Elizabeth stood there enraged, wordless, and defeated!
Becky purchased the smaller house and moved into it before the month ended. She took Mrs. Atkins with her. She was a pleasant middle-aged woman capable of any household duty and the servant Becky trusted most. After the confusion of settling into the smaller place was over, she found herself both happier and healthier than she’d been in a long while.
She had a tiny, brick-walled garden in the rear of the house, and she often entertained Bart out there. It was easier for them to meet now, without the fear of Elizabeth spying on them.
One late afternoon as Bart sat for tea with her in the garden area, he said, “I wish I were free.”
“So do I,” she said, staring at him across the table. “Have you talked to Vera about this?”
“Yes,” he said, sighing. “She does not want a divorce. It seems her mother doesn’t believe in divorces. Confound it, I can never be sure whether I’m married to her or her mother!”
“Alice Kerr is a dominant woman in her quiet way,” she agreed.
“Old Matthew hardly gets out of his room now,” Bart said.
“I thought he looked poorly at the time of Mark’s funeral.”
“He’s worse now,” Bart assured her. “I shall miss him. He makes living there more bearable.”
“So you think you’ll never get a divorce?”
“That is the way it looks at the moment,” he said. “And I’m sorry. Especially under the circumstances.”
“It simply means your child will have Mark’s name.”
“That worries me,” he said. “And I’m concerned for you.”
“Gregg is a good name for the child,” she said. “And I shall manage. I have all the money I need thanks to Mark’s will and the prosperity of the business.”
“The firm is having an excellent year,” Bart said. “Brunei has agreed to design some advanced screw propellors for our firm alone. This will give us an edge on our competitors.”
“Iron steamships are sweeping sailing vessels from the sea, just as you predicted,” she said.
Bart smiled. “It is our era.”
“What of the future?”
“I can see no great changes. Improvements perhaps. That is all.”
“I wonder,” she said. “Things do seem to continually change.”
“Don’t worry about the business,” the big man told her. “Let us concentrate on our own affairs.”
“I’m enjoying this house,” she said.
Bart nodded. “I’m beginning to look on it as my true home.”
She smiled wanly. “We are a strange, lost pair. What would have happened to us if we hadn’t found each other?”
“I hate to think what my life would have been,” Bart said. “Meaningless, except for my son.”
“How is young Donald?”
“Growing more like me every day,” Bart smiled. “But I hate to think of him being brought up by Vera and her mother.”
“You know the danger,” she said. “Exert your influences on him from the start. Make yourself an important figure to him.”
“I’m planning on that.”
“Then it should be all right.”
“And your child?”
She smiled. “I have a premonition it will be a girl. Would you mind?”
“I’d be delighted,” Bart said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. Their eyes met fondly as he added, “especially if she resembles you.”
Matthew Kerr died a month later. When Becky went to pay her respects, she was greeted rather icily by the dark-veiled wife and daughter. After the funeral she had no communication with them again. Nor did she ever speak with Elizabeth. She occasionally saw her leaving for the mission or returning in her carriage, but she never had occasion to talk with her. She knew her sister-in-law wished to avoid her, and this suited her very well.
When she used a carriage these days, she either rented one or Bart sent one for her. Since his youth on the docks he had a great liking for music hall entertainment. He enjoyed nothing better than to sit and watch a good performance by a troupe of vaudeville artists. There were a number of these music halls scattered about the city, and she and Bart often attended one of them, conspicious in an audience composed largely of working class people. Bart laughed as loudly as any of them and pounded his fist in the palm of his other hand when some especially good turn amused him.
As autumn drew near and her condition became noticeable, she spent most of her time at home. Bart came to see her more frequently. They had their meals together in the small dining room of the modest house.
One night when they were well along with their meal, she asked him, “Have you heard your wife and mother-in-law discussing my condition?”
He smiled grimly. “They were both properly appalled.”
“I expected they’d make the most of it.”
“Vera made quite a scene and accused me directly,” he went on with a sigh.
“What did you answer?”
“I told her I had a right to be with you or anyone else, since she had long denied me my husbandly privileges!”
“Well said!”
“That shut her up,” Bart said. “Now the two of them go about the house with outraged looks on their thin faces. Thank goodness my son resembles me rather than that dried-up two!”
“I’m having Dr. Trevalyn,” she said. “He was Mark’s doctor.”
“He seemed a competent man.”
“I have faith in him,” she said.
“Then that is what matters,” Bart told her. “Spare no expense. I want you to have the best. Our child must come into this world with every advantage.”
“You hadn’t many advantages, and you’ve survived and done well,” she reminded him.
Bart’s handsome face became grave. “I have scars I wouldn’t want any child of mine to have.”
Becky’s premonition proved right. She gave birth to a lovely young daughter on October 15, 1865. She called her Peggy Anne. Even as a small infant, she showed a hint of Bart’s handsome features along with her own eyes and nose. She was blissfully happy!
In 1881, the
Servia,
a merchant vessel crossed the Atlantic in seven days. It was constructed of a new metal made from blending certain other minerals and ores with iron; it was known as steel.
In April 1884 Donald Woods finished his studies at Oxford and joined his father in the family firm. He was a tall, elegant young man with his mother’s slim build and his father’s manly good looks, and sandy-colored hair. Almost the first thing he did was call on Becky, whom he called
Aunt
Becky.
But Becky was not deceived that the young man’s affection was for her alone. She knew that Donald had developed a warm liking for her daugher, Anne. Thus far there had been no reason to discourage this, but now she began to be concerned for very sound reasons.
She had discussed this with Bart, but with his usual assurance, he’d told her, “There is no need to worry! It is right they should be good friends! They’ve grown up together!”
She looked at him very straight and asked, “What if they should fall in love and wish to marry?”
“Never!” Bart said. “They’ll find other mates.” But he sounded a trifle concerned.
At this moment Donald and Anne were out strolling in the garden, hand in hand, as he told her about his plans for joining the business. It seemed innocent enough, and she did not wish to take a stand against the two young people seeing each other, yet she was under constant fear of what might ensue if they should announce their affection and ask permission to marry.
She had made sure that Anne met many other young men while Donald was away at Oxford. So her daughter was not without a great many beaux. She did not know how many young ladies Doanld had courted, but she hoped that he had many of them on the string, with Vera so repressive and his grandmother still alive and whining about the unhappy changes which were taking place in the Victorian age. Old Alice Kerr was even shocked by the rumored romance between the widowed Queen Victoria and her Scot’s farm manager, John Brown.
Bart quoted his mother-in-law as grieving, “The Queen has changed along with everything else. Who would have expected it of her?”
She and Bart had enjoyed a hearty laugh at this. The years had been kind to them. They had the same warm affection for each other as the usual man and wife. Vera had accepted the situation and no longer even spoke of it. Becky was sure that both Donald and her daughter knew that Bart and she were lovers. She believed they were rather thrilled by the longtime romance. The physical excitement had paled, and now it was merely a matter of sound friendship between she and Bart. It seemed nothing would ever upset them, until this small cloud of the future of the two young people came upon them.
As the two young people continued to stroll in the garden she halted before the oval, gold-framed mirror on the living room wall and gazed at herself in it. She was actually forty-two years old! As a girl she had thought this to be bordering on the elderly!
But she didn’t look old! Her face was a little rounder and there were a few lines at her eyes and mouth, but her skin was still fresh and her eyes had a sparkle. She was often taken for a woman much younger, and this could not help but give her confidence. Best of all there was no gray in her hair, except perhaps a few strands which she was careful to conceal.
She could not equal Anne in beauty! Her daughter had a stronger face and an almost electric quality about her. She was continually vivacious and her youthful gaiety filled the house with warmth and laughter.
Donald was almost a male counterpart of Anne; he was attractive and pleasant. But he had a serious streak which was perhaps missing in Anne. Yet they got along exceptionally well—too well for Becky’s liking.
She had barely turned from the mirror when the two came in with conspiratorial smiles. She asked, “You two look as if you were up to something! What is it now?”
“I want to take Anne out to dinner to celebrate my becoming a member of the firm,” Donald said. “Father has given me his permission, and we now wish yours. I promise I shall have her back by nine.”
“Please, mama!” Anne entreated her, looking too lovely to be refused.
Becky hesitated. Then said, “If your father agreed to this, Donald, I suppose I must also give my permission. Where are you planning to dine?”
“The Strand!” Anne exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “They have an orchestra and there is waltzing at dinner!” To demonstrate this, she did a graceful waltz step for them.
“The Strand it shall be,” Donald said, laughing. “I’ll call for you at six. Wear that pink gown I liked the other night. And be on time!”
Becky was amused. She said, “You sound like an echo of your father!”
Donald looked pleased. “That wouldn’t be so bad. But I’m truly much my own man. Father will find that out when I join the firm. I’m very interested in steel.”
“Steel?” she said.
“You must have heard of it,” he insisted. “It is coming into use both here and in America. Great bridges are being built of it because it is light and strong. And steel ships are already setting records crossing the ocean.”
Becky was interested, she had vaguely read about this new metal, but it had not interested her much. She said, “Your father has done well enough with iron ships. I expect he’ll know what to do about steel when the time comes.”
“The time is now,” Donald said. “I’ve tried to make him see that. But he insists on sticking with the old ways.”
She smiled, “Again you sound like your father. He had the same sort of argument with my late husband, only it was over the yard making wooden ships as opposed to iron. Bart won out!”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the young man said. “I hope I win out now. Gregg & Kerr should be starting to build steel ships.”
He left. Finding herself alone with Anne, she said, “Donald has become very much the assured young man since his return from Oxford.”
Anne, with her hair drawn straight back and tied in a pony tail and wearing a pale yellow dress which matched her blonde good looks, smiled and said, “Yes. He’s terribly ambitious.”
Becky was seated on the end of a divan, and Anne sat across from her on the arm of an overstuffed chair. Becky studied her daughter’s happy face. “What were you talking about?”
Anne smiled knowingly. “He was telling me about the changes he’s planning for the firm.”
“His father may have something to say about that.”
“I think his father will listen to him. Don’t you?”
“Bart is hard to understand,” Becky said. “He has been my friend for many years, and I’m never completely sure of him.”
“You and Bart,” her daughter said wistfully. “I think it rather sad!”
She raised her eyebrows. “What is sad?”
“That you and poor old Bart can’t get married. I think Vera is mean to stand in your way. So does Donald!”
“Really!” Becky gasped. “I don’t think you two children should be discussing such things!”
“We are not children!”
Becky said, “Well, whatever you are, you are also much too presumptuous.”
Anne teased her. “You two are in love. Don’t deny it!”
“We are good friends. We used to live in houses side by side,” she said lamely. “Your father and Bart were partners.”
“But I’ll wager they were not friends!”
“Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because I’m sure Bart must have been in love with you before father died. How could he possibly feel friendly to a man who stood in his way?”
“You are talking wickedly,” Becky said, blushing.
“And your face is crimson,” Anne laughed.
“No wonder. You speak so frankly as to be almost indecent.”
“I want to be frank. Donald likes that in me!”
“Does he?” she said. “And I supposed that is terribly important to you.”
“It is. I value Donald’s opinions.”
Becky eyed her daughter worriedly. “I think it is time you stopped giving Donald so much of your time and thoughts. It is all very well for you to have been friends growing up, but now you should begin to lead your own lives. You keep on sharing everything with him.”
“He is my best friend. Maybe my only friend,” Anne said.
“Nonsense,” she protested. “You have lots of beaux. You ought to be judging them, deciding which one you care the most for and whom you might one day marry.”
Her daughter sighed. “That’s a tiresome thought!”