Susan Johnson (44 page)

Amid heavily contested campaigns for a new constitution and slate of state officers, Montana had entered the Union in November. The usual accusations of graft and corruption ensued, and on the basis of disputed returns, both parties claimed seats, met in separate halls, and selected their favorites for U.S. Senate. The issue was ultimately decided by the Senate Committee on Privileges and Elections in December, which recommended the seating of Republicans Sanders and Power, rather than the Democratic claimants, Clark and Maginnis. From the purchase and manipulation of votes at a state level, the contested election had proceeded to the national arena of manipulative power, and with the current administration being Republican, there was harmonious agreement on seating the Republican candidates. And so went the will of the people in a state that was predominantly Democratic.

One cold morning in December, Trey walked into the breakfast room carrying Belle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Blaze said with that maternal emphasis that suggested he reconsider his plans.

Cheerfully oblivious to suggestions maternal or otherwise, Trey replied amiably, “What does it look like, Mama … for our usual morning ride?” He was dressed in buckskin with a Hudson Bay capote and fur-lined moccasins against the winter weather. Belle was wrapped in a fur bunting.

“Do you realize how cold it is?” Blaze looked to Hazard for support, but he only smiled and said, “Wind’s from the northwest.”

“Lot of help you are,” Blaze murmured.

“Mother, Belle loves the rides, and nothing shows, anyway, but her eyes. See?” And he dutifully displayed her, plumply content in her bunting. “Now pour me some hot chocolate and I’ll drink it on the way out to the stables.”

“You’re insensitive,” Blaze grumbled, pouring his chocolate. “What if she freezes?”

“She’s wrapped in more fur than a polar bear, and I’m not insensitive, she told me she wanted to go for a ride,” he finished with a grin, and picking up the cup, he started for the door.

“Have you decided if you’re coming to Washington with us?” Hazard asked, setting his coffee cup down. “Lowell asked me the other day, and I said I didn’t know.” With Montana a state now, its delegates could vote, and everyone with any interests to pursue would be in Washington for the congressional session.

Trey turned back. “I might. When are you going?”

“After Christmas. It looks as though the suits against the Montana Improvement Association are going to be dropped, so there’s no rush to get there in time for the litigation that was expected. Sanders apparently convinced the Secretary of the Interior to intervene.”

“Business as usual. That must have cost a pretty penny.” Trey exhaled softly, the dark shadows of discontent having plagued him since Empress left, reinforced by yet another blatant pillage of Montana resources. The Montana Improvement Association was stripping much of the public domain of its lumber—illegally. “I don’t know if I’m up to the machinations of Washington,” he said with a faint grimace. “And if I don’t go?”

“You’ll miss Belle,” Blaze said with a smile.

“In that case, I’ll be joining you in Washington,” Trey replied, his grin crinkling his eyes.

“You always were a reasonable boy,” his mother said sweetly.

* * *

“Belle’s good for him,” Hazard said after Trey had left. “She takes his mind off Empress.”

“I know, but I wish he’d play with her in the nursery today. It’s so cold, and Belle’s only three months old.”

“When Trey was three months old,” Hazard reminded her softly, “we were camping out at the mine.” He smiled. “And Trey survived.”

Blaze ruefully smiled back. “You’re right, of course.… I worry too much.”

“Your problem is you dote on that boy, and on Belle too.” There was fondness in his voice, not faultfinding, and an indulgent tolerance in the dark beauty of his eyes.

“Well, you do, too, Jon,” she returned promptly. “The only difference is that you don’t talk about it as much.” Blaze knew Hazard would go through hell for his son, had seen that Trey lacked for nothing, and adored him with a generosity of spirit untainted by censure.

“He turned out well,” Hazard said, pride in his voice, “thanks to your mothering.”

“And thanks to you, all the men at the mines and the ranch like him. Not to mention the admiration of the clan.”

“He knows as much about the mines and the ranch as I do. The men respect that.” Hazard grinned. “And as far as his
kon-ning
as a chief and a chief’s son, as long as he wins all the races and brings in horses on the raids, his reputation as ‘a man that knows and can,’ his consequence is assured with the clan.”

“Jon,” Blaze chided softly, “you promised me the raids were over. You know how the authorities feel.”

“They’re just little raids, sweetheart,” he soothed, but his voice was laced with playfulness, for the raids were the last unmitigated wild freedom left, like amusing games to a child. “You can’t expect us to change overnight. Raiding’s in the blood. Do you remember,” he said, the timbre of his voice gentling, “that first palomino I brought back for you?”

As if it were yesterday, she saw Hazard standing in the dawn mist and golden sunrise. “I remember the flowers around your neck,” she replied softly.

“You filled my heart that morning,
bia cara
, and I wanted to steal every horse on the plains for you.” Their eyes met,
and the special magic that existed for them alone shone, vital and enduring.

“It seems like yesterday, Jon.”

“It does, doesn’t it … as though the children and the years somehow flashed by and we didn’t notice.”

“They’ve been good years, haven’t they,” Blaze murmured, “in spite of—” She swallowed to press back the tears as memories of the children’s deaths engulfed her.

Hazard was out of his chair before her first tear spilled, sweeping her up into his arms. “Don’t cry,
bia cara
,” he whispered into her hair, cradling her against his chest, his own eyes shiny with emotion. “We had them with us for a long time. Think of the happiness we shared … and all the good memories.” Walking to the window, he stood holding her in his arms, gazing out on their land, stretching for miles beyond the mountains. The radiant winter sun set fire to the flame of Blaze’s hair, illuminated the splendid planes of Hazard’s face, glistened off the tears caught in Blaze’s lashes, and brightened the glittering gold thread of her brocade wrap.

“Despite the sorrows, they’ve been wonderful years,” Hazard murmured, his dark eyes turning back to his wife. “You’re my best friend, you know,” he said very low, “my very best friend. And also,” he whispered, lightly brushing her cheek with his lips, “my passion.” The cadence of his voice changed, less grave and vivid with amusement. “You’re my favorite chess partner,” he added with a smile, “and my most diplomatic critic. When you walk down the stairs in a ball gown and diamonds, my stomach still tumbles over at the sight of your beauty. But,” he said, love in his voice and eyes, “I love you best as you look right now in the morning sunlight. You’ve always been my sun, my moon and stars …”

Lifting her head from his shoulder, Blaze kissed Hazard in the gentle curve where his strong jaw met his ear. “In all the wide world, I found you.” Adoration shone in the shimmering wetness of her eyes. “We were
so
lucky,” she breathed softly, her small, pale hand lying against his bronzed throat.

He kissed her gently and then smiled that quick, dazzling smile she never tired of. “We
are
lucky,” he said.

* * *

Kit returned to his mother for Christmas; the Braddock-Blacks spent Christmas at the ranch and, shortly after the New Year, set out for Washington. They had been in residence three weeks when a second letter from Guy arrived, forwarded from the ranch. The news was commonplace enough, although slightly out-of-date: Guy mentioned the rain, how Eduard had grown, the state of his dressage lessons, what the girls had been doing, how they all missed Trey. At the end of this mundane recital of events, Trey’s breathing suddenly stopped. Guy’s last sentence read: “Pressy’s feeling fine now. She almost died last month.”

When he remembered to breathe again, an intense, flaring anxiety, as boundless and voracious as desire, revolutionized his previous determined unconcern. She shouldn’t have been ill or near death without his knowledge. It mattered to him that he knew she was
alive
somewhere in the world; it mattered fiercely, he decided in the next split second. If she had died, he would have had to face the awful finality: He could never see her again, ever. She wouldn’t ever be coming back; she wouldn’t be laughing somewhere else in the world, or just around the next corner, or walking in the rain although the rain was thousands of miles away. For the first time in months he cast aside prudence, intemperately refused to weigh the rational motives and explanations.
She had almost died
, ran like a pealing frenzy through his mind. Impetuously he rose, in a sudden, forceful movement that sent his chair crashing backward. He was going to France! The fearful bells stopped pealing, and a potent elation raced through his senses.

Whether Empress cared to see him or not, he wanted to see her. He wanted to see whether she looked different in cosmopolitan Paris, if her green eyes were still frank and sparkling with golden light when she smiled. He wanted to try to understand, possibly read the truth in her eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to go, but there was pleasure in his repudiation of prudent sagacity. And if nothing else, a trip would allay the boredom.

His explanation to his parents was brief, hasty, and irrepressibly buoyant. “I told Belle first,” he said, striding into the study where Blaze and Hazard sat opposite each other at a partner’s desk. “I won’t be gone long, I explained, although I don’t suppose she understands at all. I wonder if I should
take her with me,” he went on, dropping into an armchair near his mother. “With your notions of territorial rights, Mama, taking her would involve a bloody battle,” he said with a grin, “so since I’m a dutiful son”—at which point both parents looked at him in mild disbelief—“I’ll defer to your wishes.”

Blaze and Hazard glanced at each other, and Hazard shrugged his incomprehension.

“Sweetheart,” Blaze said, “this is all slightly ambiguous. Where are you going?”

“Empress almost died,” Trey replied with what his parents considered undue cheer and even less insight.

“How did you discover that?” Hazard inquired, aware of the striking animation in his son.

“Guy wrote and mentioned it along with all the other news. I don’t know the particulars, but I decided to go to Paris. I could see Erik again, and the Duchesse de Soissons has sent at least a dozen invitations in the last six months.”

“How is Estée?” Blaze inquired, acquainted with the
duchesse’
s partiality for her son.

Trey shrugged negligently. “Fine, I suppose. You know Estée … elegant, keeping open house, impassioned as usual. Her newest infatuation is Expressionism. Impressionism, I’m told in endless detail in her letters, is passé. Maybe I’ll have her take me around to the studios and I’ll buy some of the new works.”

“When are you leaving?” Hazard asked with the mildness he’d learned to cultivate with Trey’s enthusiasm.

“In an hour,” Trey said, rising swiftly. “I’ll send you a cable from Paris. Remind Belle I won’t desert her for long. Ciao.”

He was halfway to the door before Blaze could inquire, “Do you need anything, dear?”

“Need anything?” Trey repeated abstractly as he whirled around. The prospect of seeing Empress again superseded mundane requirements. “No, no thank you, Mama, I’ve everything.” His smile was brilliant.

When the door closed behind him a moment later, Hazard gruffly said, “It’s about time.”

“Meaning?” Blaze inquired with a smile.

“It’s about time the stubborn fool went after her. I damn
near went and fetched her myself to stop his infernal moping.”

“He’s as mulish as you, dear.”

“He’s more mulish than I,” Hazard replied with a teasing grin. “He’s as obstinate as you.”

Blaze didn’t argue, well aware of her headstrong temperament. “But a darling nonetheless,” she noted with unconditional maternal affection.

Hazard laughed. “Of course,
bia cara
, he’s perfect like his mother.”

The trip took him six days of surging impatience, six days of logical thinking and unreasoning emotion. Trey warned himself to expect nothing and to avoid disappointment, cautioned himself about arriving uninvited at Empress’s home. Since she hadn’t written, he reminded himself numerous times that her feelings obviously had altered. He simply wanted to see that she was well, an altruistic, benevolent impulse, he reflected rationally.

And he doggedly repressed the swelling, sublime anticipation.

O
ver two months had passed since Max had been born, months in which Empress had devoted herself to her new son. She’d started writing to Trey a dozen times in the course of those months to tell him he had a son, Maximilian Laurent Saint-Just de Jordan, and the resemblance was so pure, even Trey wouldn’t be able to deny him. Max had Trey’s pale eyes and silky black hair, and when he smiled for the first time, poignant memories came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave. He had his father’s way of smiling slowly, and then suddenly the full warmth would appear, like the sun in the morning.