eighteen

Jacobs had been ace reporter for the newspaper owned by Clement Rossiter II. They were also the best of friends. After an exhausting stint by Jacobs covering a war-ravaged, Middle Eastern country, Clement had laughed and said he knew what his friend needed to refresh him. He could cover the beauty pageant.

At first, Jacobs thought Clem was kidding, but Jacobs decided that the pageant would be a welcome assignment and maybe what he needed after having seen so much devastation and killing.

Right away, he was particularly drawn to Catherine, the beauty queen who won in the talent competition when she wore a patriotic costume—shorts of blue, tails of red-and-white stripes, shirt of stars, and a top hat of white with a band of red and white. She twirled a sparkling blue-and-silver baton with red-and-white tassels on it. She was a great hit in her high heels, prancing and twirling to the tune of “It’s a Grand Ol’ Flag.”

She was a communications major and wanted to be a journalist. Jacobs had been thirty-five then, well into his career. He was quite taken with Catherine and was flattered with the attention she gave him. When Clement asked him, Jacobs agreed they should give her a chance at the newspaper. Although he had decided to ask Patricia to marry him, he relished the fact that he and the charming, witty, beautiful Catherine would be going to the south of France on assignment.

He quickly discovered that she had more than beauty. She had intelligence and journalistic ability. He wanted to teach her whatever she needed to learn. She seemed to think he was the greatest, and he was flattered. They worked, then they walked along the beach on the Riviera. He forgot his age of thirty-five and ignored hers of twenty-three as a full moon shone down upon them and the gentle waves caressed the beach.

Many nights, they stood in the shadows and forgot about anyone else but themselves. There was just the two of them, and one night after a moonlight swim they returned to their hotel but did not go to their separate rooms.

The following morning a phone call awakened them. While he was taking the call, she’d slipped out of bed and into her clothes and then left his room. There had been no time for discussion. His boss and best friend had been on the phone, telling him to take the next plane home. Clem Rossiter was going to run for state senator and wanted Jacobs to be his campaign manager.

Jacobs hadn’t known what to say to Catherine. Would she be insulted if he apologized? Had he taken advantage of her? Was she sorry? He found her in the hotel dining room, eating breakfast and drinking coffee with some of the crew.

They all spoke when he walked up, and he sat in the empty seat across from her. She smiled at her coffee cup but didn’t really meet his eyes, and he didn’t know if she were afraid her happiness might show, or her embarrassment.

He told the crew he’d have to leave. He told himself it was just one of those things that happened when two people were attracted to each other. That’s all it was. The haste of his new assignment and the excitement of it made him push everything else in the background. Besides, every-one was congratulating him, saying good-bye, making jokes by comparing the smog of Washington with the wide open spaces of the French Riviera. Catherine had smiled too, without even looking directly at him.

There had been neither time nor any need to say more to Catherine. He returned to Washington, and life became so hectic he tried not to even think of her. He was busy with the campaign and social engagements. When Catherine asked for foreign assignments, he felt inclined to give her whatever she requested.

As expected, he proposed to the ambassador’s daughter, and Patricia began planning their wedding. He’d known for several years they were right for each other. They loved each other. She fit right in with his life, being the daughter of an ambassador, and he started becoming recognized by the powerful people in Washington.

And too, Catherine’s reports were superb. He believed her to be caught up in her career. Apparently that night was simply a mistake that should be forgotten. After all, didn’t a lot of people take their pleasure where they could with no regrets? He didn’t have to try and make more of it than it was. He didn’t like to think of it as a one-night stand, yet he didn’t want to make more of it than it had been. A young girl caught up in the romance of the moment, with an older man who was her supervisor, her mentor. Had she been afraid not to give in to him? His conscience wouldn’t allow him to treat it as something trivial to be dismissed.

His relationship with Patricia became tense. They both credited that to the hectic schedule of his additional responsibilities. The wedding plans continued. It was announced in the paper. Catherine would see it. The following day she called, saying there was to be a state wedding in Morocco and she’d like to cover it.

He told her yes. He was making such decisions, now that Clem was heavy into campaigning.

He never said, “Forgive me.”

They simply went about their lives separately, and when she returned to Washington, he was totally committed to Patricia. Catherine never gave the impression she cared particularly about him, or anyone, except her career. She asked for the “Ask Auntie” advice column, and he gave it to her.

They ran in the same circles and often engaged in polite conversation. She became best friends with Gayle Rossiter. She never once gave the impression she was anything but a friend of his and Patricia’s. Only one thing had changed about the Catherine he’d fallen for on the beach in the south of France. She never again turned challenging eyes his way, nor gave him a delighted smile.

She was polite and friendly. He’d come to accept that he had been a rapscallion who had taken advantage of a young girl infatuated with moonlight and sweet talk from an older man.

“Forgive me,” he said now.

Catherine said, amid the tears bathing her face, “Some-thing beautiful came from that night of indiscretion. Beth is something to be thankful for. She is a blessing.”

Jacobs nodded, his own vision blurring.

A child.

My child.

I have a daughter. A lovely Christian girl.

His moment of overwhelming joy quickly changed as questions bombarded his mind. Should Beth be told? If so, would her condemnation and rejection pierce his heart, causing a wound greater than if he’d never known the truth?

“What do we do now?” he asked helplessly.

“Let me talk to Beth,” Catherine said. “I don’t know if she is strong enough to endure finding out that she’s adopted, losing the senator, and discovering you’re her father. This may all be enough to send her back to South Carolina. Oh, Jacobs, I don’t want to lose her again.”

❧

The day of truth, Beth thought, when Jacobs told her he was going to talk with Catherine at Capitol House. She couldn’t concentrate on her work, especially with Ross working in the office next to her. Schedules had been off for everyone during the past weeks anyway.

Ross just nodded when she told him she would be in her room for awhile.

She lay on the couch in her sitting room, trying to figure out how she would react if Aunt Catherine said, “Yes, I’m your birth mother.”

Hearing a faint knock on her door, she sat up and said, “Come in.” When her aunt walked in with that stark look on her face and concern in her eyes, Beth thought she knew the answer of who was her birth mother.

Aunt Catherine sat beside her and took her hands.

Beth listened to her story of how she had been a willful young woman who fell hard for a handsome man when she was on assignment in France. She hadn’t thought much about the future or of consequences, only of what pleased her at the moment—and that had been being in the arms of the man with whom she was so infatuated.

“I did what I thought best at the time,” Aunt Catherine said. “The man was becoming quite important on the political scene. I knew it would ruin his personal life and several persons’ careers if it became known that I was pregnant with his child. He never knew. And I knew that I had just been a headstrong girl, pretending she knew all about life when she knew very little.”

“That was a noble act, Aunt Catherine,” Beth said.

Her aunt shook her head. “Not entirely. I can’t say I was completely unselfish. In the back of my mind was the realization of guilt, shame, and shattered dreams. Mary Elizabeth was the good girl—I was the black sheep. I knew I couldn’t pursue my ambitions. I would have to humble myself, struggle.”

“You don’t have to tell me all this,” Beth said, when the older woman paused to wipe her eyes.

“I want to. I’m trying to be honest, but I honestly don’t know exactly why I made all the decisions the way I did. Everyone thought the decision to let Mary and John adopt you was a good one. I truly wanted to do the right thing. But I can tell you this, without a shadow of a doubt.”

She looked directly into Beth’s eyes. “If I had seen you and held you before I signed those adoption papers, nobody could have pried you out of my arms, even with a crowbar.”

She began to sob. Beth went over and put her arms around her shoulders, drawing her head close to her. “Don’t cry, Aunt Catherine. I was shocked to find this out. But I’m not hurt. I’m the same person I’ve always been.”

The woman lifted her head and moved back. “You don’t despise me or think I’m a horrible person?”

“No.” Beth shook her head. “I can’t say if your decision was right or wrong. But I know I’ve had a good life with parents who love me, and I’m grateful for that. And I’ve had an aunt who I have loved and admired all my life.” She smiled, in spite of the moisture in her own eyes. “I still do.”

“Oh, honey. I think I’ve made a much better aunt than I would have a mother.” They smiled affectionately at each other. “Now,” Aunt Catherine said, “maybe we’d better get dried off and fix our faces.”

“One more thing, Aunt Catherine,” Beth said, as a thought dawned upon her. “You said if your pregnancy was known, it would have ruined careers. Is that still true?”

After a thoughtful moment, her aunt replied, “No. That’s no longer true.”

Beth got the impression that Aunt Catherine hadn’t realized that before.

“Then I’d liked to call my parents and tell them I know about this. And Ross should know. I don’t want to keep anything from him. He’s been through enough lately.”

Aunt Catherine nodded. “We’ll be in the library.”