Regency Christmas Gifts (14 page)

John swallowed down his unholy glee over such
an offer and put on his best business face. In dealing firsthand
with Iroquois and touchy Hurons in their lodges, he had learned to
cover his emotions as he bargained for furs. That same poker face
had served him well as he moved up the fur trade ladder and became
a middle man. It hadn’t hurt that he’d discovered a facility with
languages that served him well with Frenchmen, Spaniards, and other
tribes on America’s frontier.

He politely declined the invitation to
luncheon, because he had other plans, and hedged about returning
for dinner. He knew he could play Mr. Patterson like a one of Mr.
Astor’s clarinets, if need be.

As he returned to the sitting room, escorted by
the great man himself, John noticed a certain shabbiness to the
manor. It was a place going to seed. And why on earth was Margaret
only now getting married, and to an Englishman? She had to be
nearly twenty-four—no antique, but not the dewy fresh maiden that a
man might want to wed.

He returned to the sitting room and waited
there, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, as Mr. Patterson
pulled his daughter into the hall for a few whispered words. When
she returned, she gave him a brilliant smile, sat him down on the
sofa and crowded close to him.

Up close, he found her less beautiful. Her
complexion had an unhealthy tinge to it, and her eyes had a hard
look.

She placed her hand on his arm. “Do tell me all
about your travels, John,” she said.

“
I did in my letters,” he replied.
“In considerable detail, I might add.”

Oh, he shouldn’t do this, but he could not
resist. “Surely you have not forgotten my letter about captivity
with the Hurons and a near scalping, followed by my escape through
a trackless forest?”

“
I have not forgotten that
incident,” she replied, increasing the pressure on his arm. “Poor,
poor you!”

His only dealings with the Hurons had been
marathon bargaining sessions that left him red-eyed from sitting
for hours in a smoky lodge. They had been more than kind, once he
spoke to them in their own tongue. The North West Company had
declared him king of the Huron trade, which had brought him to the
attention of Astor in the brand new United States, and a better
career path.

He let her chatter on a few more minutes,
because what man doesn’t like praise, even the false kind, heaped
upon him? As he listened, John began to count himself a fortunate
man, indeed, that another of his skills was reading
people.

Detaching himself from Margaret Patterson
proved to be a challenge, but he was equal to it. He promised a
later return, probably no more sincere than all the blather she was
heaping upon him. Since Margaret Patterson, that self-absorbed
girl, had grown into Miss Patterson, still self-absorbed, he
excused his own prevarication.

Once outside, he breathed in the cold air and
congratulated himself on his escape. He did turn around for another
wave and a bow, because she stood in the doorway, but that was it.
He had survived with his whole skin, and a complete confirmation of
his decade-long suspicions.

Back in town, he knocked on a more humble door,
and was invited in by the Reverend Wilson, retired minister of St.
George’s and his former village teacher. He spent an edifying hour
in the good man’s presence. An inquiry about Miss Wilson’s address
meant another hour to cool his heels and compose
himself.

He went back to the inn and wrote a letter,
just a short one, to Sally Wilson. He signed it “Faithfully Yours,
Hay Wain Lad,” and asked the ostler’s son to deliver it to the
village school. He composed himself for a short nap, and found that
all he could do was lie there, shoes off, comfortable, with a huge
smile on his face.

He had begun his journey to Scotland wondering
if what he thought was true would lead to more disappointment.
Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, he had reminded himself
that his intuition was sound in more than just fur and business.
Even better, he believed in himself.

Before he dozed off, he experienced the
magnificent epiphany that he had always believed in himself, even
when times were at their worst, here in Dumfries, and in the middle
of the Canadian wilderness. He thought about his conclusion to
every letter of Faithfully Yours, and realized that he truly was a
loyal and faithful man, the kind a similarly inclined woman might
want.

Still, he felt something remarkably close to
fear as he approached the village school. He stood out of the way
and watched as the school emptied of children, all of them
especially happy because Mr. Wilson had mentioned this was the last
day of class until December 28.

When the last child was out of sight, he walked
what felt like fifty miles to the door, took a deep breath, and
knocked.

“
Do come in,” he heard. He opened
the door.

Sally Wilson sat at her desk with his little
note in front of her. She had folded her hands on the desk, her
pretty eyes trained on him. He loved how they grew smaller and
smaller as her smile increased. He had remembered that about
her—little chips of blue glass in the kindest face.

“
You’re back,” she said so
softly.

He looked behind her to what must have been
spelling words on the blackboard and knew he had been right all
along. He knew that handwriting. A decade of work and worry tumbled
from his shoulders because he knew he was looking at a friend, at
the very least. Under the cloak of another, she had written to him,
worried about him, and buoyed him up, whether she knew it or
not.

As he came down the aisle toward her, she stood
up and walked out from behind her desk. She cocked her head a
little to one side in a gesture he remembered from the years she
had been his only friend in school.

“
I like your hat,” she said and then
blushed. “What a silly thing for me to say. But I do like
it.”

And then she was in his arms. He couldn’t have
said which of them first covered that small distance dividing them;
maybe it was a tie. He held her close and then started to chuckle.
Just a little laugh, and then a bigger one, which she joined
in.

He finally held her off and just looked at her.
“All right. Confess. Whose idea was it?”

“
Margaret didn’t tell you?” she
asked. “I didn’t think she would.”

He kissed her then, because explanation could
wait until he did what he had been wanting to do probably since
that morning in the rain when she alone saw him off at the
beginning of his adventure. It was a long time to wait for a kiss,
and he wasn’t in the mood to add one more second to his
longing.

Another kiss, and another. There might have
been another one, but he wasn’t counting. He put his hands on her
waist and lifted her to her desk. He sat beside her, their feet
dangling, their hips touching.

“
Margaret wanted to humiliate you,”
Sally told him finally, after a real effort to bolster her
composure. “She thought it would be great fun to leave you thinking
that any day now you would get a letter from home.”

“
You didn’t see it that way,” he
said, when she seemed unable to continue.

“
It was an unkindness no one
deserved,” she said, with a sudden flash of anger. She made no
objection when he took her hand in his. “I told her
I
would
write you, even though you hadn’t asked me to.”

“
I wanted to, but ….” John
shook his head. “I had enough manners to understand that would have
been improper.”

She turned slightly to face at him. “If
Margaret didn’t tell you today, how did you know?”

“
I’ve always thought it was you,” he
began, then corrected himself. “At least, I hoped it was. Well, I
knew for certain after that two-year gap. Margaret—you—had written
a pile of letters that stacked up in the company office in
Montreal, and finally found me in New York City. You didn’t give
up.”

“
I was so afraid you were dead,” she
whispered, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Then Margaret
brought over that letter, the one where you said you were now
working for the Astor Company.” She put her hand to her mouth, her
anguish almost palpable. “This is hard,” she whispered, turning her
face into his shoulder.

“
We have time,” he told
her.

“
Margaret had forgotten to give it
to me,” Sally said at last. “Six months on top of two years! I
started to cry and she just laughed.”

He tipped his head toward hers, after sending
his beaver hat sailing. “She’s a mean-spirited female, Sal. You
should keep better company,” he teased.

Sally slapped his chest. “Wretch!”

She left her hand on his chest, and he could
have lost consciousness with the pure pleasure of her touch.
I
am a hopeless case
, he thought, with no regret.

“
I went to the Patterson manor first
this morning. Mr. Patterson pumped me for information, and I told
him that I am one, well off; and two, set on a course to become
even wealthier.” He chuckled. “He was so pleased! He took Margaret
aside and told her, and then she was so pleased, too.” He laughed
out loud. “What a transformation. She might be hoping that I will
return this evening for dinner.”

“
You won’t?” Sally asked.

“
Not in a million years.” He put his
arm around Sally’s waist. “I have a fine position with the Astor
Company and I live in New York City. I have a well-appointed flat,
and am thinking about buying some farmland just south of an area
called The Bronx. It’s some distance from Manhattan, so I am still
undecided.”

“
You’re a businessman, according to
your letters,” Sally reminded him. “Why a farm?”

“
It seems like a good place to raise
a family. Someone—you, for instance—could stay there with …
with … children perhaps. Let us consider that.”

“
We could,” she replied, so
agreeable.

“
I would be home every weekend,” he
continued.

She pressed against his chest with her hand.
“Oh, no! If that someone is I, we’ll be together in New York City
or not at all. No more letters or long distances.” She laughed.
“That is, if you are speaking of me.”

“
I am. Sally Wilson, I have loved
you for more than the ten years I was in North America. Will you be
my wife? I know it means leaving Scotland and ….”

She kissed his cheek, and when he turned his
head, kissed his mouth, which busied them both for a
time.

“
That appears to be an aye,” he
said, when he could talk. “In the interest of honesty and good
faith, there is the distinct possibility that Mr. Astor will send
me to St. Louis, Missouri, to be his liaison with Pierre Chouteau,
his Upper Missouri partner.”

“
St. Louis? Will I like St.
Louis?”

This was not a lily he could gild. “Probably
not, at least at first. It’s humid and scruffy looking. Pigs in the
streets. More taverns than churches. Painted Indians now and then,
and fur trappers smellier than I used to be. You’ll need to learn
French to converse with Chouteau and some of his partners and their
wives, but I’ll teach you. Is it still aye?”

Her sweet eyes filled with tears. “Aye over and
over,” she whispered.

He helped her down from the desk, mainly
because it was another excuse to put his hands on her waist and
pull her close. Arms around her, he asked what she thought about
marrying in the next day or two.

She rested her forehead against his chest. “Oh,
goodness, the school!”

“
I spoke with your father earlier,
and he is perfectly willing to take over until the town finds
another teacher.”

“
You already talked to my
father?”

“
Aye. I am no fool. I told him what
I am worth now, and assured him I could take care of you in a style
to which you will rapidly become accustomed, since you are a fast
learner.”

Her face grew solemn. “Can I leave
him?”

“
I invited him to sail with us, or
to come whenever he feels like it. He’s considering the
matter.”

“
Well, then,” she said. “I have no
wedding dress, but I don’t care.”

“
That’s my girl,” he told her,
practically tingling with the opportunity to finally use those
words. His girl. His wife. The mother of his children. “Since
Scottish churches are much more flexible than those institutions
south of the border, what about the day after
Christmas?”

She nodded, and wouldn’t look at him. In some
ways, Sally Wilson was still the shy girl who befriended him so
many years ago.

“
Did you already ask my father to
marry us?”

“
Aye, miss. I’m not one to let grass
grow underfoot.”

Just then he remembered the blue beads in his
pocket. He pulled out his little gift and gave the necklace to her.
“I bought these in Bristol, of course. No one else can create vivid
blue. I wasn’t even certain why I bought them. Can I find a wedding
ring in this town?”

***