Cross the Ocean (27 page)

“If Aunt Mavis and I didn’t dole out the money, we’d be living in a shack eating beans,” Gert said.

“What do you think you’ll get for this new string of ponies?” she asked Uncle Fred.

* * * *

Blake watched their haggling in astonishment. Gertrude quoted bank accounts, mortgage payments and interest percentages. Fred shouted there’d be no bank accounts if they didn’t start breaking more horses, competition was fierce he’d said. Ann Sanders had no idea if her new dress cost two pence or five hundred pounds. No lady he knew of did. Gertrude did not back down, not an inch. Conceding only to consider the expenditure after the sale of their latest stock. Fred harrumphed and growled but did not argue any longer.

Blake stood near shelves loaded with books. Gertrude had apparently forgotten his presence. Her head dropped back to her scribbling. “Seems you keep your uncle on a short leash.”

Gertrude looked up and she smiled. “This ranch is profitable. I have no intentions of allowing all our hard work to be for nothing. Uncle Fred will get his supplies. But not without remembering who’s in charge of the money.”

“So this was merely negotiation?”

“I suppose so. We’ll come to an agreement. But my tight fist will make Uncle Fred get every penny those ponies are worth. He’ll be smug and smile and think he’s won when I draft a check for that fencing.”

Watching her smile in triumph was unsettling. His Gertrude was formidable. He may have been approaching her the wrong way all along. She was smart and capable of out-maneuvering her uncle. If he weren’t careful, she’d sidestep him as well.

“Your eyes look tired. And you must be hungry as well,” Blake said.

Gertrude sat back and stretched with a yawn. “I am tired and hungry. I have one more column to finish before I see what Cookie’s made up. I’ve come up with three different figures so far.”

Blake dropped his hands from across his chest and stepped forward. “Would you like me to take a crack at it?”

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked.

“My dear. I handle an estate ten times the size of this ranch. Wexford wealth is invested in a diversified manner,” Blake said stonily. “And after all, I am a graduate of Oxford. We can add.”

“Please do. My eyes are nearly crossed.” She stood and allowed Blake to sit at the desk. She sat down in the chair across the desk from him. When his hand moved down the column twice and he entered a figure she asked, “How are you diversified? I assume you mean your holdings?”

Blake looked up, clearly surprised with the question. “Traditionally, peers of the realm have maintained their monies in their estate only. I handled mine the same way much of my life. Friends of mine, acquaintances really, lost their family homes, as land played itself out and tenants moved to the cities for work. As a result of that I’ve invested in a wide range of companies. And the market as well.”

“From what Anthony says, anything other than traditional investments in estates is unacceptable.”

“You had this conversation with Tony?”

She shrugged. “I was curious. I didn’t understand how these huge mansions supported themselves. No one makes anything to sell as far as I could see. Excepting a fuss.”

Benson delivered a tray with small sandwiches. They ate in companionable silence. Gertrude licked her lips and pulled a tablet of paper from the corner of her desk to her lap. She tapped a pencil on her tongue and wrote.

“What are you busy with now?” he asked.

“I writing a speech,” she said. “The Suffragettes have been invited to speak at a large women’s club in Chicago.”

“A speech, you say,” he replied.

“Would you like to hear it?”

Blake listened to her fiery prose. He was not convinced, of course, but she made compelling arguments and he imagined the crowd would be on their feet, wild with excitement when delivered to sympathetic listeners.

“You’re quite passionate about this subject,” Blake said when Gertrude was done reading. “Your words are the better for it even being a well written piece. I wonder, though, if it will have the same impact when said by another.”

“I wonder as well,” Gert said with a sigh. “Maybe I’ll go to the Women’s Club myself.”

“Absolutely not,” Blake said before he could stop himself.

Gertrude leaned forward in her chair. “You have no say in the matter, Blake.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “You’re carrying my child. I’ll not have you cavorting across the wilderness, exposed to danger and illness.”

“Cavorting across the wilderness?” Gert said with a laugh. “I’ve been traveling to Chicago since I was young girl. I think this has more to do with my politics than any thing else.”

“Your politics are your business, granted. But, you and my son or daughter are very much my domain. If you insist, I’ll accompany you,” Blake replied. He could not imagine for his life a less appealing plan but Gertrude sat back in her chair. “I’m sure there are others capable of delivering this speech.”

“Very capable,” Gertrude said.

“Well then, it is settled,” Blake replied. The room was silent, notwithstanding the jubilant victory cry in his head.

“We’ll be invited again, I imagine. I’ll plan on speaking next spring.”

* * * *

They continued their conversation well into the afternoon. Gertrude had moved to the small settee under the window to stretch out. As Blake finished rambling about one particular subject, he realized her eyes had closed. The sun glinted off of the curls in her hair. She had kicked off her shoes long ago. Her head tilted awkwardly and her mouth was open just a bit. Blake’s shoulders dropped as he looked at her. She was clever and bright. Her challenges to his opinions were well thought and Blake found himself reconsidering a few. They’d argued, discussed, agreed on some and differed on others. Blake tapped his finger to his mouth. He would never be bored. That was for certain.

Blake understood now what Tony had tried to tell him so many years ago. After Tony had married, he and Blake’s outings and long nights over brandy had diminished. Sir Anthony Burroughs had claimed his wife suited him fine for conversation. He claimed they sat up long hours, planning and discussing or just silent. Blake had not understood at the time. Now, Blake conceded, he wouldn’t miss the evenings at his clubs with his peers. They would be unnecessary except as an occasional diversion. The person he wanted to confide in, to convince or to debate with now slouched before him in slumber. Blake picked up a wool blanket from the back of the chair and draped it gently over Gertrude. He turned to the door and saw Fred. One finger came to his mouth, begging quiet.

“She’s an angel when she sleeps,” Fred whispered. “And a handful of sass when she’s not.”

The two men walked to the kitchen. Uncle Fred poured himself a cup of coffee and asked Blake if he’d join him. Blake readily agreed. There was more, much more to this woman than he’d imagined.

“None of the coffee. Thank you. But if you don’t mind I wish you’d tell me how Gertrude came to live here,” Blake asked.

Fred sat down and grimaced. “Gert never told ya, huh?” Blake shook his head. “My Mavis’s brother, the lying piece of shit that he was, lived in Ohio. Mavis tried to talk his wife Ethel into coming to live with us and bringing Gert along.”

Blake raised his brows in question.

“Yeah, I weren’t too happy about the notion of getting between a man and his wife but I went along with it for Gert’s sake. And it was Edgar that was Mavis’ blood kin. Ethel and Mavis wrote each other all time. Seems Edgar couldn’t keep his peter in his pants, no how. And cause it was usually his boss’ wife or daughter he’d diddle with, he didn’t keep a job too long neither. The last couple of times Ethel wrote she asked Mavis for money.” Fred lifted his eyes to Blake’s. “Seems they weren’t eating too good.”

“How old was Gertrude when this happened?”

“I’d be guessing eleven or so. Her ma, Ethel, died when she was twelve. Consumption got her. Mavis was in a fine fit when she got the letter from Gert saying her Ma died. She had me off buying train tickets to go fetch the girl when ole Edgar stopped by the ranch.”

Fred stood to refill his coffee. The water Blake heated for tea was boiling and he brewed the leaves while Fred continued.

“Put the girl down out of the wagon with a bundle of rags he called her clothes. Told Mavis he’d be back to get her when he struck it rich, out California way. Mavis said he’d just hawed at his nag and drove off. Leaving Gert in the middle of the yard balling her eyes out. Probably best all around I was in town that day. I’d a shot the son of a bitch.”

“Has Gertrude ever heard from him, the son of a bitch?” Blake asked.

“Not so much as a howdy-do in a letter. Nothing. That girl waited every night for her Pa to come. Mavis made up stories that he was busy making a new home for them. That he’d be back soon. My patience done expired with that nonsense. I sat Gert down one night and told her the truth. Mavis made me sleep in the barn for a week.”

“Was telling a young girl the facts the right thing to do? Looking back, would you do the same thing?”

Blake asked.

Uncle Fred winced. “Can’t rightly say. I thought so for a long time. No use having this sweet thing sitting and watching and waiting for something that’d never happen.”

“What did you say?” Blake asked. He tried to imagine a dark haired twelve-year-old Gertrude hanging on every word her uncle said.

“I told her that her Pa was never coming back. When she was older, I told her that good men don’t go around sleeping with somebody else’s wife. Told her I never strayed from her Aunt Mavis and I never would.” Fred leaned in to chuckle. “Didn’t tell her Mavis would’ve killed me if I did.”

“But you had second thoughts about what you’d told her later?” Blake asked. No wonder Gertrude adored this man. He’d fed her and clothed her and loved her enough to be honest. Even if he knew it would hurt.

“When Gert was older she decided men in general didn’t treat women too good. Imagine cause how her ma ended up. That’s what got her wrapped up in ‘her cause.’ Don’t think the girl ever wanted to risk marrying someone like her daddy. So she troops around with the ugliest, fattest group of womenfolk you ever seen.”

Blake chuckled as he recalled his similar words. “I described them the same way. Gertrude took none too kindly to it.”

“They’re a good bunch, I spect. Met ‘em all a time or two. Mind ya, I think they’re right most times,”

Fred said. He sat back and fingered the handle of his coffee cup. “My Gert’s a beauty and she’s had men come courting. Just seems scared to court back.”

Other than being too poor to feed his family, Blake realized the similarities between himself and Gertrude’s father. Sleeping with other woman, not realizing the cost to their families. Doing what they wanted, when they wanted whenever the mood struck them. Whether it be the call of California or town gossip, Edgar Finch and he had pleased themselves.

“This is why I’m thinking my Gert won’t have nothing to do with you, even though she’s carrying your child,” Fred said and stared.

“I imagine you’re right,” Blake admitted. And knew he’d indeed need to curry this man’s favor if he’d ever win Gertrude. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life. With my first wife and my children. I don’t intend to repeat them.” Blake stared at Fred.

“Convincing me don’t matter a thimble full of booze to a drunk. It’s Gert that’ll make up her mind. Been doing it since she realized her pa weren’t coming back. Read books, educating herself. Whatever she sets her mind to, she does.”

“She is stubborn. Evidence enough with your argument this morning. Do you think you’ll get your supplies for the fence?” Blake asked with a wry smile.

Fred scratched his head. “Hard to say. She’s tightfisted all right but I spect that’s cause of her upbringing too. But I don’t argue too much. She’s got us a tidy little sum in the bank.”

Gert walked in yawning and stretching her arms. “What are you two talking about? What’s for dinner?”

“Gotta ask Cookie,” Uncle Fred said as he slammed his hat on his head and headed out the kitchen door.

“Your uncle says you have a real head for finance. I’m inclined to agree,” Blake said.

Gertrude flitted her hands. “Yes, yes, I know. Women have no need to know of these matters. Uncle Fred’s told me. But he also knows we wouldn’t have a pot to boil water in if I didn’t see to it.”

“Typically women aren’t involved with business dealings. But it didn’t stop you and I think your family benefits greatly from it,” Blake said, watching her.

“I’ve met so many women in my travels that wished they had known. Down and out broke from some spendthrift father or husband. Don’t know they’re bankrupt till the sheriff calls.” Gertrude dropped her head. “I vowed a long time ago that would never happen to me.”

“Happens in London as well, Gertrude,” Blake added.

“Proves my point.” She shrugged. “Men are horses asses here and across the ocean as well.”

“Not all men. Your Uncle Fred is a fine man. You’d not deny that,” Blake said.

“No. I would never deny that. He took me in and raised me and I was a trial a time or two I imagine.

Treated Aunt Mavis so lovingly,” she said wistfully. Gertrude plopped her chin in her hand and stared out the window.

Blake did the same in the chair across from her.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

Blake stared at her. She had a lifetime of misplaced trust to get over. He could not erase or change the past but he could stay steadfast in his promise to her. “I’m not. I told you as much.”

Gertrude stood and walked to the door. She stopped and spoke without turning. “What men say and what they do aren’t usually the same.”

Chapter Seventeen

Gert awoke the next morning with energy to spare. She felt like cleaning the house from top to bottom and did just that. She put on the oldest calico dress she had, pulled the waistline up over her stomach and pulled back her hair with a bandana. Gert wiped walls and cleaned out drawers till she sat exhausted on the top step of the staircase. She heard a commotion in the yard and stood wearily to see what was going on.

When she pulled the curtain aside beside the front door she saw Esmerelda Bunchley and Mary Alice Forsyth climbing down from the stage. She watched the cowhands hurry to the barn. Only Will, Blake and Uncle Fred remained in the yard. Will and Blake each offered an arm and escorted the women to the door. Gert turned only to stare when they entered too stunned, too embarrassed to greet them. She heard Esmerelda’s voice first.