Bittner, Rosanne (68 page)

Both the Bansens announced they were holding a grand feast that night for many of their neighbors and friends in the music business. Luke knew it was going to be a difficult evening filled with questions from people who didn't understand one thing about life on a Montana ranch, and he would be glad when everything was over and they could head home.

The Bansens finally left the room for a moment to check with the servants about the evening's banquet, what was to be served, where everyone would sit. Pearl began playing again, and Robbie wandered off to walk through the immense house again and study the paintings and statues and stained-glass windows. Luke drank another glass of wine, and Lettie sat down beside him.

"I just thought of something, Luke," she said, looking a little nervous. "When I mentioned earlier about how we had come all the way back here close to where we started out." She saw the pain in his blue eyes, knew he had thought of it himself.

"No," he said. "I won't go and try to find my father. If he hasn't contacted me in all these years, why should I?"

She put a hand on his arm. "Because it would be for you, not for him. We're only a day from St. Louis by train, and we could take the Union Pacific from there to Colorado and then come back by rail into Montana from the south."

He looked away from her. "No," he repeated. "As far as I'm concerned, my father died twenty-two years ago when I left St. Louis. There's no going back, Lettie. After the wedding we'll send Robbie off to Michigan and we'll go home the way we came. Don't even mention going to St. Louis."

The butler brought another tray of filled wineglasses, and Luke took yet another glass and drank it down. Lettie said nothing more; she had at least planted the idea. She prayed Luke would change his mind, for the sake of his own inner peace. Besides, she dearly wanted to meet Jacques Fontaine herself, and tell him exactly what she thought of him.

Alice dried another dish and set it in the cupboard. She thought how she would enjoy a kitchen like this someday. Her father was not as rich as the Fontaines, but he did own the local bank and the Billings Inn. Their home was at the east end of town, and it was a simple Victorian home, neatly painted white, the elaborate spindlework around the porch gables painted a soft blue. She referred to it as the town's gingerbread house. It was a happy home, except that lately her mother had been sick a lot, so she had been helping more than usual with the housework.

Betty Richards let go of a dish and put a hand to her stomach, obviously in pain. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen sink to sit down at the table for a moment. "You'll have to finish washing them, Alice. I'm sorry."

Alice frowned with worry. She could not imagine being without her mother. She had no brothers and sisters, and lately, with hardly seeing Ty anymore, she had felt more lonely than ever. Now she had learned her mother was dying, although the woman did not know she had been to the doctor to ask about her condition. A grave look had come over Dr. Banning's face at her question. "I won't lie to you, Alice," he had told her. "It doesn't look good. Your mother has a tumor in her side. I can feel it, but it's in a spot where it would be very hard to operate; and often in these situations, when we operate, the patient just seems to die more quickly. Your mother has chosen against the operation, so she can be with her family longer."

The news had been devastating. She needed Ty's friendship more than ever now, but she had lost it. Only yesterday one of her best friends had told her the rumor she had heard from her father, a horse doctor who had recently visited the Double L. Men there were joking about how they suspected Ty Fontaine was sneaking around with the Indian girl, Ramona, secretly meeting her for more than just talking. Hot jealousy and hurt filled her to an almost painful degree at the news, but what could she do about it? Her mother needed her, and even if she didn't, she was not going to go out to the Double L and embarrass and shame herself by throwing herself at Ty. He apparently did not want her that way. He had made his decision.

"Mama, you'd better go and lie down. I can finish everything."

The woman nodded, rising. She gave Alice a hug. "You're a good girl, Alice."

Alice turned away, taking her mother's place at the sink and watching some birds flitting about outside the window.
A good girl.
Maybe she had been too good. Maybe being good had cost her the only man she would ever love with this much yearning and passion. She closed her eyes against the tears, vowing that if she ever had the chance to please Ty Fontaine the way Ramona must be doing, she would forget her morals and be a woman for him.

A tear dripped into the dishwater. It was probably too late for such decisions. She had lost Ty, and she would lose her mother. She broke into tears, grabbing a dish towel to cover her face and smother her sobs so that her mother would not hear.

Luke was astounded at how St. Louis had grown and changed. None of the streets looked the same, and it was harder to find his old home than he had thought it would be. He had driven the rented carriage past the courthouse, had taken Lettie inside the building that was now famous as the gathering place of so many who had gone west in covered wagons from the 1840s through the 1860s, before the railroad became the main mode of transportation. There in that beautiful building with its richly painted dome was where he had himself gone to learn about how to join a wagon train west. There was where he had broken away from the pain of his youth and set out to make his fortune without the help of a father who all but hated him. And there was where he had started out on a journey that had led him to Eletta MacBride.

"I guess I have more to thank my father for than I realize," he told Lettie aloud.

"What is that?"

He glanced at her. "If I hadn't left St. Louis, I wouldn't have met you."

She smiled, touching his knee. "Luke, you're doing the right thing."

He breathed deeply. "I'm not sure you know how this feels. You're the only reason I'm here, you know. I'm doing this only because you'll harp at me about it forever if I don't."

"You're doing it for yourself, and you know it." Lettie hoped this would all turn out well for him. She was as afraid for him as she knew he was afraid inside. Pearl's wedding had been nothing short of a splendid affair; and listening to Lawrence and her in concert the night before had not only been a thrill and an experience in pride, but it had also shown them more clearly that Pearl and Lawrence certainly did belong together. Pearl was radiantly happy when they left. She just hoped the quick trip to St. Louis would not spoil the wonderful experience the trip had been otherwise.

The Bansens had given them a grand tour of Chicago, and she would long remember the wonders and sights of the city. She knew Luke had enjoyed it also, but not with the same enthusiasm. He always felt out of place when he wasn't on the ranch, and he was anxious to go home. They had bidden a tearful good-bye to Pearl, another at the train station when they sent Robbie on east... another child gone from their lives. At least Robbie would one day come back to Billings. Thank God they still had Katie and Tyler and the grandchildren.

Lettie had reminded Luke again the night before they left that while they were this far east, this might be his last chance to see his father and brother once more, that too much had been left unsettled over these last twenty-two years. Luke had again argued against the idea, but Lettie realized she had apparently given him plenty of food for thought. At the last minute he had changed their tickets at the train station, buying fares to St. Louis instead. He wired home that they would arrive about a week later than first planned and would be taking a different route home.

"You're going to feel so much more at peace, Luke," Lettie said aloud. "I am sure of it. I wouldn't have urged you to do this otherwise."

Luke said nothing, not so sure she was right. He had driven her along the riverfront, where huge warehouses had the name Fontaine Warehousing and Shipping painted on the front of them. Luke had been unable to find the supply store. A hotel sat on the location. He did, however, remember how to reach his father's house, if it was still there. It had been a fine home, but an unhappy one for him. All the houses along this street were elegant, with immaculate lawns and gardens. Huge shade trees shrouded the sun and made the street seem private, cut down the noise of the city that lay not so far away. Luke vaguely remembered those trees, but they had not been so big then.

"There it is," he said, pulling the horse that drew the carriage to a stop. "He must still live here. None of my letters ever came back."

Lettie sensed his agony. She gazed at a lovely brick two-story house, with a white-pillared porch. It was six o'clock in the evening, and Luke guessed that his father would be home about now. He had considered trying to find him at the warehouses, or perhaps ask if Jacques Fontaine had a downtown office; but he had decided that seeing the man again for the first time should be a private matter. He was not so sure what would be said, what his father's reaction might be.

"Maybe we should leave now and just leave things the way they are, Lettie. If the man wanted to see me—"

"No. We've come this far. We're going inside."

Luke breathed deeply, thinking how ridiculous it was that he should feel so apprehensive and almost afraid to see his own father. He slapped the reins and headed the horse and carriage up the long brick drive to a hitching post in front of the house, then got out to tie the horse. Lettie climbed down, praying inwardly she had not done the wrong thing by insisting that he do this. She did not want to see him hurt all over again, but then the damage had already been done when Luke was fourteen years old. For another fourteen years he had lived with the agony, having to face his father nearly every day with the full knowledge that the man had emotionally disowned him. It was only his own pride that had kept Jacques Fontaine from telling others the truth of his beliefs, for he would not want the public to know his wife had cheated on him, if, indeed, that was even true. It was enough that Luke knew, enough that Luke suffered inwardly, to the point that he had gone off to a war and nearly gotten himself killed, then had left St. Louis altogether and had fled to a faraway land to try to forget the hurt. But just as she had had to accept Nathan, had learned to love him and to accept the awful thing that had happened to her, so did Luke have to face the truth and the hurt. No one can run from his or her past, she believed, and being the proud man that he was, Luke deserved some answers. She slipped a hand into his, and they walked together to the front door.

Luke lifted the knocker, hesitated a moment, then banged it four times. A moment later a uniformed maid opened the door. "May I help you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm looking for John Fontaine," Luke told her. "I'm Luke Fontaine, John's brother."

The woman's eyes widened, and a smile of delight lit up her face. "Oh, my! The big rancher from Montana!"

Luke frowned. "You mean, my father has talked about me?"

"Oh, dear! Didn't your brother write you? Your father... oh, my. Do come in, Mr. Fontaine. I just can't believe you've finally come home, after all these years!" She stepped aside and ushered them into a wide, cool entrance hall. Let-tie tried to imagine how it felt to Luke to enter his old home after all these years. She knew what a strange, difficult moment this must be for him.

Luke removed his hat. "What did you start to tell me about my father, ma'am?" he asked the maid.

She wrung her hands nervously. "I had better get your brother. You can talk to him. He's the one who has often talked about you to his friends and such. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the parlor here." She led them into an elegant room full of flowers and fine furnishings. Rich paintings were hung strategically for the best light, and one in particular struck Lettie's heart. It was a painting of a beautiful young woman, with dark hair and deep blue eyes —Luke's eyes. She realized Luke was staring at the picture himself. "Is this your wife, Mr. Fontaine?" the maid was asking him about Lettie.

Lettie touched his arm. "Luke?"

He was so lost in the picture that her touch startled him. "What?" He glanced at the maid. "Oh! Yes. I'm sorry. This is my wife Lettie."

"Mrs. Fontaine, it's wonderful to meet you. You can't imagine the things we picture about women who dare to go to places like Montana and live on a ranch! But you're nothing like what we imagined." The older woman put a hand to her mouth then, blushing lightly. "My goodness, it isn't my place to be carrying on like this. Please sit down. I will go and get Mr. Fontaine and then bring you something to drink. Coffee? Tea? A little whiskey for you, Mr. Fontaine?"

Luke breathed deeply in nervous anticipation. "Yes, I could use a stiff drink at the moment. My wife likes tea."

"Do you have iced tea?" Lettie asked. "It's so warm today."

"Oh, certainly! Just make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Fontaine is in his study. I'll send him right in!"

The woman quickly left. Luke's attention returned to the picture. "My God," he muttered. "It has to be my mother. My father would never let me see a picture of her. I wonder why he chose to put this up finally." He blinked back tears and shook his head. "She was so beautiful. I don't believe she was the kind of woman he made her out to be, Lettie. I've never believed it. If she did have an affaire, it was because she was terribly unhappy. My father could be a very cold man at times."

Lettie put a hand to his back. "You look just like her, Luke. Look at her eyes."

He nodded. "I'd give anything to take that painting home with me."

"And you deserve to have it, Luke."

The voice sounded almost like Luke's. They both turned to see a man who was not quite as tall as Luke. He resembled him a little in the face, but his hair was a sandy color, with much more gray in it than Luke's, and his eyes were brown. He walked closer and put out his hand. "Hello, Luke."

Luke stared at the man a moment, ravaged by a torrent of emotions. Here was the brother he had not seen in twenty-four years. When he left St. Louis, John was still off fighting somewhere in the war. He hadn't seen him since they both left for that war in '61. Before that, in spite of their father's announcement that he thought Luke to be a bastard, they had remained close until going off to war and never seeing each other again. Why hadn't John written him in all these years?