by Mia Easton
"I'm fine. We're both fine. Why are you limping?" she repeated.
"I suppose so that I'll never forget the last several years."
She huffed. "As if any of us could."
He smiled tenderly at this woman he loved so dearly. "I promise you, I am all right. Actually, better than that. I've met a lady who's changed me."
She exhaled and her hands flew out in surprise.
"I love her," he added.
"Oh, Wes! Oh, honey, that is wonderful news. I want to know every single thing. What's her name, and where is she?"
"Her name is Elizabeth. It's Elizabeth Gordon, but it will soon be Elizabeth Hale."
Inez clapped her hands together, overjoyed by the news. "You're to be married."
He nodded. "She's staying with John Paul and his wife, Maggie. He was married a few years ago to a lovely lady. She inherited an estate outside of Charlotte, so he has his hands full."
She'd begun nodding. "His father told us, must be…three or four years ago now. He said she's pretty as a picture and as loving as anyone he's ever known."
"She is."
"Do they have children yet?"
"No. Not yet. Hopefully, soon."
"Brandon also told us you were well. Or well enough is what I think he said. It's not the same as seeing you again."
He felt an avalanche of shame and remorse threatening to break loose and crush him. It would have been his just desserts. "I know it's not," he admitted quietly. "I'm sorry, Inez."
"What do you hear from your brother?" she asked with more than a little trepidation creeping into her expression.
He shook his head. "Uhh, nothing. I hoped you would know what became of him. I thought he might even be here."
She frowned and shook her head. "No, Wesley. No. He wouldn't be."
He wouldn't be? "What do you mean, he—"
"So, it's true," a deep voice said, interrupting his question.
Wes looked up at Arthur, who was coming toward them. His vision blurred because of the tears in his eyes. Arthur had aged considerably since Wes had last seen him, but the war had been hard on everyone.
"I knew you would come home," the old man said as he reached him. He embraced Wes, patting his back firmly.
"It is so good to see you," Wes said.
Arthur released him and swiped at his damp eyes.
"Both of you," Wes added, glancing at Inez. He sniffed and wiped at his own eyes. He should have realized how emotional the reunion would be. Arthur and Inez hadn't been a second set of parents, exactly, more like a loving uncle and aunt who'd always been there.
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder.
"The question is, "Wes said with a sober expression. "The question that's kept at me, that's kept me away." He swallowed. "Is this my home?"
Inez and Arthur looked at him questioningly and then exchanged a look between themselves. "Of course, it is," Inez replied. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
"He doesn't know," Arthur said as he continued to peer at Wes. "I told you he wouldn't know."
Wes felt a prickle of alarm. "Know what?"
"Let's go inside," Inez urged. "I'll make you something to eat."
"We'll tell you everything, Wes," Arthur said. "Come. You've got some explaining to do, too. Staying away so long."
It was true, so Wes followed Inez inside. He'd come for answers, and it was time to get them, no matter how hard they might be to accept. He looked around as he walked through the house to the kitchen. Nostalgia filled him to see the furniture and paintings and knickknacks he knew so well. He loved this home. How would be bear it if it wasn't his?
In the spacious kitchen with its wide-planked wood floor, stone sink, large hearth and cupboards filled with familiar dishes and glassware, Inez and Arthur sat at the long table and looked up at him expectantly. Wes remained standing. He rested his hands on the top of a ladder-back chair and struggled for how to begin. He stared at the table's wooden surface, scarred from decades of use, but polished to a shine. "You cared for my father."
"Of course, we did," Inez replied sharply.
"I meant Arthur," Wes said, looking into the watery gray eyes of the old man. "You took care of him in the end. After his illness."
"I hope I always took care of him," Arthur said. "And you. And Alex."
A beat of silence fell before Wes made the plunge. "Was he my father?"
Arthur's eyes widened and then he burst out laughing. "What kind of nonsense question is that?"
Wes lifted his chin. "Alexander told me he wasn't. He told me he could prove it."
Arthur sighed. "Oh, Wesley. Newt was your father," he stated in a flat voice.
"How do you explain that Alexander and I look so different? I didn't look anything like Father."
Arthur scoffed. "So? You favored your mother. Got the portrait to prove it. And you and Alex didn't just look different. You are different. Or were. We don't know if he's alive any more than you do."
"James Wesley," Inez said gently. "Have you been thinking that terrible thing all this time?"
"Wes," Arthur bulled ahead without waiting for him to answer. "Your father married your mother, God rest her soul, when Alex was three."
Wes blinked in surprise. "When he was three?"
Arthur nodded slowly. "He was your father's son and your father loved him. I'm sure he cared for his mother, too, but he didn't marry her. When she passed, trying to bring another babe into the world, Newt went and got Alex, with her family's blessing. They didn't have the means to care for him. By then, your father had married Clara." He paused. "She was…well, you remember her. As much a beauty inside as out. As good a person as I ever knew."
Wes nodded.
"You can't tell me you don't remember her," Arthur said crossly.
"Of course, I remember her," Wes snapped back.
"Do you remember the resemblance you bore her?" he demanded, no less vexed.
Wes bristled with embarrassment.
Inez cleared her throat lightly and gave her husband a stern look. "Getting back to what Arthur was saying," she said to Wes. "Your mother had it in her to love Alex as her own. When you came along, both your parents wanted you two raised as brothers."
"They treated you both the same," Arthur interjected. "Loved you both. I don't know why Alex could never let it be. Not from the day he was…oh, about ten or eleven, and his uncle, his mother's brother, paid a visit, wanting to adopt him."
Wes suddenly felt lightheaded. And incredibly foolish.
"Sit down, dear," Inez urged as she pushed back her chair and rose. "I'll fix you some tea."
"I'd rather have rye if we have it," Wes said as he sat.
"Of course, we have it." Inez went to fetch it.
"How many times did I tell you not to take anything Alex said to heart?" Arthur asked with a frown.
"Why did no one tell me the truth?" Wes came back at him.
Inez set a bottle of rye whiskey and two glasses out. She looked apologetic. "I'm sorry that you've suffered with this," she said quietly.
"You were always all heart, boy," Arthur said.
Wes reached for the bottle. He uncorked it, poured and drank. Part of his vexation was guilt and shame for how easily he'd bought his brother's lie. He'd swallowed it hook, line and sinker. His brother's taunting words, "Don't be a fool, Wesley. I should say a bigger fool than you usually are," echoed in his mind.
"Certainly, I'll take one," Arthur said. "While you're pouring," he added wryly.
Wes poured one for him. Sliding it over, he said, "You didn't answer my question, by the way," but his tone was no longer aggressive.
"I also haven't finished explaining. Although…now, I don't know where to begin."
"The inheritance," Inez said quietly.
Wes jerked his gaze to her and then back to Arthur.
Arthur took a drink before speaking again. "When the rebellion began and Alex let his position be known—"
"I remember it well," Wes said bitterly.
"Your father didn't want to come between the two of you, but he supported independence."
Wes frowned as he thought back. The heated arguments had all been between Alex and himself while his father had stayed mostly silent on the matter. By mid-seventy-three, his father had suffered a fit that had cost him the use of one side of his body and his speech, and he was quiet more often than not. A person could understand what he said when he spoke if they were willing to be patient and really listen, but he had been seventeen. He had not been patient.
"Newt told Alexander that if that was what he truly felt, he should take his inheritance and go to England."
Wes reeled.
"It was for his own sake. Your father believed, as most of us believed, that war would come, the patriots would be victorious and that Alex wouldn't be safe after that. Not as mouthy as he was." Arthur paused as Wes absorbed this. "And why weren't you told, you ask. Because your father didn't want you told. He didn't even want to believe Alex's position, himself. He always wanted you two to be close. To be brothers. To be able to rely on one another. But Alex made it impossible. He made himself miserable. Perhaps there's something bad in the blood. I don't know. I never knew his mother well. I didn't like his uncle, though. Not a bit."
The past suddenly took on a different hue than before. Alex's resentment of him finally made some sense. Wes took another drink and looked away, wondering if he had known the truth, would he have been more understanding? Or would he have hit back where it hurt?
"That man wanted to adopt Alex for farm labor. When he couldn't, he stirred up trouble. Not that Alex had been easy before then."
"He'd been easier," Inez agreed. "That was a turning point," she added sadly.
"So Father offered Alex his inheritance early," Wes said, trying to fully understand.
Both Arthur and Inez nodded.
"And that's what Alex wanted," Arthur stated.
It was stunning news.
"The legal arrangements were all put in writing and signed proper like," Arthur continued. "Pass that bottle."
Wes refilled his glass and passed it down.
Arthur poured, saying, "That lawyer man, Byrd, has a copy, and there's another one in your father's study." He paused and shrugged. "I shouldn't call it that. It's your study now."
It's your study now.
Arthur downed the contents of his glass and then wiped his hand with the back of his hand. "What Alexander got was half the value of your father's estate. It was all, uh, broken down and—" He looked at his wife. "What's the word I'm looking for?"
"Calculated," she guessed. "Appraised?"
"That's it. It was all appraised to be a fair split. Alex agreed to everything. He wouldn't take bank notes, either. He had to have it in coin," he added with a bitter expression. "Then the rest became yours. The house, the land. The cattle. His collection. Some money in the bank."
"When was this?"
"It was a matter of weeks before your father took sick."
Before he got sick? Then it had been in place for months before he left.
Arthur sighed tiredly. "Right up till the end, your father hoped Alex would change his mind. Come to his senses. He left him that opportunity." He paused, but looked intense, as if something important had been left unsaid. "I think your father thought," he began slowly. Then he broke off and shook his head. "I shouldn't speak for him."
"Speak for him. Please. There's no one else to do it."
"Fine, I will. Newt didn't say this, but I think he thought you would think less of your brother had you known about the agreement."
"I think my brother was a fool," Wes said hotly. "I know good people who were loyalists. I disagreed with them, but I understood that what they believed was right for them. But Alex had to belittle and condemn and betray. Father was right. It would have been impossible for him to stay. Some people you can forgive, but he would not have been forgiven."
Arthur slowly nodded.
"And to give up this," Wes said, gesturing with both hands. "Country, home, family. All that matters."
"All that matters to you," Arthur rejoined. "You two were always different." He paused as a new thought occurred to him. "Looking back, though, I suppose it could have been that with as fiercely as you felt for independence, he felt he had to come down on the other side. Always had to be the battle between you. It seemed to define him."
It was a disturbing but somehow fitting remark that shook Wes.
"You left so suddenly," Inez spoke up. "We could have told you all this after your father was gone but—"
"We never expected you to run off," Arthur said severely. "You ought not to have done that."
"I know that. I know that I killed my father." The statement drew shock and confusion from both Arthur and Inez. "I don't know if it was our fight or my leaving, but—"
"It was neither, Wesley," Inez exclaimed. "Your father died that morning."
Wes drew back.
"It was just his time."
Wes shook his head. Was it even possible?
"I couldn't rouse him for breakfast," Inez said urgently. "So I went to get Arthur. By the time we got back, he was gone."
"And that was right about the time you two started in," Arthur said.
Inez nodded. Her hands were pressed together and held to her chin. "We were in his room, having a good cry. Saying our goodbyes. We heard the argument." She shook her head. "We hoped it would blow over, but then—"
"I said I'd better see to it," Arthur took over. "By then, it had come to fisticuffs."
Wes could see they were telling the truth. The fight had not been the final blow for his father, nor had his leaving. An emotional dam within him broke and he laughed and cried at the same time. It was too much to keep bottled up, and the more he let out, the more that rushed in to take its place. Grief and relief, joy and sorrow. Inez and Arthur got up and moved in to hold and reassure him.
"You're home now," Arthur said over and over again. "It'll be all right."
Home. It was the most wonderful word.
Chapter 23
As May approached the stairwell with a tray of the remains of Elizabeth's breakfast, she noticed Eunice approaching from the opposite side. May neither liked nor trusted Eunice Scroggins. Eunice rarely even looked in May's direction, much less deigned to speak to her, but now she delayed when she could have started down the stairs.
May faltered and waited, but Eunice gestured for her to go on with her usual haughty expression. May had her qualms, but Lady Eldridge had arrived and the ball was tomorrow night, so there was no time to dawdle. She started forward, turned at the stairs and then gasped in terror when her foot encountered an obstacle. Eunice's foot! She cried out as she pitched forward, dropping the tray. There was nothing to grab on to and slow her descent. She tried to ball up to protect herself, vaguely aware that glass was shattering around her.
When she hit the wall at the base of the steps, she couldn't breathe or move. There was such pain, she couldn't think. There was shouting and then footsteps, a general commotion. Others were running to her, but she couldn't breathe! Henry, the boot boy, bent close to see how badly she was hurt. "Fetch Mrs. Tidwell," he cried over his shoulder.
"It's May," someone called.
"What happened?" someone else called.
"Can you sit?" Henry asked her.
Faces seemed to loom at her.
"She's bleeding!"
"Back up," Henry snapped to the other servants pushing in. "She's had the wind knocked out of her."
As if the words were magic, May finally managed to draw breath. But the pain. She blinked, trying to hold on to consciousness. She saw Eunice coming down the stairs with a slow step. She had tripped her on purpose. Why? Meanness?
Mrs. Tidwell was suddenly there. "I'm here, May," the housekeeper said gently as she squatted down to tend to her.
May noticed that Henry had moved back, but a score of faces stared worriedly. How badly was she hurt?
; Mrs. Tidwell reached for her. "Can you sit up?"
May tried. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Nor could she form the words to explain.
Mrs. Tidwell glanced up the stairs, and her eyes narrowed angrily when her gaze fell on Eunice. "What happened?"
There was total silence and then Eunice replied, "Apparently, her feet slipped beneath her and she fell down the stairs. It's easy to do holding a tray."
Tidwell glowered at her and then went back to helping May. With the help of Henry, she got May to a halfway seated position. A cool, dampened rag was offered and Tidwell gently pressed it to May's lip. May looked down, horrified to see her front covered in blood.
"You bit your lip," Mrs. Tidwell said soothingly. "But it will heal," she added as she reached around and felt the back of May's head. Pulling back to inspect May's limbs, she asked, "Does anything feel broken?" She picked up May's hand and looked at her fingers.
"I don't think so," May bit out.
"Someone go and fetch May's mother," Tidwell said over her shoulder. "And bring me some Willowbark powder and some Brandywine. Hurry, please."
May shook violently.
Tidwell carefully lifted the rag and then turned it over. "The bleeding is already slowing."
"I'm s-sorry," May said. Her eyes filled.
"There is nothing to be sorry about. Accidents happen, no matter how careful we are." She paused and then her gaze sharpened with suspicion. "Was it an accident?"
May flicked her gaze to Eunice, who watched her menacingly. She looked back at Tidwell and nodded.
"Hmm," Tidwell murmured. "When you have such grace."
"Here, Mrs. Tidwell," Annie said as the knelt with a small glass of foggy amber liquid. "We mixed the powder in. Is that all right?"
"Yes." Tidwell took it and brought it to May. "Drink it, dear. It will help with the pain."
May downed the liquid and nearly gagged.
Tidwell handed it back to Annie. "Another."
Annie popped up and went to get it.
"Will I be dismissed?" May asked fearfully. A tear rolled down her face.
Mrs. Tidwell wiped it away with a gentle touch. "Of course, you will not. You were the victim of an accident. We do not lose good help because of an accident. For now, we'll get you to your room and cleaned up. You'll need to rest and heal for a few days, perhaps a week. You can do that here or you can return home to your mother if you prefer. A few days' rest will see you put to rights and, when you're ready, you'll return to your duties."