A Question Worth Asking

by Angeline Fortin

  “How old were you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Just when you needed a father the most.”

  James’s heart clenched. She was right. He’d needed his father’s guidance. Desperately. He’d never realized until that moment how angry he’d been at Alex MacKintosh for giving up on life. Giving up on them.

  Francis had done the best he could, but hovering between youth and manhood, James had needed more than his brother was able to give. “I was a belligerent and arrogant lad.”

  “You were grieving.”

  “Aye, and the gulf between us only grew wider. The wee ones came first. I understood that, but it was a bad time to be left to my own devices. I got into trouble, too much really. I picked fights with them...” A chuckle bubbled up his throat and James shrugged. “I still do occasionally. I suspect it was nothing more than an attempt to get some attention. I spent my whole life trying to impress them, to be one of them. But I never was. I was an outsider in my own family with nothing to make myself my own man. Nothing to keep my attention besides women and horses. I thought to join the military like Vin and Richard, but there were no wars to fight. I might have been a scholar but for the monotony of it. I might have been a preacher but for...”

  “The celibacy of it all?” Prim finished when he trailed off.

  James grinned down at her. “Are you not glad I decided against it?”

  She beamed up at him, her hyacinth eyes shining. “I am.”

  He might have kissed her then. Kissed her into oblivion and spared them both more of this maudlin nonsense. But James’s lips brushed her forehead instead, rousing him with a jolt of longing and joy incongruous with such a simple gesture.

  “Sweet bonny lass, will you...come back to bed with me?” he finished, nearly saying something he might regret.

  Fire sparked in her gaze, but Prim shook her head, though she hugged his arm tighter. “You still haven’t gotten to the point.” She gestured back to the album.

  “What else is there to say?” he argued, looking at a picture of a group of his siblings at St. Andrews Old Course.

  He remembered being there one time as a child. MacKintosh family would often spend the summer there with family friends. The MacKenzies in particular. Francis, Vin, and Richard would always match up with Jace MacKenzie for a foursome, leaving him to play the round with his father and Jace’s father. Sometimes Jace’s younger sister, Moira, would join them. He remembered one time in particular. Moira had wanted to join the older boys as badly as he had, though she’d followed them relentlessly.

  “Go away, Moira!” Jace had snapped at her. “We’ve already got our foursome.” He pointed out Vin, Francis, Richard, and himself. “You’ll play with Papa, Glenrothes, and Jamie and leave us alone.”

  It had been just before his mother died. James was not yet eight but already separate from the others. Still, the dismissal had been devastating. Moira had been pushed aside more physically, but he’d still borne the blow. All the more reason for him to learn to stand on his own.

  “I was nothing there. I’d never done anything extraordinary. My life wasn’t as scandalous as Francis’s, nor did I suffer as Vin and Richard. Here I’ve built a life. I’ve a business and I’m good at it. I have respect and admiration. You crave the same thing. Surely, you can appreciate wanting that.”

  “I do.” She nodded but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I can also see it means nothing to you coming from these people.”

  “Nonsense. I adore Mrs. Preston.”

  “She might be the only thing here you care for.”

  How adamant she was. How wrong.

  She went on, “You want the same respect you’ve gained here from your family. That I understand, better than most. You should go back home.”

  “I shouldn’t have to prove myself worthy,” he countered.

  “You misunderstand me,” she said. “I don’t think you should go back to win their approval. I think if you did, you’d find you already have it. I’d wager they all adore you just as you are.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it’s so easy to do.”

  James’s heart leapt at the admission. Prim was perched beside him on the foot of his bed, in his robe with her hair down and flowing in surprising curls around her face. It was nothing like he’d pictured but perfect anyway.

  * * *

  Prim looked away, gnawing at her lip anxiously. She couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud.

  “Your loneliness is so obvious to me, Jamie. I think you long for your family.”

  James drew Prim into his arms. Lifting her into his lap, he kissed her softly. “Nay, lass, all I long for is you. I left home, not because I felt as if I didn’t belong there, but because I was so bombarded by wedded bliss from all sides I couldn’t bear the envy. I came to America to find my own.”

  “Your own what?” Prim asked in confusion.

  “Wedded bliss,” he repeated. “Were you not listening?”

  “I was. I am.” But she was still too muddled to make heads or tails of it. Was he saying he was looking for a wife all this time? No, she’d never believed that tale. He would have wed long ago.

  “I know you want a life of freedom, lass,” he went on. “One where you make your own decisions. Your own choices.”

  “What are you getting at, Jamie?” She had to ask because there was no way this was going in the direction it sounded.

  “Let me into your life, not to rule it, but to share it. Marry me, Prim. Be my wife.”

  But it was going that direction. Stunned, Prim stared at James, wondering if honor compelled him to propose after what they’d shared in his bed.

  Or if he’d simply gone off his rocker.

  “W-what?” she stuttered.

  James picked through the clothes he’d dropped on the floor earlier and came up with a blue box in his hand. He opened it to reveal an enormous oval diamond ring surrounded by amethyst.

  “I’m asking you to make a choice. Choose me.”

  Chapter 30

  He fell to the seat, she by his side. There were no more words.

  ~ Victor Hugo from Les Misérables

  Christmas Day

  James took the oblong package Maggie handed him curiously. “Another? You’ve already given me a gift.”

  They’d spent the last hour opening the many packages sent from Scotland for them both, as well as those they’d chosen for one another. Maggie gushed over the ermine caplet and muff he’d gotten for her and he was pleased by the new gloves she’d given him.

  “I’d finished shopping weeks ago. This is something I decided on more recently to put together for you,” she said. “I thought you might like it.”

  Pulling on the string tied into a neat bow, he unwrapped the satin fabric and pulled out the two thick books within. Though bound in red leather with gold foil stamping on the spine, the covers of both were blank. He looked at Maggie curiously.

  “I’ve bound the three editions of The History of Woman Suffrage for you in one and some of the articles written by Mrs. Anthony and Mrs. Stanton in the other,” she explained, continuing when she read his puzzlement, “Elizabeth Stanton and Susan Anthony are the former and current presidents of the National American Woman Suffrage Association. I thought you might enjoy finding out exactly what Mrs. Eames is fighting for.”

  James nodded, flipping through the first few pages. Several words jumped out at him that he’d heard from Prim’s lips over the past month. Equality. The vote. Though he’d agreed with her in the generalities of her cause, Maggie was right, it would be interesting to get to the foundations of what had put her in the mindset.

  “I will enjoy them. Thank you.”

  “Have you asked her yet?”

  He sighed, scratching his jaw. “I did, as a matter of fact.”

  “Really? Oh, how wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me?” Maggie stopped abruptly. “She said yes, didn’t she?”

  “No.”
>
  “I can’t believe she’d deny you.”

  “She didn’t, not exactly.”

  “Then what happened?”

  James scratched his jaw again. “I’m not exactly certain, but I may have stunned her into silence.”

  “She said nothing?”

  “Exactly, not at all what you’d imagine.”

  “Not from her,” Maggie said with a frown. “Despite her suffrage work, I can’t believe she’d turn you down. She seemed so taken by you when we’ve spoken after our meetings. I do like her, Jamie. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she’s blossomed since her husband’s passing. Even more since you’ve met. I think you’ve had a hand in that.”

  “Perhaps I did my job too well.” James gave her a quick rundown of their bargain. “She only wanted a way out of an untenable situation. I wanted more for her, to help her realize her potential. Help her believe, as I do, what an incredible woman she is on her own. She’s come so far already.”

  “And her thanks is rejecting my boy’s proposal?” she exclaimed with no little outrage.

  “She did not reject me,” he reminded.

  “She didn’t answer either.”

  “She will,” he said confidently. “Clearly Prim wasn’t expecting the proposal. Once she’s had time to think it over, she’ll say yes.”

  At least he hoped so. Having her as his wife had come to mean more to James than he thought possible. Not only for the swift end she’d put to his bachelorhood, or because in one fell swoop he might accomplish everything he’d set out to gain when he’d left Scotland.

  Prim might think he longed to be with his family, but James longed for something else altogether.

  Belonging.

  Being with his family had never accomplished that. They’d never needed his company. Not like he’d needed them. Needed people in general. He couldn’t bear to be alone.

  In turn, he wanted to be needed by them. Wanted to be depended on. Prim for all her begging for his assistance, didn’t need anyone. All she’d needed was a modicum of confidence and a handful of faith in herself. Certainly, she didn’t want or need to be taken care of.

  For all that, she was just as lonely as he. Despite the number of people in her life, she needed true companionship and understanding. Someone she could be herself with. Someone she could reveal her true thoughts to. Children, for all their affection, couldn’t provide that.

  She lacked true intimacy. Just as he did.

  They might find that together. Not just with their bodies, but in true friendship.

  James shook off any deeper sentiment and set the books aside. Rising, he went to Maggie and drew her close for a warm hug. He had a friend in her as well. One he’d never sacrifice for anything.

  He kissed her cheek, smiled down at her. “Thank you, Maggie. That might be one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.”

  “Pardon my intrusion,” the Preston butler called from the door. “You’ve a telegram, Mr. MacKintosh.”

  “Another one?” he asked, crossing the room to take it. “Probably just a note from the family wishing us a Happy Christmas.”

  He took the envelope and thanked the butler. Pacing back into the room toward Maggie, he opened it and removed the telegram.

  His steps slowed, halted. His breath caught, cold as ice, and his hands began to tremble.

  It was no Christmas greeting.

  “Jamie dear?” Maggie’s voice was high-pitched with alarm. “What is it?”

  Numbly, James showed the paper to her, barely registering her gasp and the soft sob that followed. “I must go. I’ve got to go home.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. “Don’t think of arguing. I’ll not let you spend the journey alone.”

  Alone.

  No, he didn’t want to be alone anymore either. But he didn’t have time to consider that. He needed to make arrangements.

  James tossed the telegram into the fire. He didn’t want to keep it, though the sparse two lines it bore would be forever burned into his mind.

  Ilona has died. STOP.

  Please come home. STOP.

  * * *

  Shane jogged up the front steps to his sister’s house with a smug grin. He’d known Prim wouldn’t hold a grudge against him for long. It wasn’t in her nature to be spiteful and it was Christmas, after all. She’d want her family with her, all of them.

  He was just about to ring the bell when a liveried servant ran up her walkway.

  “Can I help you?”

  “No, sir,” he panted, bent over. “I’ve a message for Mrs. Eames.”

  What could be so urgent on Christmas Day, Shane pondered. His curiosity got the best of him. “I’ll take it.”

  The fellow hesitated.

  “I’m her brother,” he said. “I’m just about to go in. I’ll be sure she gets it.”

  “Please see she reads it as soon as possible.”

  “Of course.”

  Shane took the envelope and watched the servant trot back down 5th Avenue. One block. Another. And another.

  He was still running when Shane turned away, but he had a very good idea where the messenger was off to. There were only so many residences within walking distance of Prim’s home.

  Slipping the missive into his pocket, Shane opened the door and climbed the stairs. Bypassing the family parlor and the laughter spilling from it, he went to the room he kept there instead. He closed the door and ripped open the letter, catching the scrawling signature at the bottom of the reverse page.

  Your devoted servant, James MacKintosh.

  With a sneer, Shane flipped it over and read from the beginning. A short explanation that he was leaving the city, sappy protestations of affection. Asking her to think about his proposal. The decent or indecent sort, Shane wondered.

  Then he read on. MacKintosh had been reviewing her finances and discovered...

  Shane’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  Chapter 31

  Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own; in pain and sickness, it would still be dear.

  ~ Charlotte Brontë from Jane Eyre

  Glen Cairn Manor

  Glenrothes, Scotland

  January 1896

  They’d been lucky to catch a ship just a day after the dreadful news, leaving out of port in Connecticut. Aboard the American Line ship SS City of New York, recorded as the fastest steamship to cross the Atlantic, they’d made the crossing in six days. Another had been spent on the way to Portsmouth. From there, they’d traveled two days on the rails, making their way to Glen Cairn. His family’s ancestral home, where generations of the MacKintosh clan had been laid to rest. The house James had grown up in.

  Neither echoing with the ruckus only a huge family could make or the laughter he usually associated with it, the grand old manor brimmed with sorrow. As did James.

  The life had gone out of it, just as it had Ilona.

  Still everyone had greeted him, crowding around to be the next one to hug him. Vin in particular had appeared overjoyed to see him. Fiona, her belly rounded with her own child, had clung to him, giving in to tears he’d rarely seen from her. They’d genuinely missed him. He’d been surprised.

  Prim had been right as usual.

  “How is he?” James asked his oldest brother, Francis, joining him in the library after a refreshing bath and a change of clothes.

  He’d already paid his respects for Ilona, still laying out in the family parlor. Though ten days seemed a long delay, it wasn’t unheard of. Family and friends invited to the funeral would need time to travel, and Colin had only just relented from the grief that had delayed the burial this long. The funeral would take place the following day.

  He’d gone up to see Colin when he’d arrived, as well. Hardly a word had passed his brother’s lips. He looked pale, forlorn.

  Devastated.

  Everything he’d ever feared.

  “As good as you could expect.”

  “So, not well then.”

 
; “No.”

  James nodded and swirled his Scotch around his glass.

  “It’s a terrible thing. Have you seen Nan yet?” Francis asked, referring to Colin and Ilona’s newborn daughter.

  “Not yet.”

  Joy and sorrow warred with one another on his brother’s face. “She’s a wee thing but she has her mother’s sunny nature. I’d swear she’s smiling already.”

  “She’s only two weeks old,” reason compelled James to point out.

  Francis just shrugged. “I’ll take a smile where I can find one at this point.”

  James couldn’t begrudge him that. “He reminds me of Father already,” he found himself saying.

  The comparison ate at him. He slipped his mother’s locket out of his pocket, turned it over and over again in his hand, remembering those last days. He didn’t want to see the same thing happen to Colin, to see him waste away for the sake of heartbreak.

  He didn’t want it to happen to any of them.

  Or himself.

  The thought of Prim dying laid him to waste inside. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if she died. Yet, he might find out one day if he persuaded her to marry him. Life was a precarious thing. People died all the time for a variety of reasons.

  But logic couldn’t sway grief, he knew he’d be distraught if something happened to her. And he wasn’t even in love with her. He couldn’t begin to imagine his brother’s desolation. Colin had worshipped the very ground Ilona walked on, just as she had adored him.

  Francis rocked back in his chair, drinking from his glass. “Aye, I’ve seen it too, but what can we do but let him know we are here for him?”

  James joined his brother in drink and silence for a few long moments.

  “Do you ever think,” he began slowly, “that it’s better not to love at all?”

  His brother gazed at him with eyes so much like his own. But there was a light in Francis’s he’d never seen in his own.

  “I can’t agree with that when loving my Eve has been the greatest achievement of my life.”

  James shook his head, looking down into his drink once more. “But look at him, Francis. Recall the way Father was after Mother died. He was lost to us all the moment she passed away. He might have still been alive then, but he’d left us all. Left us without a father. Fiona was just a wee bairn. You were more of a father to her than he ever was. Is that going to happen to wee Nan? Is Colin going to waste away before our eyes? Forget he has a child who needs him?”