Authors: Robin Lee Hatcher
At long last, Dillon Macartan spoke again. “I’m a poor man, Mr. Applegate. I’m a good farmer and a hard worker, though I’ve no employment at present. I’m thinkin’ I’ll never have much money. Not even here in this good country. I could never be sending Ned to university.” He sighed. “But I promised me sister I’d come for him.”
“Thank you, Gibson.” Diana held the coachman’s hand as she stepped to the ground.
At nine o’clock on a Friday morning, the sidewalks on this street in downtown Boise City were mostly empty, save for a few men in suits, hurrying to and from offices.
“Shall I wait for you, ma’am?”
“Yes, please do.” She had no idea how long she would be inside. A couple of minutes? A couple of hours? It all depended upon Tyson.
She lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped from the street onto the sidewalk. A deep breath for courage, then she gave her
chin a stubborn tilt and moved with a confidence she didn’t feel toward the door of the “Tyson Applegate for Senate” campaign office. Before she could give her name to the young woman at the first desk, Owen Hanson, the campaign manager, recognized her.
“Mrs. Applegate, what a pleasure to see you.”
“And you, Mr. Hanson. I need a moment with my husband. May I go back to his office?”
It was Tyson’s young assistant, Herbert Eastman, who answered her question from several desks away. “He’s with someone, Mrs. Applegate, but I don’t think he’d mind being interrupted.” He motioned her forward.
“If you’re certain.”
“I am.”
Herbert led the way through the desks in the front office, then slowed to walk beside her as they traversed the hall. Through the open doorway to Tyson’s office, Diana heard her husband’s voice. Nerves jangled in her stomach. She should have waited until whoever was with him had finished their business.
But it was too late to change her mind.
Arriving at the doorway, Tyson’s assistant said, “Pardon me, Mr. Applegate. Your wife is here.”
“Diana?”
Drawing a quick breath, she stepped into view. Tyson’s expression was difficult to read as he rose from the chair behind his desk. Then he glanced at the two men seated opposite him and back to her again.
“Come in, Diana. And Mr. Eastman, if you would close the door please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyson rounded his desk and went to stand beside her. Nerves were replaced by dread. Something was amiss. She’d come to tell
her husband she loved him and wanted to make amends, but her reasons were forgotten as the two strangers stood and faced her.
“Mr. Crawley. Mr. Macartan. May I introduce my wife, Diana Applegate.”
Macartan? She felt the blood drain from her head.
Tyson took hold of her arm, as if knowing she needed steadying. “Mr. Macartan is Ned’s uncle. Ned’s mother’s brother.”
The explanation wasn’t necessary, of course. She saw the resemblance.
“‘Tis good to meet you, Mrs. Applegate. Sure, and it is.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t say the same.
“Diana, is Gibson waiting with the carriage?” Tyson asked.
“Yes. Yes, he is. I didn’t know how long I’d … we’d be.”
“Then perhaps we should take Mr. Macartan to the house with us and introduce him to his nephew.”
Don’t let him take Ned. Ned belongs with us. I love him too much to lose him
.
Her husband looked at her with a mixture of sadness and compassion in his eyes, and she realized this was hard for him too. But he’d become an honest man, a man of integrity. He couldn’t keep Ned from his uncle, no matter how difficult it would be for either of them.
Was it possible to admire and despise him at the same time for those qualities?
Tyson glanced at Dillon. “Mr. Macartan, you’ll understand that after several years of fending for himself, Ned doesn’t give his trust or affections easily. It took time for us to earn both. I should imagine it will take time for you to do the same.”
“Aye. I should imagine.”
“Then I have a proposition for you. You say you’re a hard worker and a good farmer. We don’t have a farm, but we do have an
extensive garden. Since you aren’t employed elsewhere at present, come to work for me as one of the gardeners. Give Ned a chance to get to know you before you decide what to do. You can stay in a room over the stables and take your meals with the rest of our staff.”
Diana wanted to kiss him. He’d given her a little more time with Ned. Not forever, but a little more time.
Brook’s office was stifling hot. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, but he resisted wiping the moisture away with a handkerchief. Not while that burly thug stood opposite him, threatening him with ruin—financial for certain, physical if required.
“You’re out of time, Calhoun. Your creditors want their money, and they sent me to collect.”
“I’ll have it soon. I only need another two weeks. I’ll have payment for you in full. With interest.” That was a lie. He had no way of repaying those loans. He
would
have been able to pay them if Tyson Applegate hadn’t shown up in May. If Brook could have married Diana and got his hands on—
“One week,” the man said. “That’s all you’ll get. One week and then I’ll be back. Have that money or pay the price.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Fear gelled in Brook’s gut. Fear and rage. He grabbed a ledger off his desk and threw it at the wall. It missed its mark, hitting the window in the door instead. Shards of shattered glass flew everywhere.
His secretary ran into the room, but before he could say anything, Brook told him to get out. The fellow wisely did as he was told.
Brook cursed as he paced the length of his office. He had to get his hands on that money. A large sum of money. Without it he would be ruined.
This was
Diana’s
fault too. As much as it was her husband’s fault for being alive. She’d led Brook on. She’d made him think she would marry him. She
owed
him, and he needed to collect.
May 1899
Diana stood near the window and watched Brook Calhoun get into his buggy and drive away.
“Did you have a pleasant evening, dear?” her mother asked from a chair in the parlor.
Diana turned. “Yes, we did.”
“Will you accept if he asks for your hand in marriage?”
“Good heavens, Mother. I have no expectation he will ask me to marry him.” She sat on the sofa. “Besides, I’m not free to marry, and Mr. Calhoun knows that.”
“Tyson isn’t coming home, Diana. He’s dead.”
“Presumed dead is not legally dead.”
Her mother sighed as she set aside her yarn and knitting needles. “Could you be happy with Mr. Calhoun?”
Diana pondered the question. She had no strong emotions for Brook, good or bad. He was pleasant enough company. He was a merchant with a growing business in a growing city. He would be able to provide for a wife and family. They could have a comfortable life together.
I would never love him
.
Perhaps that was what attracted her the most to Brook Calhoun. She didn’t love him and didn’t believe she ever would. Which meant he wouldn’t be able to hurt her.
At last she answered her mother, “I would be happy enough.”
The closer the carriage got to the house, the more confident Tyson became he was doing the right thing, taking Dillon Macartan home to meet his nephew. But his chest hurt when he glanced at Diana. Her heart would be broken when Ned left them.
His gaze shifted from his wife, seated on his left side, to Dillon Macartan, seated opposite him. Tyson considered himself a fair judge of character, and his gut told him Ned’s uncle was exactly who and what he said he was. A hard worker and a man who kept his promises, even when it took longer than expected.
When they arrived at the house, the party descended from the carriage and made their way to the front door. Upchurch was there to meet them, as usual.
“Where might we find Ned?” Tyson inquired.
“I believe the boy is down at the stables, sir. The new horse arrived a short while ago, and he heard about it.”
Diana said, “New horse?”
He shrugged. “I thought Ned should have a horse of his own.”
Oh
, she mouthed without a sound.
Tyson wanted to gather her close and kiss away the sadness in her eyes. Instead he looked at Dillon. “We’ll go down to the stables to meet Ned, and then I’ll introduce you to the head gardener.”
“Mr. Applegate, I—” Dillon stopped, shook his head, and then nodded.
“Come with me.”
Tyson had expected to see his mother-in-law and father seated in the shade, but the bench was empty for a change. He discovered why as they drew near the stable entrance.
“By heaven!” His father’s voice. “That’s a fine horse you have there, my boy. Very fine horse.”
“My boy.”
A rare pleasant memory from Tyson’s boyhood flashed in his mind. He’d been a year or two younger than Ned, and his father had lavished praise on him as he’d ridden his horse in the arena on the Applegate estate.
“My boy.”
They stopped in the doorway. There was Ned in the center of the barn, holding the gelding by its lead rope, while Jeremiah Applegate walked a slow circle around horse and boy. Standing near one of the stalls was Claude Romano with Gloria Fisher, Trouble’s leash in her right hand. Tyson was about to speak when Ned saw them.
“Miss Diana! Come look. Did you know I was gettin’ a horse of my own?”
She released her hold on Tyson’s arm and moved toward Ned. “No, I didn’t know. It’s a wonderful surprise, isn’t it? It was Mr. Tyson’s idea.”
“Thanks, Mr. Tyson!” But Ned’s gaze was back on the chestnut gelding.
“Mr. Applegate,” Dillon said softly, “How long has the boy been staying with you.”
“Almost two months.”
“Should we not delay telling him who I am?”
Tyson wanted to agree but knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the truth and he’d learned the value of telling the truth. Besides, Ned was a smart kid. Even if he wasn’t told Dillon’s last name, he would see the family resemblance.
When Diana reached Ned, the boy turned and hugged her.
The sight made Tyson remember the baby she’d lost more than six years ago. He hurt for his wife even more than when she’d first told him about it. He hurt for himself, too. His selfish acts of long ago kept rippling through the years. Would they always do so? Would they never stop hurting the innocent?
“Come along, Mr. Macartan,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
The two men walked toward the center of the barn. Tyson stopped at Diana’s right, and he was soon the recipient of Ned’s enthusiastic appreciation, hugged tightly around the waist by little boy arms.
The weeks in the Applegate home had changed Ned. Good food had put meat on his bones. Kindness had removed distrust from his eyes. Love had given him new confidence and the ability to express his emotions.
God, don’t let it all be undone
.
“Thanks, Mr. Tyson,” the boy said as he released his hold and took a step back.
“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Ned, we have another surprise for you.”
“Yeah? What?”
Tyson put his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “This man is your uncle, Dillon Macartan. Your mother’s brother. He came from Ireland to find you. He’s been looking for you for some time without success.”
Ned’s eyes widened, then promptly narrowed as he turned toward his uncle.
“Sure and you’re the spittin’ image of your ma when she was a girl.” Dillon held out his hand to Ned.
The boy didn’t take it.
“‘Tis sorry I am it took so long for me to find you. I never would if not for these good folk. ‘Tis even more sorry I am that I wasn’t here when your ma needed me. Sure and she was dear to me.”
Tyson glanced toward where the groom stood with Gloria Fisher. With a jerk of his head, he indicated Claude should come and take the horse. To Diana, Tyson said, “Let’s all go back to the house to talk.”
“Yes. We should.”
But Ned stopped them. “Is he gonna take me away?” The stubborn expression on his face was familiar, though it had been absent for a while.
The three adults exchanged looks.
God, give us wisdom
. Ned stuck out his chin. “I ain’t gonna go. I’m stayin’ here.”
It was all Diana could do not to drop to her knees, pull Ned into a tight embrace, and declare neither one of them were leaving. Not ever. They belonged together, Tyson and Diana and Ned. They were a family. They should stay a family.
But circumstances demanded a different response. “Ned.” She held out her hand to him. “Please. Your uncle has come a long way. Your mother would wish for you to talk to him.”
She supposed it was unfair to use the memory of his mother to manipulate his behavior, but it was the only thing she was certain would work. And it did. Ned took hold of her hand and walked with her toward the house.
Diana thought back to a month before, to that picnic by the river with Tyson, her mother, Ned, and Trouble. The memory
seemed warm and alight with hope and joy. She’d been happy, although she hadn’t had the good sense to realize how happy at the time. She’d been falling in love with Tyson for the second time in her life, although she hadn’t had the good sense to realize that either.
I saw through a glass darkly
.
Or perhaps she was simply a fool.
They went to the veranda. Diana’s mother and Jeremiah had made themselves scarce, taking the dog with them, so it was just the four of them. While the others were seated, Tyson opened the door to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Cuddy for coffee for the adults. Then he went to stand behind Diana, placing a hand on her right shoulder. She was thankful for it. When Tyson had kissed her cheek last night and told her he was sorry, she’d wondered if she would ever feel his touch again.
“Ned”—Dillon leaned toward the boy—”may I be telling you something about the Macartans?”
Several heartbeats passed before Ned acquiesced with a nod.
Dillon returned it. “Your granda owned a farm in County Tipperary in Ireland. That’s where your ma and me and our baby brother were born, and where our brother and ma died before either of us was grown. ‘Twas a hard life but a good one, but your ma wanted something more. She thought a better life was to be found in America. A chance to make somethin’ more of herself than to be a poor farmer’s wife. There were things I was wanting too, but there was only enough money for one passage so I had to wait.”