Cross the Ocean

by Holly Bush

“They’re a good bunch, I s’pect. Met ‘em all a time or two. Mind you, I think they’re right most times but,” Fred leaned in close to whisper, “they all march and chant ‘cause they’re too ugly to get a husband.” He sat back and fingered the handle of his coffee cup. “Not true about my Gert. She ain’t ugly. Just scared.”

  Other than being too poor to feed his family, Blake realized the similarities between himself and Gertrude’s father. Sleeping with other woman, not realizing the cost to their families. Doing what they wanted, when they wanted, whenever the mood struck them. Whether it be the call of California or town gossip, Edgar Finch and he had pleased themselves.

  “This is why I’m thinking my Gert won’t have nothing to do with you, even though, she’s carrying your child,” Fred said and stared.

  “I imagine you’re right,” Blake admitted. And knew he’d need to curry this man’s favor if he’d ever win Gertrude. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life. With my first wife and my children. I don’t intend to repeat them.” Blake stared at Fred.

  “Convincing me don’t matter a thimble full of booze to a drunk. It’s Gert that’ll make up her mind. Been doing it since she realized her pa weren’t coming back. Read books, educating herself. Whatever she sets her mind to, she does.”

  “She is stubborn. Evidence enough with your argument this morning. Do you think you’ll get your supplies for the fence?” Blake asked with a wry smile.

  Fred scratched his head. “Hard to say. She’s tightfisted, all right but I s’pect that’s cause of her upbringing, too. I don’t argue too much. She’s got us a tidy little sum in the bank.”

  Gert walked in yawning and stretching her arms. “What are you two talking about? What’s for dinner?”

  “Gotta ask Cookie,” Uncle Fred said as he slammed his hat on his head and headed out the kitchen door.

  “Your uncle says you have a real knack for finance. I’m inclined to agree,” Blake said.

  Gertrude flitted her hands. “Yes, yes, I know. Women have no need to know of these matters. Uncle Fred’s told me. But he also knows we wouldn’t have a pot to boil water in if I didn’t see to it.”

  “Typically women aren’t involved with business dealings. But it didn’t stop you, and I think your family benefits greatly from it,” Blake said, watching her.

  “I’ve met so many women in my travels that wished they had known. Down and out broke from some spendthrift father or husband. Don’t know they’re bankrupt till the sheriff calls.” Gertrude dropped her head. “I vowed a long time ago that would never happen to me.”

  “Happens in London as well, Gertrude,” Blake added.

  “Proves my point.” She shrugged. “Men are horses’ asses here, and across the ocean as well.”

  “Not all men. Your Uncle Fred is a fine man. You’d not deny that,” Blake said.

  “No. I would never deny that. He took me in and raised me, and I was a trial a time or two, I imagine. Treated Aunt Mavis so lovingly,” she said wistfully. Gertrude plopped her chin in her hand and stared out the window.

  Blake did the same in the chair across from her.

  “When are you leaving?” she asked.

  Blake stared at her. She had a lifetime of misplaced trust to get over. He could not erase or change the past but he could stay steadfast in his promise to her. “I’m not. I told you as much.”

  Gertrude stood and walked to the door. She stopped and spoke without turning. “What men say and what they do aren’t usually the same.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gert awoke the next morning with energy to spare. She felt like cleaning the house from top to bottom, and did just that. She put on the oldest calico dress she had, pulled the waistline up over her stomach, and pulled back her hair with a bandana. Gert wiped walls and cleaned out drawers till she sat exhausted on the top step of the staircase. She heard a commotion in the yard and stood wearily to see what was going on.

  When she pulled the curtain aside beside the front door, she saw Esmerelda Bunchley and Mary Alice Forsyth climbing down from the stage. She watched the cowhands hurry to the barn. Only Will, Blake and Uncle Fred remained in the yard. Will and Blake each offered an arm and escorted the women to the door. Gert turned only to stare when they entered too stunned, too embarrassed, to greet them. She heard Esmerelda’s voice first.

  “You are too kind, sir,” Esmerelda said as she blinked up at Blake. Her three chins were bright pink against the backdrop of yards of black bombazine.

  “And what a charming young man you are,” Mary Alice to Will.

  Mary Alice’s voice could still peel paint from a barn door, Gert thought. There was no way to hide much longer. “Hello,” Gert said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Both women turned from their escorts to the sound of Gert’s voice. Huge smiles were replaced quickly enough with shocked stares.

  “Dear me,” Mary Alice said, “You look like a wash woman, Gertrude.”

  Esmerelda’s head snapped to Mary Alice and back to Gert’s. Her voice boomed with the authority of a general. “Dear Lord, Mary Alice. It’s not the ensemble I’m concerned about, but what’s under it.”

  For a few quiet moments, Mary Alice just stared. “You’re with child, Gertrude. How did this happen?”

  “How in the hell do you …” Fred began. No one was listening.

  “Worse than that, Mary Alice.” Esmerelda’s lip trembled in time with the fluttering of her hand. “Our dear Gertrude must be married. I’m sure her husband will never allow her to continue with the “cause.”

  Esmerelda firmly believed she was the commander of her small group of warriors. Ever chastising, rarely encouraging, and right in her every decision. Gert had long-feared that Esmerelda’s righteousness was not a concern for women and their plight, but rather an unvarnished hatred of men. Gert hoped one of Esmerelda’s sermons was not forthcoming. That hope was misplaced.

  “I’m sure he’s a horrid type. As all men are, we know. Does he beat you, Gertrude?” Her massive bosom heaved with each breath. “Of course, he does.” Esmerelda’s arm flew into the air. “Slay the dragon, Gertrude. You will always find solace with us. Guard your pride and your body in the meantime. But we will not fail you. Not ever.” Esmerelda pulled Gert’s head to her quivering chest. “We stand with each of our sisters. To the end.”

  “I’m not married,” Gert mumbled against black fabric.

  Esmerelda stroked her hair and continued as if Gert had not spoken. “We must unite against tyranny, ladies. Unite, I say and send the miscreant… what did you say, Gertrude?”

  Gert wiggled free of Esmerelda’s hands. Her face was hot from embarrassment when she spoke. “I’m not married.”

  Mary Alice’s eyes widened and she screamed shrilly. “Esmerelda, did you hear that? Our Gertrude’s fallen into the hands of a man who had his wicked way with her. Dear me. Forced to allow a man liberties with your body. Reduced to begging for a quick death.” The woman’s lip quivered. “And here, bravely facing humiliation. Onward, Gertrude. Hold your head high. You are not accountable for the violent urgings of men. No. You are the victim.”

  The situation would have been laughable had Gert not been able to hear her own words from what seemed a lifetime ago. She was not married, nor had she been forced but she wondered if she’d ever convince Esmerelda or Mary Alice otherwise. She certainly could not begin the explanation in her stained calico dress. “Let me change, ladies. Uncle Fred will see to refreshments for you. Will, would you please get their trunks.”

  “They’re staying?” Will asked.

  Benson entered the foyer. “I will see to beverages, Miss Finch. Please be seated, ladies,” he said and swept a hand to the sitting room.

  Gert went to her room and pulled on a dress she’d just made roomy enough for a ballooning stomach. She brushed through her hair and pulled it back in a knot at her neck. Gert hurried, wondering what Blake or Uncle Fred would say to Esmerelda’s and Mary Alice’s conclusions. She ran to the
sitting room and stopped short to catch her breath and composure. She pasted a smile on her face.

  “I’m so surprised you’ve made the trip. Mary Alice. Esmerelda. I hope you haven’t gone out of your way.”

  “Your letter was so vague, dear,” Mary Alice said. “We didn’t understand your retirement. Until now of course.”

  “Our Chicago stop was cancelled, Gertrude. Some politician deemed us unfit to speak to ladies there,” Esmerelda said with pursed lips. “So you see, we were in the area and thought we’d visit. I’m certainly glad we did.”

  “You’re obviously in need of our guidance now more than ever,” Mary Alice said and sat forward. “What ever shall we do?”

  Esmerelda boomed the answer. “We’ll find the lowly creature that stole Gertrude’s innocence.” She narrowed her eyes. “He must be made to pay.”

  Mary Alice’s mouth turned from a righteous frown to a smile in a second. “And Gertrude, dear, please introduce us to these gentlemen. Your uncle, we’ve met, but this gentleman and the young man and the fellow that brought tea. Quite an outfit he wears, Gertrude. They all have such wonderful accents.”

  Blake had a conniving look in his eye as if he knew of her discomfort and mocked her. Had she sounded this shrill to him? She would not give him the advantage of introducing him with his title. “Blake Sanders and his son Will. And Benson.” Gert gestured to the door where Benson stood. “Miss Esmerelda Bunchley. Miss Mary Alice Forsyth. They are two of my traveling companions for “the cause.”

  Esmerelda primly smiled. “I hear England is in dire need of our voices. Is that true, Gertrude?”

  There was no one in dire need of these strident voices, Gert thought. Had she been consumed as they? Were there no pleasantries? No inquiries about her travels or the sights she’d seen? Was she as jaded? As single-minded? Not quite, but nearly. Or had her own problems overshadowed helping others? Or was she just weary? Tired of flouting convention? Exhausted from holding at bay the things she dearly craved? Was true, she said to herself. Their cause even for all its rightness, Gert only held as a shield. Against the risk of finding a man like her father. Of falling in love with him. Gert stole a glance at Blake. It no longer mattered. She’d already tumbled.

  And she admitted to herself the deepest fear in her soul. Those thoughts that occasionally bubbled to the surface and she held down till her mind was able to drown them. Those fleeting wishes for home and children and love. For a man, not a pirate. No daydream or fairy tale she could mold in her fantasies. A real man, faults and virtues, all rolled together. But she’d already given herself to a man. One exactly like Edgar Finch.

  * * *

  Gertrude looked stricken, Blake thought. As sorrowful and ashamed as he could imagine. Her vivacity, her exuberance, her laughter were missing. These so-called friends of hers prattled on without hearing a thing that she’d said. She was not married, so they presumed she’d been forced. And for all their words of sympathy, Blake could hear the undercurrent of superiority. These two beribboned, flowerpots of black fancied themselves better than she. The fat, dark-haired one, Esmerelda, was subtlety speculating on Gertrude’s behavior.

  “As we’ve warned our sisters so often, never allow yourself to be in harm’s way. Our attitudes, while unusual, have always included the strictest adherence to virtue.” Esmerelda looked severely at Gertrude. “The first step to falling prey to a man’s power is to fall from the chastity God bestowed on us.”

  “Ladies,” he said as he stood.

  “Yes, Mr. Sanders,” Esmerelda asked.

  “Miss Finch’s virtue is not up for speculation,” Blake said.

  “Why, of course, sir. I’m sure Gertrude never realized she’d been flaunting her charms. But many men, as you know, are unable to curb their violent tendencies. We must be on constant guard …” Esmerelda trailed off as she looked up at Blake’s face.

  “I was not forced. It was consensual. The gentleman asked me to marry him. I declined,” Gertrude said.

  The women’s mouths dropped. A raindrop landing would have sounded like thunder booming in the still room

  “Why, Gertrude, I hardly know what to say,” Esmerelda whispered.

  “Be the first time,” Fred commented.

  “Why did you refuse, Gertrude?” Mary Alice asked.

  “I … I,” was all Gertrude managed.

  “I am the father of Gertrude’s child,” Blake said evenly. Two sets of feathered hats and wide eyes flew to him. “I took advantage of Miss Finch in the basest way. I am wholly unworthy of her. She is too fine a woman to be saddled with a blackguard like me. But I will spend as much time as necessary to convince her I’ve changed.”

  “As I have said, it was consensual. He bears no more blame than I,” Gertrude added quietly.

  Mary Alice tilted wildly in her chair before nearly careening to the floor in a faint. Benson caught her. “Make way,” the valet said as he struggled to his feet and headed for the settee to lay his burden down. “Miss Forsyth,” Benson called as he fanned her prostrate form.

  “You … you were intimate with this man?” Esmerelda whispered as Gertrude rushed to Mary Alice’s side.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “There will be no more questions in that vein, madam,” Blake said. “Our relationship will not be fodder for your gossip or censure.” To Blake’s satisfaction the woman’s mouth snapped shut.

  Gertrude returned her attentions back to Mary Alice, who was moaning and thrashing about. Benson rubbed her hand and called her name. Mary Alice’s eyes fluttered open. She stared at Benson as if awakening from a dream. “Are you my knight in shining armor?”

  “I believe I am, madam,” Benson answered. “Allow me to brew a cup of tea for you. I imagine that will buoy your spirits admirably.” Benson rose from his bent knee and walked out of the room, a blank look on his face.

  Esmerelda stood and faced Gertrude. “What do you intend to do about this, Gertrude?”

  “About what Esmerelda?” Gertrude said.

  Esmerelda huffed and puffed. “You are an unmarried woman, carrying a child. You must marry this man. Even if he is, well, a man.”

  “Women usually do marry men,” Gertrude replied.

  Esmerelda’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. “This is no time for silliness, Gertrude. The storm of ridicule will sweep you under.” Esmerelda straightened to her full five feet. “And to think after all I’d hope to teach you. To denounce your convictions in such a blatant fashion. I’m ashamed of you.”

  Blake had had quite enough. So had William and Uncle Fred if the looks on their faces were to be believed. “Miss Finch bears no shame. You, on the other hand, have been a barefaced hypocrite. Proclaiming friendship while finding her lacking. She is in no need of your harsh judgment. I will not allow it. Especially from a woman who has no understanding of her troubles.”

  “And I sure as hell can’t imagine a man who’d want to tumble a fat, old windbag like you,” Fred added.

  “Well said, Mr. Hastings,” Will nodded.

  Esmerelda’s mouth had dropped to her wide chest. “I’ll not be spoken to in this fashion.”

  Fred ambled to the door and whistled to one of hands to bring the wagon. He turned back to the group. “Ain’t none of us is goin’ to speak to you anyway, anyhow. ‘Specially with you being dropped off in town. I’ll put your trunk in the wagon.”

  “Well, I never,” Esmerelda said.

  Gertrude turned and stared at her. “No, Esmerelda, I don’t imagine you have.”

  “Come along, Mary Alice. We are not welcome here,” Esmerelda said, mouth pinched.

  “If Gertrude doesn’t mind, I’d like to stay awhile and visit. I haven’t heard a thing about her travels.” She swallowed as she looked at Gertrude and then Esmerelda.

  “You’re welcome to stay, Mary Alice,” Gertrude said.

  “Thank you. I find I’m fascinated with London.” She looked up at Benson and smiled.

  “Heaven forbid, Mary Alice
. Get up. I won’t leave you here in the clutches of these, these heathens,” Esmerelda boomed.

  “I dare say, madam,” Benson said. “If the lady is desirous of our company, she is, indeed, welcome. Civility is at the forefront of our offer.” Benson paused briefly. “And we are most desirous that she stay.”

  Esmerelda, clearly defeated but not bowed, turned sharply and headed out the door.

  Mary Alice fanned herself and tittered, “Oh, dear.”

  Gertrude and Benson helped Mary Alice up the steps to lie down. Blake, William and Fred plopped into chairs.

  “I did not like that woman, not one little bit,” Will said sharply.

  Fred harrumphed and looked out the window. “The one upstairs or the one slapping Clyde’s hand away while he tries to help her in the wagon.”

  “Miss Bunchley, I mean, sir. My mother wouldn’t approve of my language, but she’s a witch.” Will’s head tilted in thought. “The other one doesn’t seem as bad.”

  “Benson doesn’t think so, that’s quite certain,” Blake said and chuckled. He sobered quickly. “The other one I could have gladly strangled for upsetting Gertrude and insulting her, but I feared my hands wouldn’t quite reach around her neck.”

  Uncle Fred stood and put his hat on. “Come on Will. There’s work to do. Oh, hey Sanders, the stagecoach delivered the mail. There’s one there for you the whole way from Scotland. It’s on my desk.”

  Blake hurried to Fred’s office. He opened the envelope. One page was from McDonald, the other two from Ann.

  Wexford,

  Caught Melinda as she attempted to steal out in the middle of the night, on her way to elope with Connor McDougal. His father, the McDougal laird, is my closest neighbor. Melinda is crying at this moment, and has been since I found her slipping out the servant’s door. I love the girl as my own, but my ears are ringing, and she tests my patience, surely. McDougal is a brawny lad, and I don’t look forward to killing him, being he is my oldest friend’s son, but I’ll do what I have to. He stares at Melinda so hard I fear her fair hair will catch fire or he’s about to devour her in front of us. Your daughter fans her lashes and stares back. You and I both know what those looks mean. I’m thinking I should send Melinda back to your home, and away from here, but need Burroughs’ consent to keep her before I do. Felt you needed apprised of the situation.