Heart's Surrender

by Rosanne Bittner

  Still, to marry again, to lie with a woman out of love, seemed some kind of betrayal of Andrea. If only he could get over that feeling. There had been many easy women, whores for the most part, who had gladly accommodated the handsome, successful, and lonely attorney. But that was different. He hadn’t given them anything but his body. They were merely a means of physical relief. But to totally devote himself to a woman, that was hard, though he knew if he kept seeing Lorraine, he would have to attempt it eventually. Perhaps he should just stop seeing her. To care again, risk losing again, was too frightening. He had been hurt far too deeply, had suffered too much, to risk any more damage to his heart. He had only now begun to face the fact that Andrea really was dead.

  Still, something haunted him. Something ate at him. At night he could hear Andrea calling to him, but he knew it was just her spirit, yearning to be with him. Someday, in death, they would be together again. He had considered making his own death come early, by his own hand. But there were the boys to consider. They had suffered so much that to end his life might destroy them. They were such fine, handsome, strong boys. Jonas was sixteen now, dark and handsome, tall and broad like his father; a bright young man ready for college. John Ross was nearly fifteen, with fair hair and blue eyes, as big as his father but closely resembling his mother in coloring and looks. To look at him brought an ache to Adam’s heart.

  John Ross was more quiet than Jonas, more even tempered, quicker to smile. Both boys were a source of great pride for Adam, and as brothers they were very close, having suffered so much together. The latest horror, the loss of their mother five years ago, had left John Ross totally silent for two years. Adam had taken him to specialists, but to no avail. Only after being brought to St. Louis, sent to a special school, and settled in their home there did the boy finally begin to talk again. Now he was doing well in school, and in another year or two he, too, would attend college. Jonas was intent on being an attorney like his father, but John Ross wanted to be a doctor. He intended to go back to Indian Territory and work among the Cherokee, a decision that made Adam burst with pride.

  How wonderfully complete the family would be now if Andrea could be with them. This was what she had dreamed of. This was what she had wanted so much. And he had done it all for her, out of respect for her memory. After her death, he’d cared about nothing, but he’d struggled to make fine, educated, respectable men of his sons—for her sake. This is what she would have wanted. Andrea! Andrea!

  He turned away from the sign and went inside the neat, brick building that was his office. Today he would sign the agreement with Attorney Michael Renfro—another dream come true for Andrea. If only she could be here to know he was buying back the land! No man could have worked harder or saved harder than Adam Chandler had over the past five years—investing, doubling his money, using his brilliant mind to pinch every penny so that now he was very rich, just as he had promised Andrea he would be. He often represented large businesses, who overlooked his being Indian because he was a damned good attorney and won cases for them. The money had multiplied, and now he had enough. If only Andrea could be here, she would laugh and he would hold her, and together they would celebrate.

  Her father was dead now, if he could be called her father. Ethel Means had also died, leaving only Wilson Means to run the huge farm. He had run it poorly and was bankrupt. Adam could not be more delighted. With Douglas Means dead and Mary Means off whoring, there was no one in the family who was interested in taking over the farm.

  Adam went into his office and sat down behind a grand, oak desk. Yes, he knew all about the farm and what was happening. He had sent a spy to investigate the situation. Now the time was right, and he would keep his promise, whether he ever went to live on the place or not. He was buying back the Chandler farm! Michael Renfro would be the buyer on paper, for Indians could not own land. But it was Adam’s money that would be used, and today he and Michael would sign their own secret agreement, signifying that the land actually belonged to Adam Chandler.

  Adam leaned back and lit a pipe, thinking about his good friend. Renfro had been much more than a business acquaintance or an interested party who had given him a job. He had been the best friend a man could have. He and his son Martin had helped Adam through the first agonies of Andrea’s death, talking to him, keeping him busy, not allowing him to drink. It now seemed like a hundred years ago, that night when Martin Renfro had helped Adam get away to kill Douglas Means. With Andrea dead, the deed seemed pointless, yet Adam did not regret it. He only wished he could have made the man suffer longer.

  His thoughts wandered then to the oak tree. Things had come full circle. He’d got his revenge, and he’d got his land back. But there was no Andrea to share it with. He would love to take Jonas and John Ross to the farm, take them up the ridge to the oak tree and tell them all about how he’d met their mother there. But he knew it would be far too painful without Andrea at his side. And how could he take Lorraine there? It would mean nothing to her. No. He could not go back, not this way. His victory was a bitter one. For now he would let the land sit, or perhaps lease it out to a neighboring farmer. That would have to be done through Michael Renfro, the “paper” owner. Someday, when Renfro died, the farm would be willed to Adam Chandler, and he could legally and openly own it. Maybe then it wouldn’t matter anymore to whites that an Indian owned land.

  It would not be easy going back, now or later. There were so many memories…so many memories. The laughter in their household when he was a small boy…his father’s happy face and his mother’s beautiful one…chasing Ruth and teasing her until she cried out to her mother…the first time he broke a horse, roped a steer.

  But most of all he remembered the oak tree, and all the times he’d gone to it alone to think, to pray, to plan his future; little knowing that someday everything would be taken from him. A lump rose in his throat when he remembered the first time Andrea had come there, his stifled laughter as he’d hid from her and watched her come up to hug the tree. Andrea. He could close his eyes and see her gold hair, her blue eyes; he could feel the softness of her skin, taste her sweetness, feel his lips against hers.

  Why had he wasted that last year on drink? He’d almost lost her, and it sickened him now that he’d neglected her after all she’d been through to stay with him. He’d been so full of bitterness and hatred, and he’d taken it out on the one person he’d loved most. Those last three days they’d spent together before he went to Independence had been so beautiful, so forgiving, so filled with ecstasy and joy. He’d finally found himself, finally made her proud of him again. He’d finally found a way to get back everything for her. Now she was not here to share in his success.

  It was so hard to keep going, so hard to care. But he had to do it, for her sake. She would want him to achieve, would want him to do all he could for the boys—to give them a good life. He hoped her kidnapping and death would not have disastrous effects on poor Jonas and John Ross. Now that John Ross had snapped out of his silent mourning, he was working hard and learning fast. He would make a good doctor. He was a bright boy, a young man with great compassion and gentleness. And Jonas was fiery and stubborn, a fine combination for a good attorney. Yes, they would do well. And he would help them all the way, for Andrea. How he loved them! They had come from seed he’d planted in Andrea’s womb through love and ecstasy, and birthing them had not been easy for her. Then, of course, there was the third son…the one poor Andrea had never seen…the one she grieved for all those years. Perhaps they were together now. Perhaps the boy had died and was finally with his mother.

  He got up then and walked to a window, to stare out at the streets of St. Louis. He should go back to Indian Territory and see Ruth and James. They had two more children now, two sons. Their little daughter was nearly six already. The Cherokee were more settled now, many of them slowly finding themselves again, slowly rekindling their pride, building farms, rising up from poverty and depression. He’d worked so hard to help them keep their la
nd, but it had been to no avail; and so much had gone out of him that it hurt too much to go back there very often, especially without Andrea. For the present he could not even go back to the old farm in Georgia.

  He was feeling lost and alone. He’d done well here in St. Louis, through very hard work and a quick intelligence that soon won him a reputation for seldom losing a case. It had been hard at first, because he was Indian, but the state could not deny him a license to practice for he’d passed his exams with almost perfect scores. He had since proven himself many times in the courtroom. He’d had to fight harder than a young white attorney, but he’d won. Yes, he’d won. He had everything now…except Andrea. His chest tightened and he took a deep breath. The sky had clouded, and raindrops picked at the window. The door to his office opened then.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Chandler?”

  He turned to the apprentice who did his secretarial work. The young man was eager and bright, and although he was white, he respected Adam and Adam sensed it. Walking to his desk, Adam set his pipe in an ashtray. “I don’t think so, David. Did you do those case studies yesterday as I asked?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man came closer then, speaking quietly. “Sir, there’s a man outside who wants to see you. I told him you seldom see anyone before ten o’clock, that you always do your reading and so forth first. He has no appointment.”

  Adam frowned, sat down in his chair. “What’s his name?”

  “Stephen, sir. Just Stephen. He didn’t give me a last name, and he didn’t even say what it was about. He said you’d know once he talked to you, that you’d be glad to see him.”

  Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know any Stephen. Tell him to come back later this morning. If he’s going to be rude enough not to state his problem or even give his last name, then I can be rude enough to refuse to see him until later. He should have made an appointment anyway.”

  He turned to some papers, but David did not leave the room. Adam finally glanced up at him, noting a strange, nervous look about him. “Well? I told you what to do. Why in hell are you just standing there?”

  “Sir, this young man…” He looked at Adam intently for a moment. “Sir, it’s very strange.”

  “What’s very strange?” Adam leaned back again, looking annoyed.

  “Well, sir, he…he looks an awful lot like you. Fact is, Mr. Chandler, he could be your twin, only younger, of course. I swear it, sir. When he first walked in, I wondered how you’d got back outside. I thought it was you coming in.”

  Adam frowned, a faint flutter rippling through his body, a suspicion he could not even name moving through his blood. He knew he was thinking something he dared not think, and his heart pounded harder. “Send him in,” he said calmly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  David left and Adam stared at the doorway. Moments later a tall, broad, handsome young man walked in. He was dressed in a neat but inexpensive suit, and looked as though he’d spent his last penny on something decent so he’d look nice for his appointment. The youth walked a few steps from the doorway, then just stopped and stared. Adam stared back at him, dumbfounded, for he looked just like the young Adam Chandler Andrea had loved and married.

  Both men just gaped, surprised at how much they resembled one another. Then Adam slowly rose, his instincts telling him all he needed to know. His legs felt weak. The young man swallowed, his eyes watery.

  “You are…Adam Chandler?”

  Adam nodded.

  The young man took a deep breath, visibly shaken. “I…am your son.”

  Pain shot through Adam’s chest, so fierce that it made him bend over. The young man stepped closer. “Are…are you all right? Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s all right,” Adam broke in. He slowly straightened, his own eyes brimming with tears. “My God!” He let his gaze run over this young man, strong, handsome, dark. He did not doubt the young man was telling the truth. “My God!” he whispered again. It was overwhelming. Here stood a piece of the past, a gift from Andrea—the son she had never seen, the son she had borne alone, the son they had searched for so long but could never find. A tear found its way down his cheek. “If only…your mother could be here.”

  The boy swallowed, his own tears beginning to flow then. “They told me, at the Cherokee settlement, what happened. I went there first…met your sister. My aunt, I guess. She told me about my mother, where I could find you and my…my brothers…if I may call them that. I only regret that I didn’t come sooner. I was afraid to come…afraid you would be angry…that there was some reason you gave me away to the orphanage.”

  “Orphanage!” Adam moved from behind his desk. “My God, boy, we searched and searched for you. Your mother’s parents had her sent away because she loved an Indian. I didn’t even know she was pregnant! Her baby was taken from her. By the time she got back to me it was done. We searched and searched, but she didn’t even know where it was they had kept her. No one would tell us. We tried, Nathan. For years your mother pined over you, loved you, worried about you. It’s just so…so ironic that you show up now. She’s gone.” His chest convulsed in a sob and he quickly wiped his eyes.

  “You…called me Nathan.”

  Adam nodded, then ran a shaking hand through his hair. When he spoke his voice was choked. “We…named you. We refused to…forget that you existed…somewhere.”

  He met the boy’s eyes and saw the loneliness in them. What kind of hell had his son been through? Where had he been?

  “I stole my file…found out your names,” the young man told him. “When I was eighteen, they let me out. I was confused. I’d never been in the outside world. I was scared to try to find you at first…but I didn’t know what else to do…where to go. I just need some help getting started. I don’t have much education. If you could get me started somehow at some kind of work, I’d get out of your life if you want me to. Maybe it’s too late to be showing up. I just need…a little help.”

  Adam stepped closer, grasped the boy’s shoulders. They faced each other, practically twins, except that Adam was slightly taller. “Help? Did you really think if you walked in here I would just give you a few dollars and send you on your way? My God, son—Nathan…Stephen, whatever you wish to be called—you’re my son. My son! You’re my first-born son, the child Andrea cried over so many nights. Did you think I’d let you just walk back out of my life? Seeing you is like…like Andrea has come back to me. You have to stay—live with me and your brothers. You’re a part of us. You’re—” He broke down then, embracing the young man. “My God, if only Andrea were here,” he groaned. “Andrea! Andrea!”

  They embraced for several seconds, neither of them able to speak. For the first time in his life Stephen began to understand what it was like to be loved. Someone had embraced him with genuine feeling, and even though he was nineteen and full grown, he suddenly felt like a lost little boy enjoying the warm protection of his father’s arms. He had been prepared to hate this man, had not been sure what Adam’s reaction would be. But Ruth had told him what had happened, when he’d gone to Indian Territory to find his father. On his way to St. Louis he had wept bitterly over the mother he’d never known, for surely she had loved him. And now there was no doubt in his mind that she must have loved the man who held him, for she had suffered greatly but had remained true to him. He wished he could have known his mother.

  Adam finally released him and pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket. “We have so much to talk about,” he told the young man as he wiped his eyes. “So much. I’ll close the office for today, have David cancel everything. We’re going home, Nathan. I’ll send for your brothers right away.”

  Brothers. The word sounded good to Stephen. Family! A real family, after all those black years of working fourteen to eighteen hours a day in the miserable factories, hardly ever seeing the light of day, never knowing love, seeing friends die of horrible injuries, seeing little boys keel over right at their machines and die from overwork.


  “It will be hard for me to answer to Nathan, sir, but if that’s what you prefer—”

  Adam interrupted. “You’re used to Stephen. We’ll just call you Stephen Nathan Peter Chandler, and I’ll get used to calling you Stephen.”

  Stephen wiped his eyes. “I can really use your last name then?”

  Adam smiled sadly. “You’re my son, aren’t you? Of course you can use my last name. It’s yours legally. All I have to do is look at you to know you’re telling the truth. I feel like I’m looking into a mirror. And your brothers will welcome you with open arms, I guarantee. Your mother and I always talked about you as though you’d come in the door at any moment. They know they have an older brother, and they’ll be just as happy to see you in the flesh as I am.” He blew his nose. “What a day this would be if your mother were alive. My God, I’d love to see her face.” He choked up, then said, “It’s been five years, Stephen. Five years since I last saw her. Sometimes it seems like it was yesterday. I…loved your mother very much.” He met the boy’s eyes. “I never tricked her, Stephen. I loved her. I wanted to marry her, but her parents wouldn’t allow it. When they found out we were seeing each other, they had her sent away. I didn’t lay eyes on her again for three years. By then she’d had you and they had taken you away from her. She never knew where. But she loved you—we both loved you, prayed for you. As soon as she returned, she came to me and we married, against her parents’ wishes. We had two more sons. Then there was all that hell—my father’s death, our land taken away from us, my mother beaten and raped, my sister, too. And your mother…” He stopped and sighed. “There is so much to tell you, so much I want to know about you. I’ll close up here and we’ll go home.”