by Jenna Brandt
Margaret frowned, noticing the all-too-serious tone in Pierre’s voice. “What is it?”
“Let us sit down, Margaret.”
They made their way into the living room where Margaret and Pierre sat on the western-styled sofa in the center of the room.
“All right, we are sitting. What is it that you want to tell me?”
“Margaret, you know that your interests are always the utmost of my concern?”
“Yes.”
“Then, when I tell you this, do not think of it as a jealous ex-beau telling you. Think objectively and take it quite serious.”
“I will.”
“Good, I feel I can continue, then. The other morning, I had an uneasy feeling about your husband. So I made some inquiries, checked into some information, and I found out some rather disturbing news.”
Stiffening, Margaret placed her clasped hands in her lap. “What is it?”
“Margaret, Cort is not who he says he is. Actually, I found out something very alarming about him.”
“Pierre, just come out with it.”
“I do not want to be the one to tell you. I want him to be the one. Ask him about his half brother. It is very important that he tell you who he is and their connection.”
“But he has already told me about him and what happened between them.”
“Yes, that is possible, but I am certain he did not tell you everything. I know for a fact that there is one very important piece of information that he has left out. I do not think you would have married him if you had known.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes, thinking this was a ploy of Pierre’s to put a wedge between her and Cort. “Pierre, nothing can come between Cort and me.”
“I would not be so sure of that if I were you. What he withheld will change everything. I am only telling you this because I love you, Margaret, and feel you need to know the truth.”
“I love you too. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I am sure it is nothing to fret about, Pierre. When the time is right, I will ask my husband about his half brother.”
“Well, I did what I came for and delivered the message. I hope you take it to heart.”
“I will.”
Pierre leaned over to hug Margaret and kiss her on the cheek. “I will see you soon when I come back through on my way back to France.”
“I look forward to it.”
“As do I.”
Chapter 26
Several weeks had passed since Pierre told her there was a secret Cort was keeping from her, one that would change the dynamic of their relationship forever. Margaret tried to convince herself that whatever Pierre had found out about Cort did not matter, but part of her feared what it might be. She had fallen for men with secrets in the past, and she thought she and Cort had divulged everything between them before they were married. What was he keeping from her, and why? She knew she needed to discuss the matter with her husband before it could create division between them.
Margaret made her way out to the corral where Cort was working with a new colt. She watched her husband for several moments, taking in his good looks. She never got tired of watching him work with their horses. He moved in such a hypnotic way as he guided them around the corral and through their workouts.
“Cort, I have something I need to discuss with you.”
Margaret patted Chester’s back and released him to go over to the feeding trough.
Cort leaned his arms across the corral top as he placed one of his booted feet on the bottom rail. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I told you Pierre came by before he left to make his way to the Oregon territory.”
“Yes, you mentioned he came to say goodbye.”
“He did not come just to say goodbye. He also came to tell me something he felt I should know. I had been debating whether or not I should bring it up to you, but he told me there is something in your past you have purposely kept from me.”
Cort stiffened as he furrowed his eyebrows together. “What did he say?”
“He said I needed to ask you about your half brother.”
“I had wanted to tell you from the moment I realized the truth.”
“What is the truth, Cort? What have you been keeping from me?”
Cort took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I should have told you this a long time ago. I wanted to, but I was afraid. There is history between the Duke of Witherton and me.”
Still not understanding what Cort was trying to say, she asked, “What do you mean?”
Cort paused for a long moment, then said in a small, still tone, “I am his half brother. He was the reason I had to leave Europe and hide in America.”
Margaret pulled away from his grasp and stepped back, staring at her husband in shock. Moments flickered by without a word between them. Finally, Cort said, “Say something. Anything.”
Margaret turned her head to the side, averting her gaze. “You knew all this time and said nothing?”
“Yes.”
She looked back at Cort with hurt gleaming deep within her eyes. “Why?” she asked with a betrayed voice.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“No. No, you were protecting yourself. You thought, if I knew, I would not marry you.”
“Would you have married me?”
“You robbed me of the chance to make that decision. We will never know now.”
Without another word, Margaret turned and ran toward the house.
Margaret was on the back porch washing the laundry in an enormous tub. The excessive heat made the chore more difficult. But what made the work seem even more demanding that day was being unable to focus solely on it, causing the work to take even longer. Her mind continued to dwell on the secret that Cort had revealed to her the previous day. Somehow, it changed everything, but in a way she would have never expected.
As she reflected on the situation and their connection, it was the vast differences between Cort and Witherton that stuck out. Cort embodied everything that was good and right, and even the reason he did not tell her about his connection to Witherton seemed to be motivated out of a place of love and protection. She had said in hurt and anger that he only did it to protect himself, but she knew the man she was married to, and he was never motivated by selfish reasons. Everything Cort did was for the people he loved, which was the exact opposite of Witherton. Every decision that Witherton ever made was for his own selfish design; nothing mattered but what he wanted.
But what made the difference between them?
By all rights, Cort had every reason to be bitter and angry over the things that had been done to him and the hand he had been dealt. Instead, he pursued righteousness and love above all else.
And then there was Witherton, who had been given every privilege and advantage possible, but nothing was ever enough and nothing was sacred. Instead, he would leave a wake of destruction in his path with no regard to whom he hurt.
The difference between them was obvious. The words her father had quoted to her from the Bible, all those years prior, came floating back. “Love is gracious and honest. It can withstand anything and always bears hope…. You see, love is not only a feeling but an action. Even when your heart does not feel like loving, you act it out. Emotions are fickle, and one moment you feel one way, and the next you feel completely different. But true love will act and trust that the heart will follow behind.”
Through God, Cort personified the very essence of true love. All this time, she had been fighting against giving up control to God, but it was the very thing that made Cort the man she loved. How could she have been so blind all this time? She could never be the wife Cort deserved, the mother her children needed, or the friend her family merited because she was incapable of perfect love without letting God manifest it through her.
Margaret whispered softly, “God, I have made so many mistakes in my life. I did not listen to my father when I was young, I did not trust Henry when he was alive, and I have hurt Cort
more times than I can count. God, I need you, and I am so sorry for not trusting in you completely. Help me. Help me be the woman, the wife, the mother, the friend you want me to be. I give myself to you, every part of me, even the parts no one else knows or sees.”
By the end of the prayer, Margaret was crying gently, though they were not tears of sadness but of pure joy. She needed to find Cort and tell him she forgave him.
She found him cleaning out one of the stalls and had a twinge of pride as she saw how hard he worked to further their dreams. Nothing was beneath him, not even cleaning out horse dung.
“Cort, I have had time to think about our last conversation. I have come to a decision on the matter.”
He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. He placed the bottom of the shovel on the ground and leaned on it.
A fearful look cross his face as he asked, “Have you come to tell me you are leaving me?”
Margaret balked at his question. “On the contrary, I have come to tell you I forgive you for keeping the secret from me and I understand why you did it.”
Cort let out a sigh of relief. “I am glad to hear that, Margaret. The way you left things, you had me worried.”
“You have forgiven me so much and have loved me through even more. I refuse to let Witherton take one more thing from me.”
“Do you not worry about our shared connection? That we are cut from the same cloth?”
“I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are nothing like that despicable man. You are honest, trustworthy, faithful, and selfless. You are a wonderful husband and father and the love of my life.”
Tears formed in the corner of Cort’s eyes. “Margaret, you have no idea how much it means to hear you say that. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were the love of mine as well.”
He dropped the shovel and pulled her to him. Leaning down, he kissed her with a passion that took Margaret’s breath away. She could feel in his kiss that he wanted her to know nothing would ever tear them apart.
Chapter 27
While checking her pantry for the ingredients needed to bake the week’s worth of bread, Margaret realized she needed to go to the market to purchase several of the items.
“I have to go into town today, Cort, to pick up some supplies. I want to bake some scones and we do not have enough flour or sugar.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, momentarily looking up from the lead he was handling.
“No, but I think I will take Henry in with me. I think he would enjoy playing the man of the house at the store. Do you mind taking a break in about a half hour so you can keep an eye on Susan. She’s napping currently, but should wake up by then.”
Cort nodded as he walked over closer. “All right, be safe and make sure to get back before nightfall.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, then almost as an afterthought, he added, “And be sure to take a gun with you. I heard someone thought they spotted Indians up on the ridge. It’s probably nothing, but you can never be too careful.”
Margaret smiled. “I love the way you are so overprotective.”
“I have had to learn the lesson the hard way. I do not need to learn it again. I will see you when you get home.”
Nodding, Margaret turned around and headed toward the barn, calling out behind her, “Henry, darling, I am going into town. Do you wish to come?”
Scampering feet were heard from around the corral as a voice said, “Wait for me, Mother.”
Expecting her to be already at the barn, Henry slammed into the back of Margaret.
“Anxious to get to town, are we?”
Henry stepped back quickly, nodding. “Yes, Tommy Neilson told me at school on Friday he was going to show me his new pet frog the next time I was in town. He just got it, but he isn’t allowed to bring it to school anymore on account it jumped right onto Miss Tucker. Tommy says that Hopper—his frog—can jump over six feet in the air.”
Margaret laughed. “And I am quite sure that Tommy will no doubt need to show you this in detail. Good thing we are going into town.” Then, remembering what Cort had mentioned, Margaret told Henry, “Go inside the house and get one of the handguns and one of the rifles while I hitch up the wagon.”
She liked to be prepared, and one gun, when it came to confrontations, never seemed to be enough.
“All right, Mother.”
Margaret watched as her son ran toward the house, then slipped through the door. Afterward, she turned back around and continued over to the barn.
Just as Margaret was finishing hitching up one of the previous year’s foals to the wagon, Henry met with her, the in hand. Together, they lead the colt and wagon out of the barn.
“Why are we taking so many guns, Mother?”
“It is always important to have plenty of protection. Remember: it is always better to be overprepared than under.”
Henry nodded. “I will remember that, Mother.”
“Good, then let us head into town.” Margaret grabbed the edge of the wagon seat and climbed up into the passenger seat.
As Henry hopped driver’s side, Margaret said, “When we arrive in town, make sure to wait for me. I do not want you running off to Tommy’s like a wild child.”
Henry chuckled as he took the reigns in hand. “Yes, Mother. We would not want to be the town spectacle.”
Margaret blinked several times without saying a word. That was the first time that Henry had ever said anything remotely adult-like. She had not been prepared for his quick-witted sarcasm or the very manly laugh that ushered in his sudden appearance of becoming a man. She was beginning to realize that, not only was her son starting to look like a young man, but his mind was also rapidly following behind.
After several minutes of driving in silence, Henry asked, “What’s the matter, Mother? You seem perturbed.”
“My, my, we are using big words these days.”
“All my schoolwork has really paid off, I suppose. I feel like I have a real knack for it.”
“What do you mean?”
Henry paused a moment while he switched the reins into his other hand, then glanced back behind him and pulled out a book. He handed it over to his mother.
Margaret scanned the cover of the book: Lord Byron’s Don Juan. “This is highly unusual reading for a boy in his second year of school.”
“I am not reading it for school.”
“Then why are you reading it? And where did you get it?”
“I am reading it for a challenging pleasure, as Miss Tucker would say, and I got it from Mister Davendale. When I told Miss Tucker that I wanted something more demanding to read, she told me to go see Mister Davendale because he had an extensive private library that might have something that would suit me.”
“Is this the first book you have borrowed from him?”
“No, there have been a few before.”
“How many?” Margaret asked before holding a waterskin up to her lips and taking a drink.
“Umm… I think somewhere around twenty.”
Margaret choked, letting a few drops of water dribble out of her mouth. Embarrassed at her lack of manners, she held her hand up to her mouth and dabbed the water away.
“That many? You have read twenty books of this caliber?”
Henry shrugged. “Some I just skimmed. But here’s the best part. When I read, I can instantly recall anything from that book.”
Margaret’s mouth gaped open as she blurted out, “Henry, how is that possible? How much of this book do you have memorized?”
“All of it.”
“All of it? How can that be?” she asked in astonishment.
“I don’t really know. I’ve found that whenever I look at anything, I can remember it effortlessly. The same happens with any word. If I don’t know what it means, I look it up, and then it sticks in my mind.”
“This is simply amazing, Henry. I can hardly believe what I am hearing. I think you have a gift.” She reached over and squeezed her son’s
arm. “You could become anything you wanted, Henry—a doctor, a lawyer, a magistrate.”
“They are called senators here, Mother.”
“Oh, I knew that. I only forgot. But don’t you see? The possibilities are endless. What I would not have given to be able to have the opportunities that you are going to have when you finish school.”
Henry frowned, then asked after a few moments, “You were not happy with my real father, were you?”
Margaret’s head snapped to the side. “Of course I was happy with your father. I loved him. I still love him very much.”
“Then why do you sound as if you regret the decisions of your past?”
He was getting too perceptive these days. It was getting harder to avoid talking about their past and all the circumstances that surrounded their forced departure to America.
“Listen to me very carefully about this, Henry. I do not regret marrying your father. He made me happier than I had ever thought possible. Your father and you are two of the very best things that ever happened to me, and I am thankful every day that Henry gave me you before he left this world. Do not ever doubt that.”
Henry nodded. “So, what do you think I should study for? The schoolwork I am doing now is terribly easy, and I have all this free time on my hands.”
“I think I will talk with Miss Tucker and see if we can get you on an advanced course of study. If you get done rapidly, you can go to university even earlier than we had expected.”
“I would like that, Mother. I have this deep desire to learn. I feel as if the more I learn, the more power I gain.” He laughed for a few seconds and then added, “I have no idea from where this deep-burning desire comes.”
“I think your gift gives you that desire. But remember, temperance is the key to maintaining power.”
Henry nodded as they pulled into the outskirts of town.
Margaret looked over at her son and forced herself to remember that he was only seven years old, despite the lengthy intellectual discussion they had just shared.