He strode to the back to do a little straightening up. He had gone through a considerable amount of Uncle Duncan’s papers, dividing them into personal and business. He still had much to do. His uncle didn’t keep very good business records, and Gerrit would have to inventory all the books before he felt comfortable selling this mess. Then again he could just sell it and it would become someone else’s mess.
He picked up an apple crate with personal papers in it and moved it upstairs with other personal belongings. On top in the box was a bundle of letters from his mother. He pulled them out and slipped them into his trousers pocket. He would give them back to her. He went back downstairs and moved several more boxes, had a quick bite to eat, and headed up to bed to read awhile.
As he was getting ready, he pulled the letters from his pocket to set them on the bureau. His mother had written Uncle Duncan often enough. What had she written to her brother? He pulled a letter from the packet and read.
My Dearest Brother Duncan,
I have missed you terribly and do so look forward to seeing you again. It has been too many years. You have written so many time on the beauty of your Colorado, I am anxious to see it. We shall only be bringing Landon with us. As you know, Penelope is attending college to be a doctor. It is difficult being a woman doctor, especially in the east. Maybe she will come west and settle in Colorado.
And she had.
Gerrit has one more year of schooling and doesn’t want to leave his friends, so he will stay here with friends to finish. I hope with all my heart he comes out after he finishes school, but my heart says he will not.
He had disappointed his mother on that one. He liked it back east and didn’t know if he could settle out here and be as content as in Massachusetts. He was sure his mother understood, but he would make it a point to visit more often. He turned his attention back to the letter.
I have saved the best for last. Charlotte has married. When we announced we would be moving, her young beau got nervous and had a long talk with her father. His name is Hugh Thompson. He is a nice young man and will be a good husband for her. I have hinted on more than one occasion that Colorado would be a nice place to raise a family. I do so hope they will move out west. It was a beautiful wedding. I cried tears of joy for my baby who has grown into a lovely young woman.
Speaking of weddings, shall I make plans for attending yours? Irene is such a lovely woman. I always thought the two of you would make the most wonderful couple.
What! Uncle Duncan and Irene McConnell?
It has been a long time in coming. Maybe you have a second chance now.
He lowered the letter without reading the rest. Uncle Duncan and Hannah’s mother? He tapped the letter on his finger tips, then folded it and headed out the door. His mother would have answers for him.
After a brisk ten minute walk, Gerrit entered his parents’ living room. “Good, Mother, you’re still up.”
His mother sat stretched out on a chaise lounge near the fireplace. “And good-evening to you, too.”
He crossed over to her and kissed her fire warmed cheek. “Good-evening, Mother. Pardon my rudeness.”
“Of course. You’re up late. It’s after ten. What are you doing skulking about town?”
He pulled his eyebrows down. “Skulking? A visit to ones mother is hardly skulking. And I guess I learned from you and Father the service of staying up to all hours. Where is Father anyway?”
“You know,” her hand fluttered in the air, “prowling about doing work, finding some little annoyance to fuss about. The only difference between he and I is I’ve learned the benefits of sleeping in. He wakes at the crack of dawn like a rooster was crowing in his head then is cranky as a newborn needing to be fed.”
“He works too hard.”
His mother nodded her consent. “So what brings you skulking about at this hour?”
He pulled his eyebrows in again but let the comment go. “How long was Uncle Duncan in love with Irene McConnell?”
His mother arched her perfectly curved eyebrows.
He ducked his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Mother. I came across some old letters you wrote him. I only read part of one.” He pulled them from his pocket and handed them to her.
Tears sprang to his mother’s eyes as she ran a delicate hand over the stack of envelopes. “I miss him dearly.”
He went over to her and rested a hand gently on her shoulder in comfort but didn’t say anything. Silence had worked with Hannah maybe it would his mother as well. He handed her his handkerchief from his pocket and would wait it out.
He had never been close to his uncle. He had only been three when Uncle Duncan moved west twenty-two years ago. Other than his mother talking about him and a handful of letters he had received in recent years he didn’t know his uncle at all. So why had Uncle Duncan chosen to give him a bookstore he knew Gerrit would likely never run?
His mother straightened. “Enough of this wallowing.” She dried her tears and wiped her nose. “Duncan is far better off with the Father in heaven.” She patted Gerrit’s hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, dear. What is it you wanted to know?”
He breathed a mental sigh of relief. Apparently silence had worked again. “In the letter you said Irene was a beautiful woman. So you knew her?”
“You don’t have to stand.” She motioned toward the couch. “Have a seat and stop skulking.” Her mouth twitched into a smile.
He smiled too and sat, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.
“I did know Irene briefly before everything, and the move out here. Not well but I could tell she was a lovely young woman even at age sixteen. If she were even two years older, she probably wouldn’t have been impetuous enough to marry and leave her family.”
“How so?”
“Irene came from a family of privilege. And with privilege comes expectations. Her family would have pressured her into marrying who they wanted her to marry. Even a couple years older and she would have likely thought of her families wishes over her own desires and stayed with a broken heart. But, at the time, she had an ungovernable streak in her, a defiance.”
“And Uncle Duncan was in love with her way back then?”
“All the young men were. Duncan more so than most. She was like a beautiful flower whose sweet scent drew the men to her. Hannah gets her beauty and grace from her mother.”
“Is that what Irene looked like?”
“Very much.”
He quirked up his mouth on one side. “Did she get her stubborn streak from her father then?”
His mother’s light laugh was all the conformation he needed.
“Why would Irene marry someone other than Uncle Duncan? Did they quarrel?”
“No. Two best friends in love with the same girl. Irene chose Sam McConnell.”
“Why? Uncle Duncan was such a good man.”
“Sam filled her head with stories of the west and the town he would one day build . . . and build it for Irene. He told her of the resort hotel he planned to build, a castle, and she would be his queen. How could she resist such ardent claims?
“But unlike Irene, Sam was the poor among the poor, all he had were his dreams. Duncan and I were poor but at least we had a roof over our heads. I don’t even know where he slept. Duncan I’m sure did. Duncan would smuggle food out from our great aunt’s table for him. But having nothing didn’t seem to bother Sam because he lived so much of his life in the future, how it was going to be. He didn’t need anything more until he met Irene. And she only had eyes for him. I’m sure she was aware that Duncan had feelings for her. Sam was strong and confident. He knew what he wanted and went after it. He was a natural leader and people flocked to follow him. He was self-assured and very handsome. How could Irene or any woman help but fall in love with him?”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “If Irene was so in love with Sam, why didn’t she do more to rescue him? Hannah said he is still buried in his mine.”
“Irene was probably like a lot of women who detested their men going into the ground. It’s dangerous work. She understood that Sam was gone and didn’t want anyone else to lose a loved one.”
Gerrit sat quiet for a moment sifting through all his mother had told him. Something vexed him. “Mother,” he took a slow breath, “could Uncle Duncan be Hannah’s father?”
His mother smiled. “No.”
“How can you be so sure? Sam McConnell was a driven man. He often neglected his wife and daughter.”
“Sam was driven to provide for them. Give them a good future.”
“But Uncle Duncan came here with the man who married the girl he was in love with. Sam was quit ambitious, and Irene impetuous. You’re sure?”
“Positive. First of all, your uncle was gallant, one of the most honorable men I’ve known. He would not do anything to hurt to his best friend or Irene. And second, Irene only had eyes for Sam. Wait here. I have something I want to give you.”
Gerrit stood by the dwindling fire while his mother left the room. She returned a minute later with a hat box. “Gee Mother, it’s a nice box, but I kind of like my hat.”
She stopped in her tracks and glared at him as only a mother could. He ducked his head, duly chastised. She set the box on the end of her chaise and lifted off the lid. She pulled out a few loose letters and a bundle and set them aside on the lid. Then she took out a bundle of letters and looked at them closely. “These are from your sister Charlotte.” She put them back and thumbed through some more bundles. She pulled out another bundle and handed them to Gerrit. “These are from your uncle.” She pulled out another bundle from his uncle and handed it over. She pulled out a third bundle. “These are from Sam and Irene.”
Gerrit took them slowly. “You and Father had correspondence with Sam and Irene?”
“Of course.”
“But . . . but . . .” It was inconceivable.
She picked up the letters Gerrit had brought with him. “Take these as well. I think these letters will give you a broader perspective on things.”
“What things exactly?”
“Most everything you have questions about; Sam, Irene, Hannah, this town, the resort. I don’t think they will necessarily be eye-opening but you may see things clearer . . . like after the fog lifts.”
“What about those letters?” Gerrit pointed to the letters she had set aside on the lid.
“Those are to me from your father.” She put them back into the box.
“You kept old love letters?”
She fit the lid back onto the box. “Some of them aren’t as old as you might think. When your father and I are gone, you are free to read all you like.”
Gerrit kissed his mother on the cheek and turned to leave.
“Gerrit?”
He stopped at his mother inquiry and turned in the doorway.
“Have you told her?”
“Not yet?”
“Gerrit, honey, you shouldn’t put it off. It will only make the matter worse.”
His mother’s advice was sound but it was more complicated than simply telling Hannah.
“It should come from you,” his mother prodded. “You don’t want someone else to tell her.”
He just needed a little more time with her. Time to understand her, to convince her. “I know. I’ll tell her soon.” He wasn’t ready to lose Hannah McConnell just yet. If ever.
“Sooner is always the best course of action.”
He waved his mother good-bye and set out for the bookstore. He would tell Hannah soon. He couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. Nor could he keep the sun from rising in the morning.
Hannah would hate him.
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