Chapter Twenty
The meal was the best Breckinridge had had in months, just as he expected. His mother stayed busy cooking all evening. She set plate after plate of food in front of Breck, and he emptied each of them in turn while his father and brothers looked on in amazement. Finally Robert said, “I see it’s true what they say about some things never changing.”
“I didn’t eat this good the whole time I was gone,” Breckinridge said around a mouthful of biscuit and molasses.
“Yeah, you’re skinnier than you used to be,” Henry said. “I’ll bet I could whip you at arm-wrestlin’ now.”
Breckinridge just grunted to show how unlikely he considered that possibility.
After a while, he asked, “How are things in Knoxville? How’s Maureen Grantham?”
He tried to make the questions sound casual, but he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. Evidently not very well, judging by the sudden wary looks that appeared on his family’s faces.
They all hesitated for a few seconds, then Robert said, “She’s not Maureen Grantham anymore, Breckinridge. She’s Maureen Aylesworth now. She married the Aylesworth boy a couple of months after you left.”
That news went through Breckinridge like a physical blow. He knew that Richard Aylesworth had intended to marry Maureen, but Richard himself had said that he was going to wait a couple more years.
Obviously, he had changed his mind.
The marriage wasn’t the only bit of unwelcome news. Breckinridge’s mother said, “There’s talk that Maureen is in the family way.”
“She’s expectin’?” Breckinridge said, jolted and a little sickened by the idea of Maureen having Richard Aylesworth’s baby. That just wasn’t right.
“Aye,” Robert said heavily. “So if you had any thoughts in your head about that girl, son, you might as well forget ’em. She’s a married woman now. You’d do well to stay as far away from her as you can.”
Breckinridge knew his father was right, but at the same time he had been yearning to see Maureen again ever since he had turned his steps back toward home. Many of those cold, lonely nights on the trail, he had clung to his memories of her, conjuring up her beautiful image in his mind’s eye and drawing warmth and hope from it. She had kept him going, and now he had a hard time accepting the fact that she belonged to someone else.
Because Richard would regard her as a possession, like a fine rifle or a good hunting dog. Breckinridge was sure of that. That was just the sort of man Richard Aylesworth was.
Robert leaned forward and asked, “Did you hear me, Breck? I said you need to stay away from Maureen Grantham . . . I mean, Maureen Aylesworth.”
“I hear you, Pa,” Breckinridge said.
But he didn’t promise he would do as his father advised. He was going to have to think about that for a while before he made up his mind.
* * *
For a couple of days, Breckinridge worked hard around the farm. There were jobs he could do because of his great strength that it took two of his brothers to accomplish. He counted on that strenuous labor to keep his mind off Maureen. The tactic didn’t really work very well, however, as she continued stealing into his thoughts.
Maybe if he paid her a visit and saw with his own eyes that she was happy, that marriage to Richard Aylesworth was what she really wanted, then he would be able to put her out of his mind and go on with his life.
The only other alternative was to leave for the frontier immediately, where the daily struggle to stay alive might prove to be a sufficient distraction.
Breckinridge had given his family a highly edited version of his adventures since he’d left. He didn’t want any of them, especially his mother, to know just how dangerous some of those times had been. But even leaving out a lot of things, the stories were still exciting enough to stir up some wanderlust in his brothers. He saw it in their eyes as he was talking, and he hoped he wouldn’t be the cause of more disruption in the family. The last thing his folks needed was to have more sons run off to see the vast frontier for themselves.
On the other hand, he asked himself, who was he to deny his brothers that experience if it was what they really wanted?
With all that turbulence going on in Breckinridge’s mind, it was no wonder that he quickly found himself growing restless. He longed for the simplicity of the wilderness. Tom Lang had sure been right: the West got into a man’s blood and didn’t want to let go.
By the time almost a week had gone by, Breckinridge knew it was no use. He had to see Maureen and say a final good-bye to her. That was the only way he could stop being haunted by thoughts of her.
After the midday meal, he went to the creek for a bucket of water and started washing up. His father saw him and got a worried look on his face.
“You’re going to see the Grantham girl, aren’t you?” Robert asked.
“I just want to talk to her one last time, Pa,” Breckinridge replied. “If I don’t, it’s liable to be eatin’ away at me the rest of my life.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” Robert asked angrily. “You think she’s going to decide she made a mistake marrying Richard Aylesworth and run away with you? She’s with child, Breckinridge! She’s not going to abandon her husband.”
“I don’t expect her to. I just want to see for myself that she’s all right and tell her good-bye. I never got a chance to that other time.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to see you. Did you ever think about that?”
Breckinridge frowned. He said, “If she tells me to go, then I’ll go. But at least it’ll be settled.”
Robert snorted in disgust.
“I’d say it was pretty well settled when she told Aylesworth, ‘I do.’”
Breckinridge dumped the bucket of water over his head, shook out his long red hair, and pulled on a buckskin shirt.
“Are you gonna stop me, Pa?” he asked.
“You know I can’t do that. I wouldn’t, even if I could. Sometimes a man’s got to make his own damn-fool mistakes, or else he’s never going to learn anything.”
At least his father had just referred to him as a man, Breckinridge thought. To the best of his memory, that was the first time his pa had acknowledged the fact.
He put a saddle on one of the horses and was about to ride away when he stopped and looked around at his father.
“I just remembered, I don’t know where they live,” he said.
“I shouldn’t tell you,” Robert said, “but you’d just ask somebody in Knoxville and find out that way. The boy’s father bought them a house.” He told Breckinridge where to find the place, then added, “Don’t lose that horse this time.”
Breckinridge nodded ruefully. He had told his family that Hector had been stolen, which certainly was true as far as it went. He merely left out the part about how he’d been drugged and double-crossed by a gambler and a runaway girl.
The ride to Knoxville didn’t take long. It was a cool, late autumn afternoon, with small patches of blue sky peeking through a gray overcast.
Breckinridge found the house without any trouble and tied the horse to a post beside the gate in the picket fence around the yard. The house was large and comfortable looking, sitting under tall trees that were mostly bare at this time of year. A couple of stately evergreens flanked the flagstone path leading up to the verandah, though.
Breckinridge stood there looking at the house for a moment, then took a deep breath and opened the gate. As he approached the house, he thought he saw a curtain move a little at one of the windows on the second floor.
Was Maureen behind that curtain, looking out at him? Was she shocked to see him? Happy? Angry?
A maid answered Breckinridge’s knock on the door. He said, “I’d like to speak to . . . Mrs. Aylesworth . . . please.”
He hated the way those words sounded in his mouth. They were so wrong they made his skin crawl.
The maid told him to wait and closed the door. As Breckinridge stood there, the wind picked up a little. It felt chillier now than it had when he was riding into town, Breck thought.
The maid opened the door again and said, “The missus says you should come on in.”
She led Breckinridge into a well-appointed parlor and told him to have a seat. All the chairs looked a little spindly to Breck, so he lowered himself onto a divan instead, worrying slightly about its even being able to support his weight.
He didn’t have to sit there for very long. Maureen appeared in the parlor’s arched doorway. Breckinridge caught his breath at the sight of her.
She was as beautiful as ever, wearing a dark blue, high-necked dress. Her hair was pulled to the back of her head and fastened there. As she came toward Breckinridge, he saw the rounded belly. She was in the family way, all right. Richard must have gotten her like that not long after their marriage.
“Breckinridge,” she said softly as she held out both hands toward him. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
He stood up and clasped her hands. No power on earth could have prevented him from doing so. As usual, he towered over her, so she had to tip her head back to look up at him.
His father had been right about one thing: she wasn’t a girl anymore. Even though less than a year had passed since he last saw her, she had changed dramatically. She was a woman now . . . with a woman’s burdens haunting her dark eyes.
“Maureen . . .” he said as he struggled to come up with the right words and cursed himself for being so tongue-tied. Finally he went on, “I had to see you again.”
“And it’s good to see you,” she said as she managed to put a small, sad smile on her face. The smile went away as she added, “But Richard wouldn’t like it if he knew you were here.”
Breckinridge saw something flare in her eyes as she mentioned her husband. He thought at first that it was worry, then realized it was more than that.
She was afraid.
His hands tightened on hers, although he was careful not to grip them too hard. He said, “Maureen, what’s wrong? Are you scared of that—”
“Scared?” she broke in. “Of my own husband?” She let out a little laugh that didn’t convince Breckinridge at all. “Why would I be afraid of Richard? He loves me.” She hurried on, “Please, sit down. I told the maid to bring us some tea. We’ll have a nice visit, but then you’ll have to go. Richard is at the store now, but he’ll be home directly.”
“He works in his father’s store, does he?”
“He runs it now. The elder Mr. Aylesworth was struck down by apoplexy several months ago. He survived the attack, but he can’t work anymore.”
So Aylesworth had taken over his pa’s store. That came as no surprise to Breckinridge. A lot of fellas went into the family business. Breck, however, wasn’t one of them.
Breckinridge sat down on the divan again. Maureen sat, too, keeping a proper distance between them. Breck wished he could take her in his arms and give her a kiss, just one kiss, but he knew that would be wrong. He wouldn’t be able to forget that she was carrying Aylesworth’s baby, either.
“So tell me,” Maureen said with that forced brightness again, “where have you been? What have you been doing while you were gone?”
Breckinridge condensed the tale even more for her than he had for his parents and brothers. He gave a brief account of how he had worked on a keelboat on the Mississippi, then joined a military surveying expedition out onto the prairie. He purposely didn’t mention river pirates or Indians or bloody death.
“That sounds very exciting,” Maureen said. “With all that going on, what brings you back to Knoxville?”
“I got a letter from my brother Edward. It said I wasn’t, uh, wanted by the law anymore.”
Maureen’s face grew solemn as she nodded.
“Yes, that was all terribly unfortunate,” she said. “Richard told me that you misunderstood the situation and were afraid you’d be blamed for the tragedy. He tried to find you to let you know that you didn’t need to leave, but he was too late.”
In other words, thought Breckinridge, Aylesworth had spun a whole passel of bald-faced lies, and Maureen had swallowed each and every one of them.
Or maybe she just pretended to believe them. Maybe she was even pretending to herself. That might be easier than accepting the truth about the man she had married.
The maid brought cups of tea on a fancy silver tray. Breckinridge felt awkward as he held the dainty china cup in his big hand. He worried that he would crush it without meaning to, so he was careful as he sipped the tea.
“What made you decide to marry Richard?” he asked, then thought that the question was too blunt. It was too late to take it back, though.
“Why, he said that he loved me and proposed to me,” she replied.
And that was all it took, Breckinridge thought bitterly.
“My father was opposed to the idea at first,” she went on. “He said that I was too young to be married. But Richard swore his devotion to me, and that won Father over, I suppose. It was quite a fine wedding. I . . . I wish you could have been there, Breckinridge.”
Somehow he doubted that she was being sincere. He knew good and well that he wouldn’t have wanted to be there to see her united for life with a no-good scoundrel like Richard Aylesworth.
He looked down into the tea cup and said, “And now the two of you are startin’ a family.”
“Yes,” Maureen said. When he glanced at her he saw that her face was pink and knew he shouldn’t have brought up the subject. He’d embarrassed her. She went on, “I hope to have many children.”
“Well, I hope you get what you want.” He drained the cup and leaned forward to set it on a table. “I reckon I’d better be goin’—”
She surprised him by reaching toward him and resting her hand on his arm.
“Breckinridge,” she said, “why did you really come to see me today? What have you heard?”
Her voice held a tone of urgency. She was upset about something again. He said, “Why, I just wanted to say howdy and find out how you’re doin’. I’d like to think that we were friends.”
She smiled again.
“We were. We are friends, Breckinridge.”
“And I, uh, wanted a chance to say so long to you. I never got to tell you good-bye when I left before.”
“Are you leaving again?” Suddenly she looked worried. “You haven’t come home to stay?”
“No, I reckon not.” He hadn’t told his family yet, but he knew there was no doubt in his mind. He’d be going back to the frontier, probably before winter set in.
“Oh, I wish you would. I’d really like to see you every now and then. As long as . . . as long as you don’t pay any attention to any crazy stories you might hear . . .”
There it was again, her worry about something he might have heard. Breckinridge was baffled about what she was referring to, but he didn’t want to admit that.
“Well, I won’t be leavin’ right away,” he said. “I think it might be a good idea if I didn’t come back by, though—”
A heavy footstep on the porch interrupted the conversation. Maureen’s head jerked sharply in that direction as her eyes widened.
“Richard . . . !” she breathed.
Breckinridge came to his feet as the front door opened and the footsteps continued into the foyer. They stopped short as Richard Aylesworth appeared in the entrance to the parlor, looking as dapper as ever. He stared at Breck, apparently as shocked as he would have been if he’d come into his home and found a grizzly bear sitting in the parlor sipping tea.
For a moment Aylesworth struggled to get any words out of his mouth. Then he said with utter venom, “Wallace!”
“That’s right,” Breckinridge said. “I’ve come home, Aylesworth . . . no thanks to you.”
Aylesworth’s surprised expression turned to one of anger as his gaze darted toward his wife. He said, “Maureen, what’s this oaf doing here? How could you allow him into our home?”
Maureen’s hands fluttered helplessly in front of her as she stood up and said, “Please, Richard, there’s no need for an unpleasant scene. Breckinridge simply came by to say hello. He and I are old friends—”
“A man’s wife has no need for male friends, old or otherwise,” Aylesworth said coldly. He looked at Breckinridge again. “I’ll thank you to get out, Wallace.”
“I was just goin’,” Breckinridge said. He took a step toward the door. If Aylesworth didn’t get out of his way, he was prepared to walk right over the varmint.
Maureen reached out and clutched at his sleeve, stopping him.
“Breck, please—” she began.
“Let him go, darling,” Aylesworth said, and despite the affectionate term, the words were as cold and flinty as if he’d been giving an order to a servant.
Breckinridge turned to look at Maureen. Her hand fell away from his arm and her eyes turned toward the floor. She murmured, “Of course, Richard,” and stepped back so that she was standing with her legs against the divan.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Aylesworth,” Breckinridge forced himself to say. “I hope you have a long, happy life.”
Maureen flinched slightly, as if he had just slapped her instead of wishing her the best. Maybe that was really the way he’d meant it. Breckinridge didn’t know.
Aylesworth stepped aside and came over to Maureen as Breckinridge stalked out. From the corner of his eye he saw her pull away from him slightly as he grasped her arm. He wasn’t rough about it, though, so Breck didn’t see any reason to stop.
She had made her own bed, as the old saying went. Her life was no longer any of his business, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Despite that, as he rode away a thought nagged at the back of his brain.
He wished he knew what she’d meant by that comment about things he might have heard.