Blake knew the door wasn’t locked because the door had no lock. Nor had he heard Pete pushing furniture in front of the door but Blake refused to turn the knob. He knew it should be Pete’s decision to open it. “Come to the door and let me in.”
Blake waited and a note shot out from under the door.
“Just leave me alone,” was all it said in Pete’s perfect penmanship.
Blake didn’t want to go in without permission from Pete. It was one of those moments where it seemed important that Pete felt he was in control of the situation.
“Pete, please, I want to talk to you and I prefer to do it in private.” There was no response from inside the room. “Just let me come in and apologize face-to-face. I want to make this right.”
A minute later, a note shot out from under the door coming to rest two feet into the hallway. “You can’t make it right. Everyone is going to know!”
Blake didn’t want to answer him from the corridor – then everyone would know what happened. Against his better judgment, Blake turned the knob and stepped inside.
“Pete, I can’t talk to you with the door between us.”
The twelve-year-old wiped his tear-stained face with his shirt sleeve. He looks so small and helpless and Blake wished he hadn’t stepped inside until he’d given him more time to compose himself.
“I’m sorry. That was not at all well done of me. No one knows but me what happened and I’m not going to tell anyone.”
All Blake wanted to do at that moment was pulled that little boy into his arms and hug him – to let him know he understood his pain and his embarrassment but he knew he would never allow the contact.
Pete scribbled on his notepad, tore the page off and thrust it at Blake.
“The maids will know when they collect the laundry. They’ll know. They’ll tell everyone.”
“That’s easy enough to solve.”
Blake crossed the room, picked up the wet pants and unmentionables and set them on top of the logs burning in the fireplace.
“I’ll go to the tailor, tell them you ripped them on a nail and have them make you another pair. They keep your measurements on file so you won’t even have to go – unless you’ve grown.” Blake produced a halfhearted smile. “How are those ribs?”
Pete threw up his hands in frustration. His mouth set in a stubborn line.
“Before you get even madder at me, let me tell you why I’m always teasing you about your ribs. Do you remember when we were in Rolla and you ran away? I told you what it was like to live on your own at that age, I know because I ran away after my mother died. I lived on the streets for about four and a half months. I lost so much weight my ribs were even worse than yours. My hip bones and a good belt were the only things holding up my pants. My face was so emaciated that my eyes were sunken and you could literally see where my jaw and skull met through my skin. When my father and I were reunited, I had lost about twenty pounds. I weighed about ninety-five pounds in October and was about seventy-five pounds in February. I was probably a week or two from dying.
He wrote on his pad again and Blake knew what it was going to say before he read it.
“Too bad you didn’t die then.”
Blake sighed.
“Do you know what my father did when he found me? He put me in a hotel room and told them to bring me three meals a day. He had the tailor make me clothes with my old measurements and when they were ready, he shipped me off to boarding school. So, when I bring up your ribcage, it’s because I want you to know I care because no one cared about my ribs.”
Blake shrugged and smiled in a way that did not light up his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong. My father loves me and he was worried about me while I was missing. But once he knew I was safe, the rest was just minutia.”
“Manusha?” Pete wrote.
“Minutia. It means unimportant details.”
Blake crossed the room and sat down on the bed. “I’m going to tell you a secret. My father never married my mother because he was already married to someone else. He’s a very important man and if the truth was known, it would ruin him. I don’t know if you and Lolly will ever meet him. But if you do, you’ll probably never know he’s my father.”
“You’re not going to tell me who he is?” Pete wrote.
Blake shook his head. “Honestly, Pete, he doesn’t publicly acknowledge I’m his son so I know he’ll never try to act like a grandfather to you or Lolly or even to the baby when it’s born.”
It wasn’t that he was afraid to tell Pete his father’s identity for fear that he would tell someone. He was finished protecting his father. Instead, the reason he didn’t tell him was to protect Pete and Lolly from the kind of heartache and rejection he felt under his father’s treatment.
Blake made eye contact with Pete but didn’t hold his gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have even mentioned him to you but I just wanted you to understand why I’m not a better father to you. I just don’t know how because I never had that example set for me.”
Pete pulled the pencil from behind his ear and began writing. “Even before your ma died?”
“He came over pretty late in the evening usually about fifteen minutes before I had to go to bed. I’d wait all day and then it was a bit of a letdown. He’d give me a big hug and a kiss on my forehead and then he’d ask about school. Fifteen minutes after he arrived, I’d be sent off to bed. It was really hard to know he came to see my mother and not me.”
Pete’s face softened somewhat as he began writing again. “I know you didn’t mean to make me wet myself. Lolly and I used to try to scare each other all the time before. So I don’t know why that happened.”
“You’ve been through a horrible tragedy. Grown men would have been traumatized by what you’ve been through. It’s going to take time to feel normal again – to feel safe. I want you to know, if you ever want to talk about it, I would be honored if you came to me. As men, it’s hard to talk about these moments of our lives – I know, I waited nearly twenty years to tell anyone about my mother’s death. Do you know who I told?” he asked rhetorically then answered his own question. “I told Meredith about ten minutes ago. It made me feel better. It really did.”
Blake debated telling Pete also. Perhaps if he knew that he had been through a trauma as a child also, it would help Pete to get through his own ordeal and help him open up and talk about it.
Blake hesitated. What if Pete mocked him, or worse, made one of his snide comments. Could Blake control his temper and his hurt if Pete said something to imply it was Blake’s fault or his mother didn’t love him? That was always what Blake felt but he wasn’t sure if he could stand to hear it from a twelve-year-old even if he knew the boy was just lashing out.
“I-I know it doesn’t compare to what you’ve been through but it was the worse day of my life. When I was ten, I came home from school and found my mother had killed herself. I’ve never gotten over it.” Blake looked up at him expecting the worst, his eyes threatening to tear up again. He knew Pete didn’t need to hear any of the details but he knew the boy was old enough to understand how he felt. “Now I’ve told two people.”
Pete took a hesitant step towards Blake but came no further. But to Blake that was nearly the same as an embrace. There was sympathy in Pete’s expression, not scorn or ridicule.
Blake stood up suddenly as if he was afraid Pete might ask him questions about that day. “Come on, let’s wash up and go get some of that French toast before the girls eat it all.”
Blake got to the basin first and washed his hands. “Catch,” he said to Pete as he squeezed the soap until it popped out of his hands. Pete wasn’t close enough so Blake grabbed the soap and did it again. This time Pete was standing next to him and caught the slippery cake. Blake bumped his hip against Pete as he poured water from the ewer to rinse the soap away.
As they reentered the master bedroom Blake put his hand on Pete’s shoulder and the boy didn’t pull away.
38
Pete Morgan s
tood over the bassinet looking at the writhing pink infant. He had awakened at the first whimpers and knew in a few more minutes the baby would be crying wholeheartedly. He quickly changed the wet diaper then picked up the baby and held her to his chest as he swayed and hummed a lullaby. The baby was as beautiful as Lolly had been and he suspected anyone who did not know the girls weren’t true sisters would never suspect they were not related by blood.
Pete remembered being jealous of Lolly when she was first born and how he grew to love her more than any person in the world. He wondered if he would feel the same way about this baby.
The baby girl they named Sarah Donna, had little wisps of dark curly hair like her father but although it was too early to know for certain, appeared to have his blue eyes as well. Lolly would blend right in with her black hair and her blue-green eyes but he never would. No one had straight sandy brown hair or brown eyes.
Pete knew he’d never truly be a Warner – not that he wanted to. He had refused to take Blake’s name despite the fact they had been legally adopted. Lolly hadn’t either, probably in consideration of his feelings. Blake and Meredith had not forced the issue.
His life was far from perfect but Pete had noticed that the gnawing in the pit of his stomach had lessened recently. He was beginning to accept he and Lolly were in a safe place, far away from the war and the horrible things that happened in Missouri. That in no way exonerated Blake from his part in the tragedy, but Pete was learning to tolerate him and acclimate himself to his new home. He still thought about running away but he had to admit, the time when he and Lolly had been on their own had been much more difficult than he thought it would be. Blake had been right; Lolly couldn’t make it on the streets. She was just too young. But perhaps when she was older, they’d run away again. But until then, he’d bide his time.
He worried about what Lolly would be learning living with these rich people. Would she grow up spoiled? Blake was too generous with his money. In the year they had lived there, not once did Blake deny any request for material things. Sometimes he’d say something in passing, like when he said he wished he could play his guitar better, and the next thing he knew, a music instructor was knocking on the door. Pete suspected Lolly would have a pony as soon as it occurred to her to want one. Blake even thought he could keep him from running away by putting two dollars a week into a savings account for Pete for as long as he stayed. But Pete didn’t want Blake’s money.
When the baby began to fuss again, Pete shifted her to the crook of his left arm and put his little finger in the baby’s mouth. He lifted the baby and kissed her forehead. He carried little Sarah into the master bedroom. The fire was burning low in the hearth but he could still make out Meredith wrapped in Blake’s arms. Getting used to the way Blake and Meredith bickered constantly had been one of the hardest things to adjust to. If Lolly’s ma had ever argued with Pa like that he would have hit her but Blake never touched his wife. It was one of the few things about Blake he actually hoped he could learn to emulate. But Pete knew he had inherited his father’s temper.
He pulled his finger out of Sarah’s mouth and laid his hand on Meredith’s shoulder. When that didn’t wake her, he gently shook her.
“Pete?” she croaked sleepily then cleared her throat. Seeing the baby in his arms, she moved to sit up waking Blake in the process.
“Did Sarah wake you?” she asked holding her arms out to take the baby.
Pete nodded. “I don’t mind,” he signed after relinquishing the baby.
Blake had worked hard to catch up on the sign language lessons he missed and would frequently slip into the study during classroom time just to watch Sam to improve his own understanding of it. It was rare he didn’t understand Pete’s signs anymore.
“Do you want me to stay so I can take Sarah back after you feed her?” Pete asked.
“That’s not necessary, Pete.”
“Do you want me to build up the fire before I go?”
It was Blake who picked up on the fact that Pete didn’t want to go back to bed. He wondered if he’d had a nightmare.
“It’s already stuffy in here but if you’d like to stay to put Sarah back to bed after she’s been fed, you may.”
“Blake,” Meredith protested. “Pete needs his sleep. He’s a growing boy.”
“It’s just one night. He can sleep late in the morning if he wants.”
As Pete sat down in the rocker a few feet from the bed, Meredith put the baby to her breast.
“I can’t imagine anything more beautiful in the world than watching a woman nurse her baby.” Blake said sitting up and moving close enough to Meredith to put his arm around her. He was thankful he wasn’t married to one of those women who hired a wet nurse. “Someday, Pete, you’re going to fall in love with a woman and she’s going to have your babies and you won’t imagine you could be any happier than in a moment like this.” Blake smiled at Pete. “I have to admit, I feel a bit shortchanged that I didn’t get to experience this with you and Lolly – but it doesn’t mean I love you less than I love Sarah.”
Pete resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Blake was always saying stupid stuff like that; telling them he loved Lolly and him as much as he loved the baby, calling him son. He would never be his father. His father was a drunk. Pete didn’t need a replacement father any more than he had needed his real one and Lolly didn’t need him either.
As Meredith leaned her head against Blake, he noticed Pete was frowning. “You’re going to be a great father when you’re grown. I can tell because you’re so good with your sisters.”
Pete picked up his hands to speak but dropped them back into his lap.
“What’s wrong, Pete?”
Pete looked back and forth between them then tentatively raised his hands. “No woman will want a man who can’t talk.”
“Well,” Blake began. “I know quite a few men who would love to have a wife with that particular affliction – Dr. Billingsham, for example. I should imagine there are many women who feel the same way.” Blake chuckled until Meredith’s elbow found his side.
“Blake, that’s not funny. He’s serious. Pete, of course, there are women who will look past your injury. When the right woman comes along, she’s going to learn sign because she will want to know what you have to say.”
Blake interrupted Meredith. “You know what girls like? They like boys with meat on their bones. How are those ribs?”
“You can barely see my ribs anymore,” Pete signed with a wide grin.
“Come over here and let me feel for myself.”
Pete came around to Blake’s side of the bed and held his arms out to his side. A moment later, Pete was flat on his back on the bed, fighting off Blake as he tickled his sides, laughing uncontrollably.
.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M. Donice Byrd lives in a small town near Lubbock, Texas. She has been married to the same man since 1985. They have one daughter, a grandson and three cats.
M. Donice Byrd - The Warner Saga Page 31