by Joann Simon
He'd been so strong and vital, robust and in good health —a contradiction to his years. His once dark hair had turned a thick silver-gray, there'd been some lines and creases in his face, his muscles and bones had begun to lose a bit of their resilience; yet his joy for life had not diminished one iota, nor had his desire to do the things other men his age would have left to a younger man. She felt sure he would have lived many years more but for this accident.
She thought of the two men standing silent behind her, feeling the moment as deeply as she: their son, so the image of his father in appearance and manner that she sometimes had to think twice when he entered a room, wondering whether she hadn't slipped back thirty years in time; and Kit's own son, Jeremy, also favoring his father and grandfather in the tall, well-built frame, the thick dark curling hair, although his eyes were not his grandfather's vivid blue, but of a greenish-brown cast like his grandmother's. The other women of the family—her daughter, Jennifer, and Kit's wife, Anne—were busy at the great mansion that morning, attending Jeremy's wife in the birth of their first child. Another generation.
She sighed. How he had anticipated the birth of that great-grandchild; looked forward to holding the child on his knee, showing it off to their friends, showering it with love. She felt so terribly sad that he would not be here to see the new baby. Yet that new generation gave her a fresh strength—a reason to carry on now that she was without him.
She thought of all the years they'd shared together-good years. There was nothing she regretted except that those years could not have stretched longer. There had been those hard times, as in any marriage, but they had conquered them, and perhaps the hard times had made them appreciate and cherish the good moments that much more.
. . . It seemed so long ago now, that brief while he'd strayed from her. That had been a traumatic period, yet in the long run his infidelity had brought them closer; taught them that what they had with each other was not something that could be duplicated. There had been the misfortune of her miscarriage a year later, then no more children; but they already had a fine, healthy son and daughter, and that was more than enough to ask. And Kit and Jennifer had grown into such admirable adults, making both their parents proud: Kit going on to study at Yale, and Jennifer, too, wanting and receiving a far better education than most women of the age. She was using that education now, co-editing with her publisher husband a respected newspaper in New York. Kit had married his childhood playmate, then sweetheart, Anne Weldon, which had delighted both families. Mary Weldon had remained one of Jessica's closest friends through all the years and had been anticipating the birth of her first great-grandchild as excitedly as Jessica herself.
At least Mary was alive and well. So many other of their friends had died or drifted away. Robert Bayard still sat on as an advisor in the company he had helped create, but Mawson was gone, as were both the elder Beards. Lucas had died of a heart attack the year before; and after receiving a Christmas greeting several years earlier, they'd lost touch with Jerome Weitz. He'd left New York to set up another banking firm in Boston.
As the children had grown, Christopher's business had grown, too, with his wife as a very active partner; she had wanted something challenging to do with her days. There's been raised eyebrows at first, skepticism in the male business world and in plenty of other provinces, too; but she had proved her worth, and now, with her husband's death, held controlling interest in the firm and the chairmanship of the board of directors. She knew certain of the other gentlemen referred to her behind her back as "the old witch," but that fazed her not in the least. Her mind was as sharp as ever, and she had no trouble thinking circles around any one of them. Christopher had been proud of her; she was proud of herself—and those were the only two opinions she cared about.
The wind was still sweeping up the hill as she turned to her son and grandson, behind her.
"There is something I must say to you both. I will be brief. You know the story of how we met. He told me many times that if we were ever separated again or if he should die before me, it was very important that I remind you of that heritage—"
"Now, Mother." Kit frowned, though the sadness of the occasion and the strong bond of love he felt for his mother softened his tone. "Do you not think it is time you gave up on those fairy tales? We are grown men, and—"
"Are you suggesting your father and I were candidates for a lunatic asylum?" Her pained glance was enough to silence him. "We would never have manufactured a story of that magnitude; every word of it was the truth! You have traveled to England and seen your father's former home-estates that might have been yours. You have also heard me describe the things that will come to be in the future. You are using and have used that knowledge in running the business. Did I not predict to you the coming of the Civil War, its duration and the.scars the country would bear at its conclusion? And did you not make a tidy sum for yourself because of that otherwise tragic knowledge? Have you not also used to your advantage other information your father and I gave you over the years? So do not tell me that all of this is the imagining of an old woman and a man who is no longer here to defend himself!" Her voice lost its stridency and reflected the loss she was feeling as she continued. "It is all written down—all the facts, all the details, all I can remember, up to the year 1979—and locked carefully away. On my death it will be yours, Jennifer's, and Jeremy's.
"Your father and I often considered these last years that if we had it to do over, we would have kept the happenings of our past a secret. It is too late now for that. But we have given you a heritage beyond belief. All I can say to you both is to use wisely what you have been given. You really have no choice."
Both men were silent, somber as the full force of her words sank in. The son, at fifty-four, for all he loved his mother and respected what she said, resented her admonishments—he was no longer a child. But the grandson's eyes were gleaming with awe and pride.
She sighed, smiling softly. "That is all I have to say. If you will leave me, I would like a moment alone with him."
"Mother, it is bitter cold. You should come back to the carriage."
"I am well wrapped, and not yet feeble, Kit—no more than your father was when he died."
"Very well. We will wait in the carriage." He touched her arm lightly, gave it a gentle squeeze.
She nodded, then turned to the gravestone, her eyes resting on the letters so clearly inscribed on its surface.
Christopher Robert Julian George Dunlap
Ninth Earl of Westerham Born Cavenly, Kent, England 26 June 1780 Died Eastport, Connecticut 17
October 1866
A full life, a good one. One I will never regret and one I feel has no end.
Christopher's own epitaph—one he'd written years before, although he'd had no intention of giving up life for some time to come. Beside his name on the stone was inscribed her own, the dates left blank. She preferred it that way. It would be difficult for her descendants to explain a birth date of 9 November 1950.
She smiled again, although a mist blurred her eyes, and laid her hand on the stone and spoke softly.
"I will miss you so . . . more than you can ever know . . . my love. You have given me such a good life. This world seems so empty without you. But perhaps, as you liked to think, it's not over yet, Christopher. I won't know until my body lies under this stone with yours . . . but I want to believe it. I love you. You will always know that."
With a tear tracing its way down her cheek, she turned, and walked slowly but with straight shoulders toward the carriage where her son and grandson awaited her.
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scanned & edited by cmarlowe
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21