Takin' The Reins (18 page)

Nate

As Jordan re-read this last letter, she sensed a change in Nate and his own loyalty to Lydia. She shivered, as if someone had just walked over her grave. Continuing with the next letter in the stack, her eyes skimmed it quickly, afraid of what she was about to read next.

October 15, 1942

Dear Lydia,

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to write. By now you know that I am a yellow-bellied coward. I was waiting until you received your mother’s letter so I wasn’t the one to tell you. This is the most difficult letter I have ever had to write. Please believe me when I say I am truly sorry for the way things have turned out. I did not plan on falling in love with Laura. You are there and she is here, and she’s been very loving and supportive of me. I need someone, Lydia, and Laura has helped me through some very lonely times. Times I thought you would be helping me through. She wants a home and family like I do. She wants to take care of me. She has chosen me. Everywhere we turn, couples are getting married. It’s an epidemic. Boys going off to war want to leave a bride behind. They want to be assured someone will be waiting for them when they return home. I understand, because that’s what I wanted, too. Maybe Laura and I got caught up in the hype, maybe not. I respect her and we share the same common goals. I know she loves me. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, and her, someday.

I remain fondly, Nate

Jordan laid the letter in her lap and gazed straight ahead. Nate planned to marry Laura? Waves of bewilderment swept through her body. Grandma Laura was married to someone else before she married Grandpa Will? And he was someone she’d stolen from her sister. She wondered if her mom ever knew this bit of news. Jordan thumbed through the next letter. Hopefully, light would be shed on the mystery that was becoming more compelling and baffling by the moment.

April 22, 1943

Dear Lydia,

I know it’s wrong to be writing you. Laura will have my hide if she ever finds out. I don’t have to tell you how jealous she can be. However, I had to let you know I am truly sorry you’ve been injured. I am, after all, your brother-in-law and I care deeply for you. Your folks say you will be coming home in a few weeks. The newspaper reports you were a heroine and that you will be receiving the Purple Heart for saving many lives when the hospital was attacked. You have always been so courageous. Therefore, I was not surprised. I am very proud of you. It seems such an odd twist of fate—both of us hurt in the war and back home within a year’s time. I know how you had hoped to stay on Guam and serve as long as the Army would allow. I guess we do not always get what we hope for. I am the perfect example of that.

I shouldn’t confess this, but I have always been honest with you, and I can’t change now. I have made a big mistake in marrying your sister. I beat myself up wondering why I didn’t wait for you. Is there any bigger fool than me? I have loved you since the day I pulled your ponytail in the fifth grade and you stabbed me in the wrist with your pencil. I suppose I will always love you. It does neither of us good to look back, but I can’t sleep at night until you know of my regrets regarding you and me. It makes my heart glad to know you are safe and will be home soon.

Yours Sincerely, Nate

Lydia had been a brave woman to stand stood up to Addison Stillwell, but his threats must have been child’s play compared to what she’d experienced in the war. Jordan’s heart swelled with pride for the aunt she’d never had the privilege to know.

August 1, 1943

My Dearest Lydia,

I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for what’s happened. I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed. You are better off without me; that much I know. But in the same breath, I must tell you that I have always loved you and I always will, although I’m sure I have forsaken the right to express these feelings. My words probably mean nothing to you right now. I can only imagine how miserable you must be, feeling like a prisoner, living in that home with strangers. You have always been such a free spirit. So independent and strong. Why did you allow your family to send you away? I answer my own question when I look in the mirror each morning and glimpse at the coward I have become. You had no other choice. I realize that, much too late. Your parents have only said I will know your fate and the fate of our baby when the time is right.

Laura will barely speak to me. We sleep in separate bedrooms now, but she refuses to give me a divorce. She says I have made my bed, and now I must lie in it. I believe she intends to make me pay for the rest of my life. No matter what you may think about me, I do not regret that afternoon down at the old swimming hole. From the moment you arrived home, I’d been rattled to my core. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop dreaming about you and wishing that we’d made love, just once. I had to get away and think. When I found you sitting by the water that afternoon, I believed my dreams had come true. When you told me you’d never stopped caring about me, well… I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I had to feel you in my arms again. It’d been such a long time. As we know, one thing led to another and… I may be a fool, but you don’t regret it, do you? If I had the guts, I would leave Laura and bring you and the baby home where you belong. Oh, Lydia. With all my heart and soul, I am sorry.

Nate

Jordan stared at that letter for a long time. Lydia was pregnant by Nate; that much was clear. But what about the other things he had said? Laura refused to give him a divorce. She intended to make him pay for the rest of his life. Jordan turned onto her side and propped against her elbow with her cheek in her hand. Her head felt like mud. It was impossible to comprehend what Nate’s words meant, but a sour feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

Carrying the packet with the last of the letters into the bathroom, she sat them on the commode and ran a deep bath. Needing to ease her aching muscles and clear her head, she sprinkled some salts into the water and sunk into the warm tub. Sometime later, she gingerly held the next letter up in front of her, taking care not to get it wet. It was time to read the final chapters in her family’s story of secrets.

April 9, 1944

Dear Lydia,

This is just a short note to let you know that the baby is healthy and growing stronger and more beautiful every day. I had no idea I could be so in love with another human being, but I am. She is a precious little girl—the sweetest little bundle on earth and I adore her. Lydia, you may be amazed, but I’m a good father. Laura does her best, but motherhood does not seem to come naturally to her. She bathes the baby and feeds her, of course, and tucks her in at night, but she doesn’t smile at her much. I rarely see her rocking the babe, which sets my heart to stone. There have been times when I’ve caught Laura staring at the child in her crib, and I wonder if she’s thinking about how much she looks like you. She has the same dimples and even the same little cowlick you had as a girl. I ask myself, will Laura ever truly love the child the way a mother should love her daughter? I hope so, for the baby’s sake. But I fear the truth. Laura can’t stand that the baby is yours. If she cannot accept the child, I will love the baby enough for both of us. Or shall I say, for the three of us. I wish you all the best as you start your life fresh in New Mexico. Good luck.

Fondly yours, Nate

P.S. We named the baby Elizabeth, but I call her Bitsy since she was born so small.

Jordan’s chest tightened like a grip. She clutched at the side of the tub with her free hand and water splashed over and cascaded to the floor.
I call her Bitsy, because she was born so small.
Her mother’s nickname was Bitsy. Grandpa Will had called her that all her life, but her Christian name was… Elizabeth. Jordan dried her hand and slid open the next letter. She could barely breathe. The letter was dated thirty-four years after the last one.

June 7, 1978

Dear Lydia,

If your sister ever found out I have written you, she’d probably string me up in the nearest tree. I had to write, however, to apologize for what happened when you were here recently. Generally, I’m not one to make excuses for Laura, but I know it was a terrible shock to her, your showing up on the doorstep like that after so many years. It’s a pity the argument escalated the way it did, especially in front of the grandchild. Little Jordan is only six, but her emotions run deep, just like her mother, and just like me. I’m so very happy you got to meet our granddaughter and see Bitsy. Bitsy has grown into a beautiful woman, wouldn’t you agree? The visit was long overdue. It’s just a shame she will never know the truth about you. Stay well. I think of you often. Nate

Jordan’s heart lodged in her throat. The next-to-last item in the pile was an ivory colored envelope. She slid her finger under the flap and read the wedding announcement inside.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Albright Request the Honor of Your Presence at The Marriage of their Daughter, Laura Ann Albright To Mr. William Nathanial Kingston On October 22, 1942 Trinity Methodist Church Denver, Colorado

She stared at the names on the announcement. William Nathanial Kingston.
Nate.
It made sense now. Aunt Lydia wasn’t her aunt at all. She was her grandmother, and Nate was Grandpa Will. She shut her eyes and let it all sink in. The one burning question remaining was who had sent Lydia the announcements and newspaper clippings as Jordan grew? She had a pretty good idea, but hopefully, the last letter would answer that for sure. It was dated twenty-six years from the previous letter.

November 20, 2004

My Darling Lydia,

It has been so many years since I’ve seen or heard from you. All this time, I’ve been hoping and praying you would find a way to contact me, but I guess it was just a foolish old man’s idle fantasies to think that would ever happen. You probably married long ago and have been living happily ever after on your New Mexican ranch. It tears me up to think of you with another man, but I deserve it. After all, I stayed with Laura, even after you begged and pleaded with me to leave her all those years ago. Please believe me, it was the most difficult decision I ever made. After that, I was so ashamed. I decided never to write you again—out of respect for Laura and our marriage. I also thought it would be easier on you if you never heard from me again. I figured you hated me by that time. But I wanted you to know your granddaughter, Jordan. That’s why I’ve mailed you packets of photos and clippings of her every year. It was the least I could do. I hope you have enjoyed watching her grow up, even from afar. Maybe someday you’ll get to meet her in person. I hope so. Jordan has become a lovely, sweet, and talented woman. I’m very proud of her, as you would be.

Lydia, I have been such a weak man. I’m mortified by the choices I made; choices that hurt you and our child. My biggest regret is that poor Bitsy grew up with the love of only one parent. Laura could never find it in her heart to forgive me and to cherish the child, the child you and I created together out of love. Laura became a bitter, resentful woman, and she alienated everyone around her, even her own family. Any feelings I had for her when we were young vanished through the years. But it was too late for you and me, so I’ve stayed and done penance for my sins.

I often wonder what your life has been like, there on your ranch in New Mexico. I can just picture you, a cowgirl out on the range! You always were so carefree and full of fun! I have imagined the day when we would meet again, but it breaks my heart to know my dreams will never come true. I am sick, my darling. I am dying, and my days are numbered. I’ll be called home soon. I have just enough strength to write this final letter to you, to apologize for all the heartache I’ve caused. I have asked my longtime faithful friend, Brian, to mail the letter so Laura will not find out. Even now, on my deathbed, I worry what she will think. I cannot leave this world without knowing you forgive me. You were always my sweetheart.

Yours in this life and the next, Nate

Hot, salty tears streamed down Jordan’s cheeks. If only things had been different, for all of them. She dried off, slipped on her clothes, and padded back to the bedroom. Gingerly, she retied the letters with the ribbon and replaced the packet, the photo album, and the scrapbook into the box. From now on, the box would sit on the old dresser top where she could easily access the letters and photos anytime she wanted.

Finally, she understood why Lydia had left her the Lucky Seven.

Chapter Fourteen

Wyatt drove straight through the gate and pulled up to the opulent mansion. The yellow caddy was parked in front. Hauling his weight out of his pickup, he kicked clumps of dried mud off his boots as he gazed at the three-story brick monstrosity. He always did think the place was God- awful ugly. It hadn’t improved any since the last time he’d been there, a couple of years ago when he’d been roped into attending a fundraiser at Stillwell’s ranch. Today’s visit was far from social. The house was more of a mausoleum than a home, if he recalled correctly. If that was the kind of predilection that came with money, Wyatt preferred to have bad taste. He strolled to the front door and banged the brass knocker loudly. A Mexican woman in a black and white maid’s uniform answered the door.

“Si? May I help you?”

He removed his cowboy hat. “Is Mr. Stillwell home? Wyatt Brannigan here to see him.”

“One moment, please.” The maid closed the door in his face and left him standing on the stoop. He swatted at a fly and thought about Jordan. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. She was everything he wanted in a woman, and he wasn’t about to lose her. When he’d found out she’d been forced off the road and banged up, he’d wanted to jump in his truck and go after the culprits and tar and feather them. He knew who’d been behind her accident as sure as the sun rose each morning. But that’s where his virtue of patience had come in handy. He hadn’t wanted to worry her with his wild imaginings of retribution, so he’d let the horses into the pasture and visited with her over coffee. All the while, he was plotting his revenge against Stillwell and his cronies. No one was going to hurt Jordan and get away with it. Even now, he struggled to tamp down his anger.