Hawk's Prize (32 page)

Tricia looked back and saw the glances that Jenna Leigh and Elizabeth—the former Laura Anne Hawk—exchanged. Elizabeth’s memory had fully returned. She was overjoyed that she had been able to realize the dream her dear Mother Ella had kept alive for so many years. With the return of her memory had also come a sense of fulfillment that made her life with Jason complete.

As for Simon Gault—he was gone forever. The problem of the distribution of his assets was formally settled when a key was discovered on his body that unlocked the drawer of the desk where he kept Harold Hawk’s journal. In it, written in Simon’s own hand as additions to the original entries, was authentication of Simon’s theft of Harold Hawk’s assets and all the other facts that Simon had related to Drew before his demise. Although saddened by the truth about their father’s death, the siblings took heart in the fact that in the end, Harold Hawk proved to be an honorable man who had intended to keep his word to his children, and who had truly loved them.

Whit and Jackie walked beside them. They exchanged a few words, and Whit frowned. It was plain for Tricia to see that the burden of being the eldest weighed heavily on Whit. His sense of responsibility was heavier because of it, and she knew it was harder for him to conceal the feelings this moment raised.

Tricia looked down at the charred metal box she carried, knowing its significance did not lie in its meager physical weight.

Tricia paused at the doorway of Chantalle’s room. She took a breath, then walked inside and approached Chantalle’s bed, intensely aware of the others filing in behind her. A few of Chantalle’s women had suffered burns that kept them in the hospital longer than expected, but Chantalle’s problem was different. Her breathing had been temporarily affected by smoke inhalation, and the doctors had insisted that she remain.

Her throat tight, Tricia moved closer to Chantalle’s
bed. She looked down at her as the older woman’s heavy breathing reverberated in a hospital room that was totally silent despite the number present.

Her face pale in the absence of makeup and her hair liberally streaked with gray, Chantalle retained little resemblance to the flamboyant madam of old as she looked at them and frowned. Breaking the unnatural silence, she asked, “What’s going on, Tricia? What’s wrong?”

Tears unexpectedly filling her eyes, Tricia responded, “I picked through the remains of your house yesterday, Chantalle. I wanted to see if I could find anything that had survived the fire—something you might want to keep.” Lifting the charred metal box into Chantalle’s view, she said, “I found this in your desk drawer.”

Chantalle gasped. Tears filled her eyes as she glanced at Whit and Jackie; Jenna Leigh and Clay; Elizabeth and Jason; and then at Drew before turning back to see Tricia open the box and lift out a pendant suspended from a delicate chain. The pendant was darkened by heat and smoke, but it clearly bore a crest with the image of a ship in full sail. Underneath it was a banner garlanded with a vine of orchids that was inscribed with the words
Quattuor mundum do.

His expression strained as he stepped closer to the bed, Whit said softly, “There could be only one reason why you had this pendant in your possession and kept it hidden from all of us when you knew how important a part it had played in our lives. We need to know, Chantalle.” Whit hesitated, his voice growing hoarse as he asked, “Are you our mother?”

Tears streamed down Chantalle’s pale cheeks. Briefly unable to respond, she replied in a choked voice, “I don’t know how to answer that question—how could I possibly lay claim to being your ‘mother’? Even now I can’t explain what happened to me all those years ago. I only remember the sense of helplessness I felt when I was unable to stop your father from gambling away everything he had worked for. I was defenseless as his problem increased. We were losing everything—our money, our home, the respect of everyone we knew. I watched my marriage and family—my whole life disintegrating around me as the situation continued to worsen. We let our help go. We sold off whatever assets we could. Creditors began banging down our doors. I was panicking, but when I walked to the mansion’s pantry and found it empty for the first time, I realized that life as I had known it was changed forever.”

Breathing raggedly, Chantalle continued, “There was a man who started paying attention to me sometime around then. Harold was spending all his time gambling. He was never home, and I was still young, beautiful . . . and so foolish. When this man told me that he would provide the life for me that Harold seemed unwilling to offer any longer, I believed him. He told me that if I would run away with him and leave my children behind temporarily, he would take advantage of an opportunity that would make both of us rich, and I could then come back for my children and restore them to the life they had always known.”

Chantalle paused to catch her breath before continuing,
“He was lying, of course, but I didn’t discover his deception until it was too late—until he deserted me and left me penniless and alone to make my way in a strange city’s slum. I couldn’t return to Galveston, and I had no way to support myself. I was hungry and desperate when I finally turned to the only solution I knew. I found a room and shared it with a friend. Her name was Elsa Shepherd. She had been deserted on the streets when she was little more than a child. We lived together, supporting ourselves and her newborn daughter the only way we could until Elsa died of pneumonia.”

Chantalle looked up at Tricia as she continued, “I promised myself I would not make the same mistake twice—that I would not desert Tricia the way I had deserted my own children—and that I would raise her to be a lady as her mother had always dreamed.”

Chantalle’s lined face was sober when she said, “I worked hard at my trade and finally saved up enough money to return to Galveston. By that time my husband and children were no longer there, and I learned that my children had been placed in an orphanage that had burned down—and none of them had survived.”

“I cursed my stupidity as I mourned their loss. I could not forgive myself. I left Galveston heartbroken, but I found myself gravitating back years later to the only place where I had ever been truly happy. I knew no one would recognize me by that time. The passage of years and the hardships of the trade had taken care of that. I set up a house, determined to make up for past mistakes by offering the best life possible to the
women who worked for me, and by secretly helping as many people in need as I could.”

“Then Whit came to Galveston searching for his brother. He showed me his ring and told me his story, and my heart stopped. I was stunned, and I was so proud of the man that Whit had become in spite of me that I could not believe my luck. I was equally stunned and proud when Elizabeth, Jenna Leigh, and finally Drew miraculously came back into my life. Yet I guarded my secret carefully. I didn’t want you all to discover I was your mother, because I knew you could never forgive me.”

Tears flowing freely, Chantalle whispered, “My only true joy is knowing that you are all alive and that you’ve been reunited. I dream of receiving your forgiveness, but I don’t expect it. I know it is asking too much after all the torment I caused you.”

Silence.

Chantalle looked at Whit. His face was white and sober. She looked at Jenna Leigh, Elizabeth, and then almost pleadingly at Drew. Equally pale and silent, they made no response.

Chantalle swallowed, unable to speak again for the thickness that choked her throat.

Equally wordless, Tricia watched as they turned away, one by one—Whit holding Jackie’s hand; Jenna Leigh gripping Clay’s arm tightly; Elizabeth leaning her head against Jason’s shoulder.

Her heart breaking, Tricia watched them turn out of sight. She looked up at Drew. The last to leave, he extended his hand toward her and she hesitated. Tears
welled in her throat as she glanced back at the pain on Chantalle’s face. She looked again at Drew and saw pain in his eyes, too, and a plea that was bright and clear.

She knew at that moment what she must do.

Unable to do otherwise, Tricia took Drew’s hand. She left the room at his side, without saying a word.

Alone in her hospital room, Chantalle turned her face into her pillow and sobbed softly. It was over. Her children had turned against her—but what else had she expected? She had deserted them . . . left them for a dream that had fallen flat and empty.

They could never forgive her.

Finding them again, enjoying the beautiful adults they had grown to be, had been a gift . . . a treasure that she would cherish through the long, empty years ahead.

Her sobs quieting, Chantalle remembered Whit, with his restrained, gentle respect for her; Jenna Leigh, with her exquisite beauty and unexpected consideration; Elizabeth—Laura Anne—so dear and loving despite all her travails; and Drew . . . dear Drew . . . so proud and determined to do the right thing and so protective of the daughter she loved as if she were her own—the same daughter in name only who had turned against her for the love of her own son.

She had lost her precious children for the second time, and she feared she would not survive.

“Chantalle . . .”

Chantalle looked up at the sound of her name. She held her breath as her grown children filed into her room—the handsome Hawk children that she loved.

Unable to move, unable to speak, she watched as Elizabeth approached her. The others followed as Elizabeth leaned over and clasped her hand. Her light eyes filled with tears, Elizabeth addressed her with a single whispered word of forgiveness.

“Mother.”