous, anyway. Most people have terrible problems with their children, far worse than anything you put me through. Don’t you think, even for a minute, that I don’t get down on my knees every day and thank God for giving you to me? I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me this long ago. I ache inside that you carried this burden all by yourself. I’m the one who failed you, my darling. I’m so ashamed.” Now Pryor was crying, too.

  Whitney laughed through her tears. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  “More than you know. You’ve never asked why we didn’t have more children.”

  “It never occurred to me. I assumed it was a personal decision.”

  “It wasn’t a decision. We just didn’t have them. I wanted more. So did Daddy.” She lifted her hands. “But it wasn’t to be. In those days, people didn’t talk about infertility. We didn’t go to doctors or have treatments. It was just something we accepted. Maybe, if I’d never had you, I would have been more proactive. But you were just about the best there was. I’m so proud of you, Whitney. You’ve accomplished so much. I should have told you that long ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Whitney wiped her eyes.“They’ll be wondering what we’re doing.”

  “I guess we should go downstairs.”

  “The chicken smells delicious.”

  Pryor nodded. “It is delicious.”

  “Daddy must be in heaven.”

  “He’s probably eaten four pieces by now.” Pryor sighed. “Oh, well. It won’t hurt him this once. I’ll put him right back on whole-grain breads and raw vegetables tomorrow.”

  Whitney’s mouth trembled. “Gabe and the girls are leaving tonight.”

  “How’s your heart?”

  “This time I think it might be broken, Mama.” She turned into her mother’s outstretched arms. “I don’t know what happened, but if he keeps his horses, I don’t think I’ll see him again. He won’t let me in. Isn’t it funny? I’ve spent my whole life running away from commitment, and now that I want it, I can’t have it.”

  “Oh, sugar, of course you can. Don’t you see? This is a breakthrough. Now that you know what you want, you won’t push the opportunity away. You’re such a lovely woman, Whitney. If Gabe doesn’t realize what he has in you, then he isn’t worth it. Trust me, sweetheart. His loss will be somebody else’s gain.” Personally, Pryor would have liked to give Gabriel Mendoza a piece of her mind and tell him what a fool he was to reject the best thing that would ever happen to him. But Whitney wasn’t a little girl anymore. She could handle her own problems far better than her mother could handle them for her.

  Pryor stroked her daughter’s head. She was exhausted. They’d come a long way in the past twenty minutes.

  Twenty-Nine

  Eric’s look of relief when his stepfather walked into the barn early the next evening would normally have made Gabe laugh, except that he wasn’t in the mood for laughing.

  “Hey, Dad.” Eric hugged him awkwardly. “Did everything go okay?”

  “That depends on your perspective. The reality is, the sale doesn’t look good.”

  Eric groaned. “Gran’s not gonna be happy.”

  Gabe nodded. “For some reason the Austrians won’t give up a single horse, not even Lorelei.”

  Eric checked his watch, wrote the time down on the chart hanging in front of the stall, and then gave Gabe his full attention. “Do they know how old she is?”

  “They know everything, down to the last time she was shod.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Eric said flatly.

  “Tell them that.”

  Eric sat down on a bale of hay. “Is Lorelei the only reason you won’t sell?”

  “What else would it be?”

  The boy shrugged. “You were cool on the idea in the first place. Maybe you’re using her as an excuse.”

  “Since when have you become Dr. Phil?” Gabe said sharply.

  “Dad.” Eric wouldn’t be put off. “Claire can cope. She’s not as fragile as you think.”

  “She’s lost enough.”

  “We all have.”

  “She doesn’t have the coping skills you have.”

  “Maybe it’s the other way around,” Eric said carefully. “Maybe she has more because things don’t bother her as much as they do the rest of us.”

  Gabe stared at his stepson. Could the boy be right? Was he using Claire’s horse as an excuse to nix the deal because it wasn’t what he wanted? He would have to think that one through. “Juan says you’ve done a terrific job the past few days, Eric. I’m proud of you.” He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How was the prom?”

  “It was terrific. Gran took a bunch of pictures.”

  “Make sure I get copies.”

  “I’m done here. Are you coming home now?”

  “I think I’ll take a walk and mull over a few things.”

  As usual, when something weighed heavily on his mind, Gabe headed to the same place, down the lane bordered by weeping jacarandas, deep into the heart of his mother’s lavender field where the pollen haze was thick as smoke and he saw the world through a violet lens. The drone of insects sounded like a passing train, and the pungent scent of the blooms was so strong and acrid one deep breath burned the sensitive lining of his nose.
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br />   For the first time since Whitney told him the sale was no longer in the bag, he allowed the full weight of his emotions to roll through him. The ache was so severe it pushed against him like a fierce wind. He staggered forward, determined to reach some kind of resolution. After a few minutes in the spicy, perfumed air, his breath came easier and his mind cleared enough to sort through his options.

  Without the money from the sale of the Lipizzaners, everything that was important to him would be gone. Lynne would take Eric and Emma, and Whitney would disappear from his life. She wouldn’t go willingly, but in the end, she would go. There was no other choice. He refused to ask a woman like Whitney to give up everything she’d worked for to settle down in his mother’s house and run a dressage center that barely made ends meet. She deserved more than that. Even if she got another job in Los Angeles, she would still be starting over. Gabe knew something about guilt and resentment and he wanted no part of either. “At least Claire will benefit,” he said out loud. “My fragile, vulnerable faery child won’t lose her mare.” The words sliding off his tongue sounded hollow to his ears. He couldn’t ignore the tiny voice in his head that suggested she might be losing a great deal more.

  “Whitney called,” his mother said when Gabe walked into the kitchen an hour later. She was sitting on a bar stool with her leg elevated, chopping chili peppers. As usual, a tumbler filled with ice and a suspicious ruby- colored liquid sat at her elbow.

  Gabe opened his mouth to remind her that wine for medicinal purposes was limited to four ounces a day. Then he thought of the news he would have to break to her and changed his mind. Let her enjoy her evening. “What time did she call?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. She wants you to call her at home.”

  He picked up the phone and walked into the living room, closing the doors behind him. Mercedes would eavesdrop without compunction if she was within listening range, but she wouldn’t pick up the other phone. She had her scruples.

  Whitney answered on the first ring. Her voice sounded breathy, unsure. “He wants to fly in tomorrow and meet you on Wednesday at the dressage center.”

  “He?”

  “The ambassador.”

  “Alone?”

  “It sounds that way.”

  “If this is another attempt to persuade me to sell, I don’t think I’m up for it.”

  “I think he wants to explain why the terms are so inflexible. That alone should interest you, I think. Or do you not want to bother? I can call and tell him you’re no longer interested.”

  Her voice had turned clipped and professional, as if she had no stake in what he decided. Gabe knew her well enough to recognize that her defenses were on full alert. “No,” he said wearily. “I’ll listen.”

  Her voice warmed. “Good. Let me know how it turns out.”

  He frowned. “You’re not coming with him?”

  The silence stretched out. “No,” she said softly. “He specified that he wanted to meet with you alone. There really isn’t any reason for me to be there, too. Besides, I think you’ve already made your.. .decision, haven’t you?”

  He knew what she was asking, but he also knew he couldn’t give her the answer she deserved. He wanted to explain, to have her override him, to allow her to make the sacrifice and live on his terms. But as much as he loved Whitney Benedict, and he did love her, he knew without question that he couldn’t subject her to the selfishness of such a suggestion, not after he’d seen her family home, not after she’d told him about Wiley Cane. His only hope was the small chance that the ambassador would agree to his terms. Then he would have something to offer her. “Do you think it’s a done deal?” he asked.

  Again, another long silence. “You see, Gabe—the thing is, it doesn’t matter what I think. Not anymore.”

  The hurt was peeling away at his nerves. “Why not?”

  Her voice was slow, the words carefully spoken. “I’ve done some thinking and I’ve decided that I want more than a conditional relationship. I want someone who wants me no matter what his circumstances. That isn’t you. At least, that’s not the impression I’m getting.”

  He hadn’t heard more than the first sentence of her reply. So, this was it. They were done before they’d even begun. He didn’t trust himself to answer.

  “Good night, Gabe.”

  “Good night,” he managed to say, and hung up the phone.

  Whitney stared at the phone in her hand. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. The conversation hadn’t gone as she’d planned it. She’d given him every opportunity to contradict her, to ask what she was talking about. He was supposed to ask what she meant by a conditional relationship. She would have told him that she understood his responsibility for his children, but she refused to base the future of their relationship upon whether or not he could keep a horse. Then he was supposed to apologize for his absurd thinking and tell her he’d fallen in love with her and wanted to be with her, no matter what happened with the Austrian government. Instead, he accepted everything she said without a single denial. Rarely had she predicted an outcome so poorly. She was a lawyer. The success of her job was based on her ability to foresee her clients’ needs. This time, when it was so important, she’d failed miserably. Maybe she’d misread Gabe completely. Maybe his feelings didn’t match hers. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe, with Gabe, she would never be a priority.

  Suddenly, her energy left her. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on her bed, fully clothed in her expensive linen suit. Only four short weeks ago she’d never heard of Gabriel Mendoza. She’d been perfectly satisfied with her life. If only she’d gone on the singles’ cruise Pryor had planned for her. If she had, everything would be different. Her heart wouldn’t hurt and she wouldn’t have this pounding headache. She wouldn’t be missing the jacarandas raining purple blossoms, or the sharp smell of lavender, or Mercedes and Ramona and the children, and she wouldn’t be feeling so desperately and completely sorry for herself.

  Gabe didn’t know what he expected, but the man who stepped out of the town car looked like the quintessential European nobleman.

  Eric, who’d been monitoring Claire and Lorelei in the turnout, had left his post to tell his father that the ambassador had arrived. “He looks like Count Dracula,” the boy said, “except for his clothes.”

  Gabe laughed, pushed himself away from his desk in the office and walked outside to greet his visitor. Eric had described him perfectly. The ambassador was very tall with carved cheeks over a stern mouth, a full head of silvery hair, well-muscled arms and a tight stomach. He was thin and his eyes were ice blue. He was dressed casually, in creased khaki slacks and a polo shirt. He held out his hand. Gabe shook the hand he extended.

  “Good day, Mr. Mendoza. I am Werner Pohl, the director of Vienna’s Spanish Riding School.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “You’re very welcome, Dr. Pohl.” He nodded at Eric. “This is my son, Eric.”

  Pohl shook Eric’s hand. “Please, call me Werner.”

  “Did I misunderstand?” Gabe asked. “I was expecting Peter Moser, the ambassador.”

  The man grinned and his entire demeanor changed. “I pulled rank, as you Americans say, and prevailed upon our ambassador to allow me to come instead. You see, I was a boy when your father left Austria, but I remember him well. I wanted very much to come and explain our situation to you.”

  Eric spoke. “It looks like Claire is finishing up. I’ll get back to work. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Eric.”

  They watched Eric walk away.

  “His manners are refreshing. You are to be commended.”

  Gabe nodded. “Thank you. He’s a good boy.”

  “Is that your daughter I see on the Lipizzaner mare you wish to keep?”

  Gabe looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “We know a great deal about Franz’s Lipizzaners. Am I correct in believing that she is the oldest breeding mare in your stock?”

/>   “Lorelei is fourteen. Some would say she’s too old to breed.”

  “Perhaps.” He stroked his chin. “Lorelei. An interesting choice for a name. Are you an appreciator of the romantic poets, Gabriel?”

  “You might say that.”

  “And what of the German philosophers?”

  Gabe laughed. “Philosophy isn’t one of my strengths.”

  “A pity,” the Austrian said. “Still, if you read poetry, we may find some common ground.”

  Gabriel remembered his manners. “May I offer you something to drink?” he asked, “or would you like to see the horses?”

  “Horses first, and then a drink.”

  An hour later, Gabe knew why Werner Pohl had been sent in place of the ambassador. This was a man who knew horses. He was also very similar in temperament to Franz Kohnle. As their tour progressed, Gabe found himself reluctantly drawn to this elderly horsemaster who spoke with the same cadence and accent as his father.

  Their final stop was Macbeth’s stall. The albino gazed back at them calmly, a prince whose bloodlines could not be mistaken, his skin translucent, the texture of softest silk, muscle and sinew so taut that a faint pink emanated from within the flesh and bone.

  Pohl stared at him for a long time. When he looked away, his eyes were wet. “I was but a boy, but I remember it well, those dark days before Austria fell. When the air raids signaled, the horses would calmly file out of their stalls ready to take shelter in the passageway alongside the riding hall. A bomb would come down— crash—in the Michaelerplatz. The glass would fall around us like hail, and the Lipizzaners would crouch down, down, down, like this—” he held his palms out flat “—until the attack was over, and then they would just get up. They shivered, but they never panicked. They behaved like the veterans they were.” He smiled at Gabe. “Did your father tell you?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No. He didn’t.”

  “He should have.”

  Later, seated across from the director amid the lush plants and hot color of his mother’s patio, Gabe brought up the issue they’d avoided all afternoon. He leaned forward, searching for the right words, words that would explain without offending. “Your offer is a generous one,” he began. “I’d like to accept it, but we’ve hit a snag over Lorelei, my daughter’s mare. I feel that I have to keep her.”