Cross the Ocean

by Holly Bush

  “No, Elizabeth,” Gert repeated again.

  “What if there is a child, Gertrude?”

  The thought had never occurred to her until Elizabeth had brought it up the day before. What a ninny I am, Gert thought. Encouraging women to be independent only to possibly tie herself to a man an ocean away. The thought had made her last goodbyes to Blake’s children bittersweet.

  “I will cross that bridge if and when I come to it,” Gert said.

  Elizabeth gave up her quest and fell silent beside Gert on the ride to the docks. Anthony rode his horse alongside the carriage a grim look on his face. He blamed himself, Gert knew. And she had time and again absolved him of any wrongdoing. She told Elizabeth and Anthony both that Blake had, yes, crawled into her bed, unannounced, but that she had held him there. And she had no regrets. They simply refused to believe her.

  After two days of travel to the docks, Gert kissed Elizabeth while they both cried and hugged, promising each other a trip someday to meet again. If nothing else, they would remain close through letters. Gert kissed Anthony’s cheek and thanked him.

  Anthony pulled her close and whispered hoarsely. “If you need anything. Money, a home, anything. You need do nothing more than ask.”

  Gert kissed his cheek again. “I know. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I’ll be fine, Anthony.”

  She turned to the gangplank while her trunks were carried up to the ship. Blake Sanders stood there. Gert turned a brave face. “Sanders. You needn’t have made the trip.” Blake walked to her and Gert could see he was pale. His eyes darted and he reached for her hand.

  “Gertrude.”

  She struggled to meet his eye and keep her lip from trembling. “Yes?”

  Blake looked over her shoulder, out to the sea anywhere but her face. “I don’t feel there is any way for me to convince you to stay.”

  “You can’t. My mind is made up.” She watched as he began to speak only to stop abruptly and stare into her eyes.

  “I can hardly resign myself to never seeing you again. I have tried. But I fear this ocean and our different lives will be between us forever,” Blake faltered. “If there is anything you ever need.”

  Gert nodded as tears spilled down her face.

  “You vex me greatly in this, Gertrude.”

  Gert smiled. “And you vex me as well. We’ll have memories, though, Blake. And they won’t talk back.”

  Blake rubbed her hand softly. “I fear I will miss the sound of your voice even as you chastise me as you were wont to do often.”

  “And I will miss the look of shock on your face when you caught me doing something sincerely American,” Gert said and smiled. She lifted her hand to his face. “Know this. I will never ever forget you. Even when my memory dims.”

  Gert turned from Blake, walked the gangplank and never looked back. She felt as if she held up well to the emotional scene, but she was terrified if she took one more look at his face she would drop her bag in the bay and race to his arms. Instead, she had stood on deck and watched England fade from view, nodding to other passengers and generally acting the part of the spinster escort. She smiled rigidly and made polite conversation.

  Once below deck, Gert plopped on her bed in her cabin. I am a grown woman. I chose to engage in sex. I refuse to be a dramatic and overset about it all now. Her hand wandered to her stomach, and she wondered if even now Blake’s child was growing there. She forced a smile to her lips envisioning her days and work ahead. It was easy and true to admit the longing she had for home. The ranch. The rally to vote. Gert turned her head to the ocean view out the small portal. Maybe she would take some time off from traveling and speech making. A good couple of months with horses and sunsets would revive her spirits as they always had.

  Darkness had descended on the sea. Her cabin now, had a strange glow of twilight. Soft shadows bathed in gold tones, as if the moonlight could roll back time, Gert inhaled deeply and pictured Blake atop her, loving her. Tears came then and she dropped to the pillow. She sobbed the harsh tortured cry of a mind setting the right path and the soul and body refusing to be led.

  “Why, God? Why him? Why Sanders?” Gert she said aloud.

  “Miss Finch? Are you all right?”

  “Who’s there?” she said. From the shadows, she saw a tall thin figure emerge.

  “It’s me, Miss Finch. William. William Sanders. Why are you crying?”

  “William! What are you doing here?” she shouted.

  He sat down across from Gertrude. “I want to see something of the world Miss Finch before Father sets me to running the estate.”

  “But William. Your parents are sick with worry, I am sure,” Gert said.

  “I left them a note. After what Melinda said about Father making her marry that viscount, I knew he’d never let me make a trip.”

  “William. Your father agreed to allow Melinda to wait.”

  The boy’s face lifted in astonishment. “He did?”

  Gert nodded. She had been amazed as well at Sander’s change of heart. She had sorely misjudged him on their first meeting. Blake’s talk with Melinda had proven that.

  “I’ve made a muck of things now. Haven’t I?”

  “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it. When we arrive in New York, I’ll arrange passage for you back,” Gert said.

  “But Miss Finch, if I’ve gone that far, I truly want to see more of your country,” William said.

  “We will see. I imagine your father’s on his way to the States this very minute.”

  William shook his head. “No. He will send someone for me. I don’t know who, but he’ll not make this trip no matter how angry he is.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Gert replied.

  “You don’t know him as well as I,” William said miserably. The two sat silently. “Miss Finch. What were you asking God about Father? You were crying.”

  “That I’d never met the man.”

  “My mother used to cry when she didn’t think Melinda or I were about. I think Father hurt her terribly. Did he hurt you?”

  “It is adult business, William,” Gert replied.

  “It has something to do with him kissing you all the time, doesn’t it?” William’s eyes opened wide. “My father didn’t use you ill, did he, Miss Finch?”

  William’s tone begged for confirmation that his father was guiltless. “We are adults, William. It serves no purpose for you to speculate. Whatever happened between us is none of your affair.” His eyes narrowed and Gert knew he would believe what he wanted. “There is a saying in the states, William. “If you don’t like eggs, stay out of the henhouse.”

  * * *

  Blake arrived at Anthony’s home the morning of Gertrude’s departure and was told she was out early for a last ride. Elizabeth said she felt Gertrude feared he would show up on the doorstep. Anthony assured him that he and Elizabeth had spoken to Gertrude at length and with her never-ending refusals and rebuttals, Blake felt a great disappointment descend on him. The shocking weight of it had naught to do with what was proper or right. He knew it was purely selfish. He cared little then for what others thought of him as he listened to his heart beat a panic in his ears. So he’d ridden away, determined to put Gertrude Finch out of his mind for good.

  But with little conscious thought, he turned his mount, and headed to the bay and the dock where Gertrude would board her ship. He had little idea what to say or what could possibly change her mind but yet was compelled to touch her again and memorize her face.

  Blake rode away from the dock, without a word to Anthony or Elizabeth, to London and secured a hotel room. His town home held servants to stare and ask questions he was unable to answer. It held the sheets she had slept on and the plates she had eaten from. A change of scenery would be the thing to rally his spirits, he had told himself. He ate in the grand dining room and felt certain a young widow he’d conversed with, alone at a table nearby his, would have happily received him in her suites. He had no desire at
all to touch her or trade coy flirtations and made a quick escape to his rooms.

  Blake lay awake now, rock hard, as he had done each night when sleep eluded him, replaying every detail since the night Gertrude found him in her bed. Her face wreathed in passion and wonder, framed with layers of dark hair. Eyes seemingly touching his.

  Blake rolled on his side and pictured Gertrude at the docks. He had feared he would cry. Or beg. She said she would not forget him, and it would have to be enough. He had tried to do the right thing. Tried to make her stay and listen to reason. She had leaned into him then at the last and laid trembling lips on his cheeks. He had breathed in the scent of lemons as she turned and made her way to the ship. She never looked back.

  One evening as he left his hotel, he heard his name shouted. It had been nearly a week since Gertrude left, and he now longed for home and its duties. His estates’ needs would flush from his mind all other thoughts. It always had. He turned in the dark street to see Anthony running to him.

  “Burroughs? What are you doing here?” Blake called out.

  Anthony heaved a breath. “I’ve been looking for you since last week. No one’s seen you anywhere until I chanced to stop at White’s. Your staff only said you were staying in town. Where have you been?”

  “Taking a much needed rest here at the Langham Hotel. I’m leaving for the country tomorrow.” Anthony’s eyes seemed wild. “What’s the matter?”

  “Let’s talk inside,” Anthony said as they entered the hotel.

  Blake ushered Anthony to his suites and poured brandy. “You look like you need this. Elizabeth’s alright, isn’t she?”

  “Fine.”

  Blake’s spine tingled. “What is it then?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you.”

  Blake gulped and his face whitened. “The children. Are the children alright?”

  Anthony didn’t move. “No.”

  Blake jumped from his seat and grabbed his friend by the arms. “What is it?”

  “William.”

  “What’s happened then? Did he fall riding? Is he sick? Tell me, man,” Blake screamed.

  “He’s gone,” Anthony replied.

  Blake blinked. “What do you mean gone?”

  Anthony pulled a letter from his pocket. “He’s been gone for a week. We’ve been frantic, searching for you and for him. Benson found this in your rooms today. It had fallen behind the dresser.”

  Blake opened the letter and saw his son’s writing. His hands shook, and he roared.

  Chapter Ten

  Blake rode hell-bent for home with Anthony by his side. When Benson opened the door, Melinda threw herself in his arms.

  “Father! What did the letter say? Uncle Anthony wouldn’t let us open it.”

  When he untangled himself from his daughter, he saw the rest of the assemblage, all worried and grim-faced. Elizabeth and Donald with Briggs and Mrs. Wickham hovering behind. To the side stood Ann, a stout man and Lady Katherine.

  His ex-wife came forward. “Tell us, Blake. Please,” Ann begged.

  “He’s safe. For now. Let me change, and we’ll discuss it in the library.” Blake eyed Ann and her tear-stained face. The stout man approached.

  “I’m Angus McDonald. If it means you’re more comfortable and Ann can stay, I’ll leave. I’ll do what you ask, anything if it means relief for Ann and the rescue of your boy.”

  Blake listened to the soft brogue and met McDonald’s eye. The man didn’t waver an inch. “Stay. The children need their mother,” Blake said to Ann’s red face now buried in the burly man’s shoulder.

  McDonald made one quick nod.

  Blake returned to the library quickly. Every head turned and conversation stopped when he entered. “William is on a ship bound for America.”

  There was silence and then a torrent of questions. Had he been kidnapped? What did the letter say? Was there a ransom note? Why America? Blake held his hand up for silence. “William is a stowaway on Gertrude Finch’s ship.”

  “My grandson does not need to be a stowaway. He could buy the damn boat if he wanted,” Lady Katherine said.

  The only one in the room not talking and shouting questions was Melinda. She was stone-faced, rubbing her hands in her lap. Blake went to sit beside her. He picked up her hand, now trembling. “Tell me, Melinda. What do you know?”

  Melinda’s eyes darted to all those around her. “It is my fault.” She burst into tears.

  Ann sat down on the other side of her daughter. “Why do you say that, dear?”

  “I was so mad at you, Father, when you told me I had to marry the Crawford Viscount.”

  Blake met Ann’s eyes over Melinda’s head and saw the censure there. “I told you, Melinda. You needn’t hurry with a marriage.”

  “Before you talked to me that night when Miss Finch was there, I spoke to William,” Melinda said.

  Ann brushed hair away from her daughter’s face. “What did you say?”

  Melinda dropped her head. All was quiet in the room and Blake and Ann leaned close to hear her tortured, whispered words.

  “William was so excited about the tales Miss Finch had told of the States. He told me that he was going to ask to visit there before going to the university,” Melinda began.

  Blake waited. “Go on.”

  Melinda stood and faced her parents. “I told him you would never let him.” She looked at Blake. “That you would never let your heir out of your sight and control. That there was nary a prayer of you letting him see anything but what you wanted him to see.”

  Blake knew Melinda’s predictions were true. He wouldn’t have let William go, and his son knew the truth with his sister’s words. The only chance William had of fulfilling this dream was to escape. Exactly what he had done. He heard Lady Katherine’s harrumph.

  “I wouldn’t have let him,” Blake whispered.

  “Treated your children and wife the same, Sanders. Prisoners to what you thought would bring you approval from the crowd of jackals in London,” Lady Katherine said.

  Blake looked at Ann. She did not speak. Her eyes dropped.

  “Well, no use squandering time over your bad habits and faults, Sanders. What will you do about William?” Lady Katherine said and arched a brow.

  Ann turned to Elizabeth. “Will this woman, Gertrude Finch, watch out for William?” Ann asked.

  Elizabeth nodded. “She’ll be shocked to be sure to find him. But Gertrude will guard him as if he were her own. She’s sensible and smart.”

  Anthony sat down beside Ann. “I wasn’t sure I liked her when she first arrived. But she is loyal and true.” He covered Ann’s hand. “She’ll take care of William. No need to worry on that score.”

  “Was she the one who helped with Melinda’s come-out, Mother?” Ann asked.

  Lady Katherine nodded. “Did a fine job, too, for being an American. Cut Fitzmontique to the quick at the Smithly ball.” The old woman chuckled. “Said she didn’t dance with men who pink vests.”

  “I think I like her already,” Ann replied and grinned shakily to Angus McDonald.

  “Oh, you would like her, Mother,” Melinda said. “She has odd ideas to be sure but she was kind to me, listening to me bemoan my problems. And then just as quickly told me to forget what society thinks and hold my head up.”

  Ann looked at her daughter. Her eyes dropped in worry. “You mean after … after I went back to stay with Mother and Father.”

  Melinda nodded. “I was feeling sorry for myself the day I met her at Elizabeth’s. But she buoyed my spirits admirably, and I invited her to dinner.” Melinda laughed then and leaned forward to speak a confidence in a room full of people. “Father kissed her, and she punched him in the nose. She marched into the house and drank a glass of whiskey.” Melinda’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, dear.”

  “Pardon?” Ann said.

  Elizabeth moved her skirts. “Kissed her again in the foyer of the London home. I thought poor Mrs. Wickham would have an apoplexy.”

  “
No need to discuss this lout’s poor behavior. He’s lucky he still lives,” Anthony said.

  Ann looked at Blake. “What else?”

  “This is of no consequence. I have no intentions of discussing this with any of you,” Blake said as he stood.

  Ann looked at Elizabeth. “He kissed her in the foyer?”

  “And here down by the lake. She was going to climb the ladder to see Donald’s tree house. We watched from the window as they argued. And then, he just kissed her,” Elizabeth explained with a shrug.

  “Anthony. Come to my study, please,” Blake said stiffly and hurried from the room.

  “Then he loves her,” Ann said softly.

  Elizabeth nodded. “To be certain. And she him.”

  Ann sat back in her chair, eyes wide. “Oh, my.”

  * * *

  Anthony and McDonald stepped into Blake’s office. They seated themselves across from him.

  “Who will you send to fetch William?” Anthony asked.

  He eyed McDonald. “I don’t know. And I’m not sure I wish to discuss it with my wife’s future husband,” Blake said.

  “Gave you leave to kick me out earlier, Sanders. But, truth be known, we’re in this together,” the Scotsman said.

  “And how’s that,” Blake growled.

  “He is your son and your responsibility, aye. But he’s Ann’s son, too, and I cannot abide her suffering. I will go for the lad if you wish,” McDonald said.

  “I know a man in London. Completely trustworthy to fetch William. Would keep this quiet, Blake,” Anthony said.

  “As if I care what anyone knows. He’s my son, and I’ve driven him away. I deserve every censure I receive,” Blake said wearily.

  “There’s no chance this American coerced the boy?” McDonald asked. “I know you would pay handsomely for his recovery.”