Surrender to Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  “He’s going to need you more than ever now, Alexa,” Harriet had told her. “Especially when he comes out of the daze he is in. But until then we’ll have to manage on our own. Thank God you’re levelheaded and strong!”

  Strong, Aunt Harriet had called her. But was it strength or only a self-induced feeling of numbness that kept her from breaking down and made her seem strong? Perhaps real strength lay in being able to disassociate yourself from anything too unpleasant to be faced; in being able to pretend successfully.

  Pretending that she was the strong and levelheaded person Aunt Harriet expected, Alexa managed quite well during the funeral service, which seemed interminable, and even during the light luncheon that followed. No one expected too much from her, and even Harriet did not nag at her for merely playing with the food on her plate instead of eating it. As if she was in a kind of trance, Alexa was able to react to anything that was said to her, to answer questions, to thank friends for their condolences and even to give the necessary orders to the servants while Harriet was occupied with seeing everybody off. How odd it was that Mama wasn’t here too, standing by the doors that led out onto the verandah, laughing. Mama loved visitors! And there was no familiar sound of the piano from the other room—Freddy practicing his endless scales and arpeggios that used to annoy her so at times. No, she was only having a nightmare, and if she closed her eyes and opened them again everything would be back to normal.

  “My dear, I’m going to leave as soon as the carriage is brought around. Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down?”

  Alexa had not realized that she had swayed slightly on her feet until she heard Sir John’s concerned voice and felt his supporting hand take firm hold of her elbow. He had traveled with her from Colombo, making all the necessary arrangements, soon after Harriet’s brief message had been delivered; and during all of the time it had taken them to finally arrive here he had not tried to press her into conversation, although he had listened intently when she felt like speaking and had limited his speech to brief comments on something she had said or to answering her questions. Her dear, wonderful, understanding Uncle John, her best friend.

  “I don’t really need to lie down, not yet. And if you must leave at once then I’m going to see you off, of course.” Alexa tried to make her voice bright and cheerful, although from the sharp look he gave her she could tell that he was by no means taken in. Were they actually supposed to be engaged? Somehow the idea seemed as unreal and as impossible to believe as everything else that had happened recently. And now of course there could be no question of anything of the kind—anything official, at least. He’d only come up with the idea to save her from the consequences of her own foolishness, her unforgivable weakness. And because he’d wanted to make sure she would be taken care of and comfortably off, so that she need never be forced to marry for reasons of security alone. But everything was different now, and there was no need for poor Uncle John to make the supreme sacrifice, was there? Even Aunt Harriet had admitted that she was needed here, and Papa needed her most of all, for comfort.

  When she saw Sir John off at the verandah steps Alexa reached up quite naturally to hug him and kiss his cheek as she always did when he ended one of his visits, saying, as she usually did. “You’ll come back very soon, won’t you? Will you promise you will?”

  “Of course I promise. But, Alexa, I want you to make me a promise too.”

  She looked at him with a slight frown of puzzlement drawing her dark brows together, wondering at his sudden seriousness, and he said quickly, trying to make his voice sound light: “It’s nothing you need frown over, I assure you, my dear. Just promise me—as your best friend in all the world, if you still think of me as such—that you will not hesitate to send me word if you should happen to need a friend. Or anything else, for that matter. You understand? Not too hard a promise to keep, is it now?”

  Walking back into the cool stone house with its wood paneled walls and floors that always smelled faintly of lemon wax, Alexa had to pause a moment to let her eyes adjust to the sudden contrast to the bright glare of the sunlight outside. Everyone had left, and how silent the house seemed, suddenly!

  “Alexa? Oh, there you are. I was hoping you had finished with your farewells by now. There is a great deal to be done, and I am going to need your help.” Aunt Harriet’s brisk voice put everything in place as it was, bringing Alexa sharply back from her impulse to daydream herself into the past again.

  “The sun was so bright outside I... But where is Papa? I cannot believe that I have not spoken a word to him since I have been back. Nor seen him either, until this morning.”

  Her impulsive words brought a strained, impatient sigh from Harriet “I know, my love. I know. And that is only one of the things that we will have to talk about, you and I. But for the moment there are a countless number of things that have to be done and orders to be given, the accounts to be gone over as well. I’ve tried to do the best I could, along with everything else that needed attention, but it has been getting harder and harder as things seem to keep piling up.”

  Alexa said stubbornly: “But what about Papa? Surely he needs to throw himself into anything that might take his mind off... Oh, I do understand how very lost and bereft he must feel, because I feel exactly the same way too. And perhaps if we could talk together, he and I... Aunt Harriet, don’t you think it would help him to talk? And to realize that at least we still have each other?”

  “Alexa, please. I know you mean well, but we are all under such strain that we are none of us our usual selves. What you must try to understand is that some wounds go deeper than others and that everyone grieves in his own fashion. Your papa needs to be left to himself for some time; and in this you must allow yourself to be guided by me, since I have known him since we were children together and have grown to understand his moods. As you have seen for yourself, he has chosen to shut himself off from painful reality; and until in his own time and his own way he is able to accept what has happened, we will just have to be patient and try to manage.”

  After a slight hesitation Alexa’s battle-squared shoulders slumped and she sighed. “I’m sorry. I suppose I did not quite understand and was being too precipitate, as usual. But I do want to be useful, and to help you—and Papa too, of course.” She managed a falsely cheerful smile with an effort. “Won’t he be surprised and glad to find—when he feels better, of course—that we haven’t let everything go to rack and ruin? Tell me, what needs to be done most urgently of all?”

  Chapter 15

  There was more than enough that had to be done, Alexa soon discovered, to occupy both her mind and her time for most of the day and leave her, thankfully, almost no opportunity for morbid introspection. Not since that first afternoon when Harriet had thrown open the door to Papa’s small office, gesturing wordlessly at first, until Alexa’s shocked eyes had had enough time to take in everything.

  The rolltop desk, usually so tidy and neat with papers and correspondence stored in the correct pigeonholes, was now all cluttered with sheets of paper and open ledgers that had more papers piled on top of them; and the wooden cabinets where Papa had kept his files were all standing open, while some of the files themselves had been left lying on the floor.

  “And now you can see for yourself how difficult things have been.” Harriet’s grim voice had aroused Alexa from a state bordering on stupefaction. “ I have no head for figures, as you well know; and of course Martin has not been himself since your mama took ill. With harvest time approaching I really do not know how we might have managed to muddle through for the past fortnight if Letty Dearborn hadn’t been kind enough to send her own foreman over to help us out! But of course she has her own coffee crop to see to as well and we cannot continue to impose. I had thought that if we divided between us the list of things that have to be done we could probably manage to scrape through, at least until Martin is himself again.”

  Would Papa ever go back to being his old self again? Could she? Or Harr
iet? Would anything ever be the same again?

  “Of course Martin will emerge from his state of depression soon, and neither of us should think otherwise. But you must realize that he—forgive me for being blunt, my dear—he loved your mama to a degree almost amounting to obsession. That is part of the reason why it is taking him so long to... Martin was always so sensitive! When our parents died I was afraid for a time that he might never recover from the shock. But life does have to go on, and we cannot turn back the pages or change what is written on them. You might remember that, Alexa, if you can. Because your life is just beginning, and you’ll soon learn that mistakes are meant to be learned from and not to be repeated, if you’re intelligent enough to realize that. Alexa, look at me!”

  Still busy with sorting out the confusion of papers, Alexa had almost unconsciously spoken her thoughts out loud when Harriet entered the room to find out if she was ready for a cup of tea; and now, almost unwillingly, she lifted her gaze from the papers clutched in her hand to meet her aunt’s eyes.

  “You think I’m still too naive and impractical because I like to indulge in wishful thinking sometimes? But what’s so wrong with doing so?”

  “What have I taught you? Why do you think I’ve tried to open your mind?” It was not until Harriet suddenly reached down to grasp her wrist that Alexa realized how seldom her aunt had actually touched her; for she had never been given to any outward show of sentiment. “Opened your mind...” Harriet repeated in a strangely harsh voice. “Yes, that’s what I did for you, even if I had to fight them every step of the way! Your mama—and even my own brother. And God knows why I felt compelled to do so, unless it was because I thought I saw, perhaps, something in you that reminded me of myself in earlier days. I was something of a rebel too in my time, as surprising as it might seem to you; but I learned my hard lessons too late for them to make any difference. It shouldn’t be the same with you—if you’ve learned anything, that is. The important thing is to keep emotion and reason apart, always being able to distinguish and separate the two in your mind. It’s the only way, my dear Alexa, that you will always remain in control of your own Me and your destiny, whatever it might be.” With a short, discordant laugh, Harriet dropped her wrist as suddenly as she had grasped it. “As you’ll discover in time, one’s destiny is always a surprise, for all that we dream and plan and aspire—or even hope! But if you’re sensible enough you won’t take anything for granted, or let yourself be taken by surprise either.”

  As if she had said too much already Harriet stopped and shrugged, raising one eyebrow when she noticed that Alexa’s forehead had puckered thoughtfully. “Here I stand making speeches while there is so much that has to be seen to. And I only meant to pause long enough to remind you that we shall probably have guests for dinner tonight—Letty Dearborn and her latest foreman, the young man who’s been such a help. He’s Portuguese, or something of the sort, I think she said when I spoke to her last. In any case, it’s her usual night to come to dinner and I’ve already reminded the servants to make two guest rooms ready.” Aunt Harriet’s rather wooden expression and deliberately noncommittal voice reminded Alexa immediately of all the whispers she remembered overhearing about Mrs. Dearborn and the succession of young, nice looking foremen she had employed to help her run her estate since her husband had been trampled to death by a maddened rogue elephant he had shot at and failed to kill. Anybody who did not know exactly what they were about and were not crack shots had no business trying to shoot elephants, Alexa remembered thinking unsympathetically when she heard what had happened. And since then Mrs. Dearborn had confounded the gossips and the pessimists not only by managing to run a large coffee estate efficiently and profitably but by showing her indifference to what anyone might whisper about her. She was a rather tall woman who wore her hair cropped short in the style of at least a decade ago, and on occasion she even smoked a cheroot. Even though she was considered eccentric and rather fast she was also known as a kindhearted woman who would do anything to help her neighbors if she liked them. And although the young foremen came and went, Alexa remembered meeting and quite liking Mrs. Dearborn herself on several occasions after, she had been considered old enough to join the grown-ups for dinner.

  Aunt Harriet seemed to be waiting for her to make some comment, Alexa noticed, and so she said with an attempt at brightness, “It will make a pleasant change to have guests for dinner again, don’t you think? I remember Mrs. Dearborn as being quite nice. Is her foreman a nice sort of man too?”

  “Nice enough, I daresay. And at least he seems to know what he’s about. Letty Dearborn tells me he was brought up in South America, where I understand they grow coffee quite successfully.” Harriet gave a disparaging snort before adding briskly as she turned to leave: “Well, since you can’t seem to make up your mind I’m going to send in a pot of tea and some nice buttered scones, in any case. And don’t stay poring over those books for as long as you did yesterday if you don’t want to be wearing spectacles before you’ve turned twenty.”

  As soon as the door had closed behind her aunt’s rigid back, Alexa gave an unconscious sigh before she turned back to her mound of papers and ledgers. Thank goodness she had always been good at figures and had been used to helping Papa before, or she would not have known where to begin. And thank goodness for any task that would keep her mind occupied. There was nothing that demanded more concentration and was so impersonal at the same time as balancing books filled with row upon row, line upon line of figures—some red and some black. Income and expenses. Money on paper. Numbers on paper that had never seemed quite real. Bank accounts. The money from some trust fund or annuity that Papa received from England every quarter—quite a tidy sum. Money put aside every month that would have been used for Freddy’s grand tour. “Of course, you’ll inherit everything now,” Harriet had reminded her bluntly only yesterday. The plantation, the house with all its furnishings, the money. She was an heiress now and did not need to look for a rich husband to support her. She could stay home and be a support to Papa and everything could go on almost as usual. Mama was gone and poor little Freddy, who had not lived long enough to enjoy life at all; and it was only because of that double tragedy that she...

  Alexa’s eyes had begun to sting with treacherous tears when she was rescued from allowing herself to become what Harriet would have called “morbid” by the entrance of a servant carrying a tray bearing the tea and scones that Harriet had threatened her with, a second servant following close behind with two glass-chimneyed lamps that glowed brightly even in the daylight. As she had half expected, Harriet herself glanced in not too long afterwards, awarding her a brief nod of approval when she noted that at least two of the scones had disappeared along with at least half a cup of tea.

  “Good! And don’t forget to allow yourself time to bathe and dress for dinner tonight. We’re having oxtail soup as a special treat, and steak and kidney pie as a second course to follow the curried chicken. And trifle for dessert. It’s Letty Dearborn’s favorite.”

  “I’m glad she’s coming. I like her, you know, and there’s so much I want to ask her about everything. In fact, I think I shall go out riding tomorrow morning and keep her company for at least part of her ride back home. Would you mind telling Muttu?”

  Her head bent in concentration over one of the thick ledgers when Harriet looked in, Alexa had glanced up only briefly before returning to her task again; but the casually authoritative manner in which she had spoken without being consciously aware that she had done so made Harriet lift her eyebrows after she had closed the door behind her. So! She had not expected to see it so soon, in spite of all her lectures and admonitions, but whether Alexa herself realized it or not, she had already begun to make her own decisions. And to give orders expecting without question that they would be obeyed. Power. Ah, the girl obviously had not realized it yet—her full potential now that she and not her sickly, overly pampered little brother would be in charge of everything. Poor, soft, weak little Fre
ddy had been Victorine’s child in every way, taking after his mother in his looks as well as his nature and constitution. Pretty, silly Victorine, whose only talent had been her ability to attract men with her wide eyes and her helplessness that made them want to protect and cosset her. Just as she had done in her turn with Freddy, the son she had always yearned for. Weakness nurturing and encouraging weakness, that’s what it had been. But she had made Alexa hers— her child much more than she had ever been Victorine’s. Strong, willful, intelligent, with a mind that she, Harriet Howard, had helped develop. Alexa was her father’s child and Harriet’s child, and that it had turned out to be so was not revenge, for revenge was too petty. Justice, rather!

  There was a small mirror in a carved gilt frame on the wall just outside the office. Victorine had wanted it there so that she could make sure she looked pretty enough before she knocked and then went in there to sit on Martin’s lap and chatter about foolish trivialities, disrupting the afternoon’s work he’d planned. So that in the end it was usually Harriet, or more recently, Alexa, who ended up finishing what he had begun.

  On this particular afternoon Harriet paused before Victorine’s mirror and looked back at herself without flinching, as she had learned to do quite some time before. “A handsome woman,” they used to call her after the word pretty had gone out of style. “A bluestocking.” She’d heard that too. And later it had been “old maid.” Well, by God, at least she had chosen her own fate and her own path. She’d had her choices—several of them—but Harriet Howard, who had once had one of the most eligible bachelors in all of London at her feet, pleading for her favors and calling on her almost every day, could never have settled for second best! Just for a moment she almost imagined that she could see the girl she had been smiling back at her from the dark mirror. Riotous brown curls spilling over a gold headband—“a la Tite,” they had called that particular style in her youth. A full, smiling mouth and eyes that could laugh, or so he had said several times during the months he spent courting her. And what if she had said yes to him instead of playing a tantalizing game of hard-to-get? Said yes while he still wanted her and pursued her—and before he had become acquainted with her new best friend, the little emigree from France?