sixteen

On the seventh of September, word came via the evening papers that President McKinley had been shot. Worse still, it had happened at the Pan-American Exposition where the Brookstone Wild West Extravaganza was to perform its final show. Everyone immediately wondered if the Expo would be closed.

“I can’t imagine it would be kept open,” Alice said.

“I don’t understand why anyone would shoot at the president. They say he’s still alive, although gravely ill,” Lizzy commented. “I’ve been praying for his recovery.” Wes patted her arm, and she shook her head. “There’s such evil in this world. They said the man was an anarchist.”

“I read that he’d lost his job,” Alice offered.

“And his mind,” her husband countered. “They said he was mentally unstable.”

Lizzy was still shaking her head. “I just can’t believe he would try to kill the president of the United States.”

“Here we are. We call this Trafalgar Square,” Jason declared with a wave of his hand. “Majors, let us out here.”

The carriage came to a stop, and everyone disembarked. Jason led the way to a pedestaled white column.

“This is a memorial to Admiral Horatio Nelson who died at the Battle of Trafalgar. And if you look over there”—he pointed to the right—“you’ll see the National Gallery. That’s our final destination. I think you’ll be amazed by the impressive collection of art.”

Mary only half listened to Jason’s ramblings. She wanted to know about the history of London, but she was more interested in Chris taking her around town. She craned her neck to look first one way and then another to see if there was any sign of him. He had promised to join them after a meeting.

“Miss Reichert, I’m sure your young man will be along shortly. He told me he would be tied up until shortly after ten o’clock, and as you can see, it’s just now ten fifteen.” Jason gave her a sympathetic smile.

Mary nodded. “I’ll just wait here with your Admiral Nelson. Chris mentioned this place, and I’m sure he’ll come here first.”

“I don’t like to leave you alone,” Jason declared.

Wes and Carson exchanged a glance. “Why don’t you stay here with Mary, and we’ll head over to the gallery,” Wes suggested. “We won’t get lost in such an easy crossing.”

“Capital idea,” Jason declared. “I should have thought of it myself.”

Alice and Carson followed Wes and Lizzy as they led the way to the National Gallery. Jason stood next to Mary, who smoothed the front of her peacock-blue walking suit. She wasn’t good at waiting, and lately she felt more and more curious about Chris and his life in London.

“I realize you know that Mr. Williams grew up here,” Jason said. “Did you know that his grandmother was married to a man who served in the government?”

Mary nodded. “Chris told me something about it, but I don’t really remember.”

“Your country’s ambassador brought Chris’s step-grandfather here to serve as one of his secretaries. His grandmother was quite the entertainer. My father told me that she was such an endearing soul that the stuffier upper crust of London was hard-pressed to ignore or dislike her.”

“But why should they dislike her?”

Jason shrugged. “Because she was an American, and it had been less than fifty years since war between us. But Mrs. Lamb was charming and soon had London eating out of her hand. My father even remembers meeting her once and thinking her quite handsome. He told me that my own grandmother, who seldom left her home for anything less than an invitation to a royal affair, would always attend Mrs. Lamb’s parties. There was just something about her.”

Mary smiled. “Like Chris. People just have a way of opening up to him and enjoying his company.”

“Of course, neither one was very open about their past and the life they led in America.”

“Why should they be? It’s no one else’s business. That’s one thing I’ve never understood about people. Why dwell in the past when the future is infinitely more important?”

Jason shook his head and smiled. “My dear, in the nobler set of London—and England in general—the past is everyone’s business. This city thrives on its foundations and gossip. Why, the past is often far more important than the future.”

Mary caught sight of Chris and waved. She didn’t know if that went against social rules or not, but she really didn’t care.

“I’m sorry to be late,” Chris declared, “but I arranged a bit of a surprise.” He looked at Jason and gave a nod.

“I suppose I shall go join the others.” Jason looked as if he wished Mary or Chris would ask him to stay, but neither did.

“Thank you for staying with me, Mr. Adler.” Mary didn’t even wait for his reply but hooked her arm through Chris’s. “Where are we headed?”

“We’ll start with a walk,” Chris said, leading her away from the square and a dejected Jason Adler. They headed down a road that Mary didn’t recognize. “So Adler felt it was his job to watch over you, eh?” He cast her a sideways smile. “Does he know that you have your pistol in your purse?”

Mary giggled. “I doubt it.”

Chris chuckled and began pointing out various buildings, and Mary devoted herself to learning all she could.

The day was damp, and the overcast skies threatened rain as they often did, but thankfully the bad weather held off. Even if it had poured, Mary wouldn’t have cared. She enjoyed being on the arm of such a handsome man—a man she cared for a great deal. A man she hoped cared for her.

“I arrived here when I was six years old,” he began without her prompting. “My grandmother was encouraging, and as I’ve told you, she loved London. This was one of the first walks she took me on. We often walked for the pure pleasure of exploring.”

“She sounds like a wonderful grandmother. My oma is that way. She always loved to show me things and teach me in the process. Although our walks were usually more rural and dealt with identifying plants and their medicinal properties.”

“Learning is important, and that was my grandmother’s goal as well. She wanted to teach me. She wanted to make me into a better person, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

They continued down a long street with what appeared to be parks on either side of them. Mary started to ask Chris a question and decided better of it. Maybe with him it was best to be silent and let him feel the freedom to share what he would.

“That’s Buckingham Palace ahead of us,” he said.

As they neared, Mary was impressed. “I know a lot of little girls dream of being a queen or at least a princess, but I never did. I was too much of a tomboy—or hoyden, as my teachers usually called me.”

Chris chuckled. “I can imagine.”

She elbowed him. “You aren’t supposed to agree with those who insult me.”

“Was it an insult?”

“Well, hoyden certainly has negative connotations.” Mary smiled and shrugged. “But no, I don’t suppose it matters to me. I loved riding and shooting.”

“There are a great many women in England who love the same. Hunting is popular, as you’ve heard the Adlers mention.”

Mary continued studying the cream-colored palace as they walked closer. “I doubt I could ever be happy in such a place.”

“Why?”

“I just imagine that a place such as Buckingham Palace comes with a great many rules. I was never much good with rules, except when it came to firearms.” She halted their walk and shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t completely without civility.” She laughed. “In fact, I once won a Sunday school award for comportment.”

Chris laughed and pulled her back in step. “I’ll just bet you did.”

They walked past the palace and continued for a long time in silence. Mary didn’t care. She so enjoyed just being beside Chris and watching the world around her. For the moment she didn’t have to impress anyone with her performance or skills. She didn’t have to explain her thoughts or feelings. She was just able to walk and appreciate her surroundings.

Chris took her down several streets, turning at one block and then another. To Mary, the stone buildings looked mostly residential now. Many were ornately trimmed, but most had a simplistic stateliness that suggested wealth and entitlement. After a time, Chris stopped in front of a brick building. There was a long series of doors and windows, suggesting a great many families resided here.

“This was where I grew up,” he said, turning to Mary.

She was so surprised by his announcement that she could say nothing. Instead she looked again at the four-story building. It was a connected series of homes, as best she could tell. She tried to imagine a child growing up here.

Looking around her, Mary spied a small park across the street. “And did you play there?”

“I did on occasion, but only when my grandmother could take me. She was particular about me.” He smiled. “Would you like to see inside the house?”

Her mouth dropped open. “But I thought you sold it.”

“I did, but to a good friend. The man who purchased it came to see me the other day. He invited me to call and take lunch, and I asked if I might bring you. He approved, and so here we are. Now, I ask again, would you like to see inside the house?”

“I would very much enjoy that. Oh, Chris, thank you. Thank you for sharing this with me. I know talking about the past doesn’t come easy.”

He sobered. “No, it doesn’t, but you’ve been a good friend, and I want you to know more about me.”

She surprised them both by jumping forward to kiss him on the cheek. Realizing what she’d done, Mary bowed her head. Her cheeks grew hot. “Sorry. I suppose that was just my Kansas farm girl enthusiasm.”

He chuckled and tucked her arm against his side. “I think I shall enjoy Kansas farm girl enthusiasm.”

She swallowed her embarrassment and managed to raise her gaze to his. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle in delight—something she so seldom saw them do.

Mary couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

Chris had known Horace Middleton since they were in short pants together. Leaving American poverty, where shoes had been a rare luxury, Chris had come to London and found himself plunged into a life of strict rules. Mary had been correct in imagining Buckingham Palace as a house of regulations, but so too were the houses of more common folk.

“I’m honored that you would allow me into your home to see where Christopher grew up,” Mary said as a footman offered her a platter of grilled fish.

“As I’m sure he must have told you, Christopher and I go way back. It was only through his brilliance that I managed to get through school.” Horace, tall and redheaded, gave her a smile. “Of course, I repaid him by seeing he was invited to all the best parties.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Parties where we often drank too much and gamed too long.”

“Yes, but what else is youth for?”

They enjoyed a casual conversation, and Chris relaxed in spite of the talk being focused on the past. After dinner, Horace gave them a tour of the house, leaving no door unopened. It hadn’t been so long since Chris had been here, but the memories seemed to pour out of every corner. Maybe it was due to the stories being told. Maybe it was because Mary made him feel things he’d never thought possible. With her, Chris could be himself without fear of condemnation.

Soon it was time to depart, and Chris thanked Horace for his consideration. “We certainly don’t need to take up your entire day.”

“Do come again to see the show,” Mary encouraged. “I’ll see that you can attend as many as you like for free.”

“I just might take you up on that offer. I’ve never seen anyone shoot like you do, Miss Reichert. It’s been a study in fascination for me.”

They followed Horace to the foyer. Chris cast one more look around. He could almost smell his grandmother’s rose scent, and he half expected her to come sweeping out of the intimate drawing room where she received her guests. He missed her. She had been a mother to him when he was little and a confidante and counselor when he was grown.

“Are you ready?” Mary asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Horace says his driver is waiting to take us to the station.”

Chris nodded. “I’m ready. Thank you again, Horace. It was nice to see the place again, and you were right. Your cook is gifted.”

Horace laughed. “Don’t let it get around. I had to pay a premium to bring him here. I’m afraid to host a dinner party for fear of our friends finding out just how good he is.”

Chris chuckled and offered Mary his arm. “Shall we?”

They made their way outside and down the few stairs to the street. Horace’s driver was waiting, and once they were safely seated, he started them through the busy streets to the station where they would catch their train. They were to meet up with Adler and the others and travel back to the country estate, since there wouldn’t be another performance until the following evening.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Chris asked.

Mary gave him a look that suggested she’d never been happier. “I’m so deeply touched that you arranged this for me. It says to me that you trust me with your memories.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the walls he’d built to protect himself from the ugly opinions of others. “I do trust you, Mary. I trust you as I’ve never trusted anyone else. In time I hope to answer all those questions you have about me and the past. For now, however, I keep those answers to myself as much for my sake as yours.”

Mary’s expression altered to a sad sort of sobriety. “Chris, you never have to worry about what I’ll think. Frankly, if remembering those things causes you pain, then I’d just as soon you forget. I think you know I’ve come to care for you.”

Chris felt a tightening in his chest. “I do know that. I just hope you won’t regret it.”

She shook her head. “How could I ever regret knowing you—caring about you? We’re friends, Chris, and I hope we always will be, if not . . .” She fell silent as the carriage came to a stop.

Chris wondered what she might have said if their journey had been just a little longer. Would she have declared her love for him? Did he want her to? It had been a long time since he’d felt loved, and that had come only from his grandmother. He had never allowed himself to fall in love because of his past, but now it seemed his heart had other ideas. He had a feeling that wherever Mary went, his heart would go also.

That evening, long after everyone else had retired, Chris and Wes sat reading newspapers in front of a large fireplace in the Adler library. Chris yawned and put the paper aside at about the same time Wes put his paper down.

“It seems everyone else has gone to bed. I suppose we should too,” Wes commented. “Tomorrow’s a performance day.”

“Before you go, I wonder if I might talk to you about something.”

Wesley eased back in his leather chair. “Of course. What did you have in mind?”

Chris steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the cushioned arms of the chair. “I care very deeply for Mary.”

“I think we can all see that,” Wes replied, grinning.

“The thing is . . . I haven’t been completely open with her about my past. In particular things that my father and brothers did that earned them a terrible reputation.”

“Why should Mary care about that?”

“Well, even if God doesn’t hold me to blame for the sins of my father, many in human form do. Not only that, but I think I also fear I’ll turn out to be just like him and my brothers. After all, I have quite a temper. I’ve just learned to keep it under control.”

“Which, I’m guessing, is more than your father did.”

“True.”

Wes shrugged. “Then I would also guess that you’re at least one step ahead of him. You care about controlling your temper and work to get along with folks. Your father didn’t care about such things, and it got him in trouble. At least I’m guessin’ it did.”

“You’re right again.”

“So just the fact that you have similar traits doesn’t mean you’re going to end up being like him. God can transform people with the worst of pasts. It’s about the heart and what condition you want it to be in.”

“But it’s not just my heart I’m thinking about.”

Wes stretched his legs. “I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet that Mary would never care about such things. All the time I’ve known her, Mary Reichert has never been pretentious or shallow in her feelings.”

“No. I’ve never known her to be that way either. In fact, she doesn’t even pretend when it comes to God. She’s honest about not having all the answers. Her faith has always been more connected to her grandparents, like mine was to my grandmother. I suppose we both have a long way to go where God is concerned.”

“You just need to take it step by step,” Wes replied. “First you need to believe in Jesus as the Son of God—your Savior. Can you do that? Can you accept that you’re a sinner and, without Jesus to intercede, you’re bound for hell?”

“Yes. I really don’t have a problem accepting that,” Chris admitted. “But I just don’t see why He cares about me.”

“Well, maybe, just for the moment,” Wes said, smiling, “don’t think about what He’s thinking and just concentrate on what you know. You need Him.”

Chris sighed and nodded slowly. “I need Him.”