Sean stood motionless. Will is dead? He was only thirty-seven years old and he is dead. Why? He looked at the doctor. “How?”
“A hematoma, Mr. Marshall. It was a danger we had hoped we could arrest with cold compresses and anti-inflammation drugs, but there was simply too much swelling. I’m so sorry. There was nothing more we could do. Your brother was made comfortable, and he died in his sleep. I hope that offers you solace.”
Sean nodded dumbly. His feet were set in concrete. A pixie had stolen his voice. His brother was dead. Sean would miss him so much. And he had never felt so alone.
Chapter 72
August 31, 1941
Cloverdale, Oregon
Lorette had panicked. She’d had to drive Sean’s car home, and then help Sean from the car, into his room, and even helped him change and get into his bed. That didn’t worry her, the man was plum tired after a long and emotional two days. What worried Lorette was Sean’s color. It was off. And he just seemed so…despondent. She phoned Rebecca to tell her the news about Will, breaking down when she had to tell the story again. But she regained her composure and told Rebecca her worries about Sean. Rebecca said she would come right over.
“Knock-knock,” Rebecca whispered as she opened his bedroom door just a crack. She could hear the rustle of bed sheets.
“Is that you, Beck-wheat? Come in,” he said hoarsely. He sat up higher and dabbed his eyes dry. Rebecca quietly opened the door just enough to slip through, and then closed it behind her.
“Lorette phoned me, Sean.” She removed her sweater. “Oh, Sean, I am so, so sorry,” she said as she approached the bed, kicking off her boots. “I just loved Will—he, he has always been like a big brother to me.” She unzipped her riding pants and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I am so sorry,” Rebecca cried openly.
Her pants fell to the floor, and she’d flung her blouse in the direction of the dresser. Sean found his voice as his childhood sweetheart stripped off the last of her clothing and stood before him in the late afternoon light. “Beck—” he croaked.
She wiped tears away from her eyes, then bent and pressed an index finger to his lips, drew back his bed sheets and climbed in beside him. “I don’t want to talk about how awful sad we are, and I’m not going away,” she told him. “I only want to give you comfort. I want to feel close to you, just…be with you. That’s all. It is only for tonight, Sean. I’m going to hold you and grieve with you, for Will. I will be marrying Evan in the spring, but I have not answered him yet. I want to love you this one time before I do.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I need this, Sean. So do you.”
He’d had no intention of sending her away—not this time. He wasn’t a saint; he was only a man. “Beck, I am so alone. In a month of Sundays, I never would have believed Will would go before me. I’m not prepared. I, I just wasn’t prepared for that. I don’t know what to do.”
She answered him by initiating the sweetest and most emotional lovemaking she had ever known. Their merciful suffering of time had a healing effect. She’d given him strength.
Afternoon had drained into night. Rebecca was dressing, and a dark rain was beginning to threaten inside Sean’s heart. He could feel anxiety rising. He did not know how to ask Rebecca to stay with him. She’d already given him so much of herself, he could not ask for her reputation, too. He could not ask Rebecca, someone he loved and respected so deeply, to stay with him—but only for one night.
It was soon enough a moot worry. She rose from the side of the bed where she had been pulling on her boots and, as if sensing his anxiety, told him, “I am going to get a tray of food for us. Leftovers, nothing fancy. You know I can’t cook, and poor Lorette was so broken up about Will, I told her to go on and take the night. I will be staying with you.” She noted his struggling smile and was relieved. “I am going to pull those parlor doors closed, and then you and I are going to sit and play Mah Jongg or cards or something while we eat, and we are going to honor Will, and grieve our deep distress. Tomorrow, the sun shining on a brand new day will begin to blunt our keen despair.”
Chapter 73
There was indeed a new day and the sun was shining on it, this first of September in the year 1941. It was Blair’s thirtieth birthday.
It was an Indian Summer in Oregon, and the Pacific coast boasted beautiful, sunny weather with temperatures in the upper 70s. The moment Blair stepped off the train in Tillamook, she knew she was home. This was the place she was meant to wind up. Poor Wendell. She really did love him. The man was her dearest friend, and he had saved her life. He was the only one to reach her when she was lost in the darkest recesses of her own tortured mind.
Blair collected her bags and motioned to an attendant. She withdrew a ten dollar bill and folded it neatly, twice. When the attendant approached, she pressed the bill into his hand with a handshake, Chicago-style, and said, “You look like the capable sort of fellow who could find me a car and driver to rent for the day. I wish to go to the coast. To Cloverdale, specifically.”
The young man opened his gloved hand and saw the number 10 plainly printed in the corner. He snapped to attention with a tremendous smile. “Yes, ma’am!” He took off like a forest fire in July.
Chapter 74
September 1, 1941
Cloverdale, Oregon
They held each other in the late morning silence. Slivers of intense orange sunlight stabbed around the edges of the bedroom window’s shade, leaving sword-like lengths of shadow intersecting across the double-wedding-ring quilt. Sean’s life was suddenly wildly different from his life of two days earlier, he was starkly aware. There were no farm machinery noises, no upstairs boots against soft fir floor boards. No sounds of Will.
But there was the smell of strong coffee and the sweet scent of something baked. He didn’t want to think about eating. But as sad and as spent as the two lovers were, they were both powerfully hungry. It got them up and going.
Sean knew he needed to make some arrangements for Will, and it was going to be hard. He was doubly-glad Rebecca was there to help. He went ahead to the kitchen while Rebecca readied herself at the vanity. He peeked around the doorframe and saw Lorette’s backside as she worked busily at the sink.
“Lorette?” He called to her softly. When she turned it was clear to Sean she had been crying, hard. Her eyes were swollen from it. “Aw, Lorette.” Sean opened his arms and stepped toward her. She cried against his shoulder for a spell as he stroked her long blond hair, and he murmured, “There, there. It’s going to be all right. We’ll all be sad for awhile, but it’s going to be all right.”
She sniffed and withdrew from his embrace, then dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “I, I had a touch of sleeplessness and thought I would bake for us and prepare a stew for our supper later.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “I, I don’t even suppose you have an appetite, but we must all keep our strength up. I have fixed up some thick French toast and banger sausages. I made apple juice and coffee, too. I have eggs if you think we need them, and I, I…” She looked down and her shoulders began to sag and then shake. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Marshall. It’s all my fault.”
Sean gave her a squeeze. “It was an accident, Lorette, and not of your doing at all. The doctor told me there was nothing you could have done to change the ultimate outcome. But you were there with my brother at his end. I know that made him happy. He had taken a real shine to you, and it was my fault he never acted on it. I’m sorry, Lorette. Will had his hands full with an invalid brother and a 160-acre farm and mill to run, almost by himself.”
She sniffed. “Well, sir—”
Sean interrupted, “Please, Lorette, call me Sean. It is just the two of us. There’s no need to be so formal.”
She nodded. “I was going to say that I, I had feelings for him, too.” She began sobbing anew, “but I never told him.”
“I’m sure he knew. Will’s a
pretty…he was a smart guy.” Upon uttering Will’s name and having to refer to Will in the past tense, Sean could feel anxiety rise anew, like cold steel bearings pinging around his stomach and chest. He would need to push his sadness aside for awhile or he would not be able to function, and there was much to do. “Say, I could probably eat about a dozen of those pieces of French toast you got baking there,” he lied. “Do I smell vanilla?” He aimed to change the subject.
“Yes, sir—Sean. And tarragon, too. It’s my own recipe. I hope you like it. I seemed to have whipped up a good deal of food for just us and Mrs.—Rebecca.” At the stumble, Lorette’s cheeks reddened. She hastened to add, “I was so heartened Rebecca was able to stay and keep you company, Sean. She’s a treasured friend to have, Bless her.” Lorette lifted her apron and wiped it across her face. Dabbing was daintier, but it wasn’t getting the job done. She forced a smile and a more erect posture. “But, Lord, look at all of this food. I wanted to keep busy and I …”
He patted her shoulder. “It looks and smells delicious.” He pulled the coffee pot toward him and poured three mugs of steaming, robust Columbian roast.
The three friends had thought they would need to force themselves to eat beyond a single bite of food, but they fairly gorged themselves on Lorette’s oven-baked French toast. They finished planning the arrangements for Will. The family plot was in the old Cloverdale cemetery, purchased years earlier. Lorette and Rebecca would do the inviting, the cooking and the readying of the Marshall home for guests after the burial. They alternately laughed and cried all the while they planned, but they finished the sad business. Lorette immediately got busy with her duties, grateful for the distraction, and Rebecca departed for her home, to write announcements and such. Ellie Tjaden’s husband and older children were seeing to the livestock for Sean. He was left alone in the big house, and the quiet absence of his brother really hit him. He pulled a chair in front of the parlor window and watched the lazy cows and the occasional Red Tail Hawk as he sipped another cup of coffee and remembered better times, with Will.
Chapter 75
He noticed a nice town car motoring around the great curve of Highway 101—probably someone coming to stay at the Tjaden bath houses. The family still ran the business, but it was a much smaller operation these days. They called it a ‘spa’. Sean was startled when the town car pulled into the Marshall house’s driveway. He stood and walked across the dining area to the glass front door and was about to open it when the driver opened a rear door for his passenger, and she stepped out.
“Blair,” he exclaimed through a quick exhale of breath, and then he couldn’t replenish it. The air was knocked out of him. His enamel-ware coffee mug dropped and clattered noisily. For a moment time stood still. When it started up again, the syncing was off and so were his movements. He grabbed his heart with one hand, then he ripped the door open and stumbled down the steps, starting across the lawn, half-running. She saw him, dropped her bag and closed the distance.
“How? How can it be you? I thought…after all of this time. We thought you were dead.”
“I was, Sean. Or, more precisely, Cindy was. Oh, Sean, I only found out about you and Victor being separated a short time ago, and on that same night I suffered an accident. I have been recovering ever since.” She looked from him to her cane. “I came as soon as I could.” She searched her husband’s face as she spoke her next words. “I understand if it has been too long, Sean. I will understand if you want me to go away.”
“Go away? Oh my, Blair, I have missed you so much.” He grabbed and hugged her, kissed her. His emotions were scattered. Will was gone, and Blair was home. He’d just kissed her! She was really there! It was all so surreal. “It’s really you? Blair, where have you been?”
“I will tell you everything, Sean. But, I didn’t know if I should let the driver go or…I didn’t know if you were…remarried.”
“You can let the driver go,” he smiled happily.
She turned and waved him on. As she followed Sean into the kitchen and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, she noticed for the first time how thin and haggard he appeared. “You never married again, Sean? You really waited all of this time?”
“I never remarried. I have been trying to get Victor back, but I had no legal standing where the boy is concerned.” He looked down, “I did wait, Blair. I waited all this time, until last night.” When he looked up and met her gaze his eyes were teary. It was so hard for him to say aloud. “Will died. Yesterday.”
“Oh no, Sean. Oh, no.” Her eyes immediately filled with water and her balance teetered. She sat at the table. “What happened? Can you even talk about it?”
Sean shrugged reflexively. “It was an accident. He hit his head with a grinding stone and passed away in his sleep.” Sean’s eyes spilled over. “I was so sorrowful, so lost. And then Rebecca came and gave me comfort and, and something…happened. I needed…one thing lead to another; I don’t ever want to lie to you, Blair. It was just comfort Rebecca was giving me. She’s going to marry Elrod’s younger brother, Evan, in the spring.”
“I have much to share with you Sean. The one thing I need to tell you right here and now is that I never stopped loving you. I have confessions of my own. So many that I pray once I tell you all of it, you can still find a scintilla of affection for me.”
He lifted her out of her chair and squeezed her tight. Perhaps a tad bit too tightly, but she was content to endure it. “Lord, Blair, if only you knew how much I love you. I know what worries you. Will and I went to Chicago to look for you after you left. I, we, ran into someone who knew of you, and he told us how you made your…well, it didn’t matter then and it doesn’t now. We all do what we have to do to survive. I mean, I believe God expects us to fight for our lives, don’t you?” He released his embrace and held his wife’s shoulders at arm’s length so he could see her face. She nodded to him shyly.
“And that’s all you did, Blair, circumstances bein’ what they were. You don’t have a worry, Blair. I don’t blame you for a thing. And I never stopped loving you, either.”
Somewhere deep within Blair’s soul, a feathered-thing tweeted. Sean dropped his arms. “But, I failed you, Blair. The preacher took Victor away from me. I lost him in court.”
“I learned about it, darling; it’s why I am here. Someone told me. I’m here to get my son back for us, Sean. I have already sworn out warrants against the preacher and submitted documents to the court in Tillamook to reverse Victor’s custody to us, immediately. The preacher will be getting a visit from the authorities any day.” Blair did not tell Sean the preacher would be getting a visit from her on that very afternoon. She kept that to herself. “I just need to see a local attorney who I can put on record as my pleader for the formal Hearing, once scheduled. I was hoping you could recommend one.”
“I sure can. I’ll take us down there right now.” It was as hopeful as Sean could muster in his current state of grief.
“Oh-no-no-no. You’ve been through enough, what with Will and all. If you can call your Counselor for me and allow me the use of your car, I could deliver a retainer fee and legal documents for his signature, and return within just a couple of hours. We could have Victor under our roof by this evening. Sean, I want to hold my son so badly it hurts.”
Sean understood. “I have missed you that much. I hate to have you leaving me right away. But, yes of course, if you must see an attorney today, you may borrow the car. I will call my man, Charles Reynolds, for you.” A wry grin crept into the corners of Sean’s mouth. “I wish I could see the preacher’s face when he learns you’re alive and his bucket’s about to hit the wall. His precious almost-title will be dragged through the mud…I’m sure glad you’re leaving this business to the authorities. If preacher ever got his hands on you, he might try and wring your neck.”
“He’s already tried to kill me, Sean. That’s how I earned these scars.” She pulle
d her blouse away from her right shoulder and gave him a glimpse of the many raised scars left by Chester Lasley’s whip. “Let him try again. I am ready for him this time.”
Chapter 76
September 1, 1941
Cloverdale, Oregon
“There’s a black wreath on the Marshalls’ door, Victor. I guess he’s departed. He’ll bother us no more.” Preacher Bowman seemed truly joyous.
“He didn’t bother me none,” Victor murmured. Victor had already heard about the wreath, and he had not been able to shake a profound sadness that had enveloped him ever since. He hadn’t been able to forget the words Will Marshall had hollered to him in the dark night, weeks earlier. “I bothered him mostly, as I recollect.”
“Bah!” At times, Victor’s lack of reason revolted the preacher.
“It’s the truth, old man!” Victor jumped up from the chair he was lolling in. “Every word, and you know it! You know, he tried to do a hell of a lot more for me than you ever did!”
He was mad at his grandfather. He knew there was no love lost between him and Sean Marshall, so of course he’d be glib about Sean’s passing, but it angered Victor just the same. Victor was feeling cheated of something. All he knew was that he despised his grandfather more than usual at that moment. He lashed out.
“He never stuck me in no gall-danged bug-ridden box! He never left me alone for days without food or warmth to go off on drinking binges, or whatever the hell it was you were doing. He didn’t even refuse me the money I needed to save my butt, which, as I recall, you did!”
“That’s right, ‘cause I had no money to give ya. Now Sean Marshall, there’s a man who has plenty to give to ya. He won’t be needin’ it where he’s headed. Ya know what? I’m gonna phone up an old pal—he’s got a law degree—an’ see if he can assist you with your claim.”
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