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 storage 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.

“For a while. I have to. There was something in the letter from Oliver I have to tend to, and of course David has begged me to return to see Frederic before he dies—if he dies, or if he is still alive. Whichever.”

“When?”

“I-I don’t know. Soon.”

“You don’t know or you won’t say?” He rolled over and looked at the bedroom, suddenly aware it was too neat and uncluttered. “When, Alex?” He turned back to her. “Tell me, dammit!”

“Soon.” She kissed him, brushing his lips and then pulling his head down to hers. “Soon.”

In the chill of morning, when the punchers had ridden out, Tom called for them with the buggy. Wilson, trying to be stalwart, and holding back tears, loaded the rig and stood aside. Alex held a box she had tied with a pink ribbon and handed it to Tom. “For Sue Ann,” she said.

“Is that the dress?” Tom asked. Alex nodded. “But you’ll be back to wear it for your twenty-first.”

“I’ll come back with other dresses, new dresses, and we’ll have a huge party again.” She smiled and her eyes scanned Tom as if she were trying to memorize his face. “And you’ll give this to Jesse,” she said handing him an envelope.

“I will. Of course I will. But he’ll be mad as all get-out. So will Annie and the rest of them.”

“I can’t say good-bye. Anyway, it isn’t good-bye. I’ll be back.”

“I know that. I want to do that in loco parentis business. Can I get you to eat beef once and for all?”

Alex laughed a bit. “Well, mebbe.”

Tom helped the two women into the buggy and the three rode in silence to the station through the morning light. Mist had settled on the river and the wet grass sparkled like a green carpet with jewels thrown across it. Alex looked up to see a hawk gliding on an air current and looking for prey. She thought perhaps one day she would start painting animals and birds rather than people, landscapes before they disappeared forever.

On the platform she turned to Tom and said, “I’ll be in New York a few days, of course, to settle matters there. Don’t forget what I said.”

“Alex, I—well, Annie and I, we can’t thank you enough...”

“Don’t say anything more, Tom. I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t know what I would have done all these years without the two of you.”

“Yes, but this is different.”

“Oh, no, oh no, it’s not.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then followed Rose onto the train.

****

3 April 1887

My darling Jesse,

Please forgive me. Goodbyes are just too torturous, and the thought of not seeing you for so many months is far more than I can bear. It is not so much I need to see Frederic before he passes, but I need to know my story, if there is anything more to know. Oliver said there are possessions of my mother’s at Bayfordbury and he believes Frederic prevented me from getting an inheritance, which was rightfully mine. David, of course, was only seven at the time of her death so would probably not know much, but he may help unravel the mystery at least.

Jesse, I can’t tell you what this is doing to me, to be separated from you like this, but at least I know when I get back we shall never be separated again—I promise. Please write as often as you can, as shall I. If you find someone else, if you decide you don’t love me, just write to say so. I wouldn’t be able to bear not knowing, not hearing from you. These last months until the winter were the happiest of my life. You have given me so much. I only hope I can someday give back something in return.

I will wear the bracelet always. I will love you forever. I am,

Your Alex