Down from the Mountain

Oh, but she would not have, he reminded himself with a twinge of guilt for his foolish thoughts.

Half an hour later, dressed in chinos and a light summer sweater, David sauntered into the library. He frowned as he paused by the bar. Fortification? But before he could pour himself a drink, a faint rustle distracted him. He glanced in the direction of the fireplace, where a fire had been lit against the evening chill.

Nestled on the sofa, a book resting in her lap, Ellen Candler faced the fire. “David?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me,” he answered promptly.

She really was lovely, he thought, her pale skin glowing in the firelight, her red hair a golden waterfall burnished by the fire. How on earth had she managed to live here these past ten years, and he never heard a word of her existence? How careful the old man had been, to never mention her. How strange.

“Up kind of late, aren’t you? I was thinking of a drink. Care to join me?”

“I…um…” Ellen flushed, feeling foolish at her inexplicable attack of shyness. But David’s deep voice was so devoid of emotion, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Don’t feel obliged. I don’t mind drinking alone,” David said briskly as he splashed some bourbon into a glass and settled on the sofa. “By the way, thanks for that midnight snack I found beside my bed. I fell asleep, just as you predicted.”

“You had a very long day. When you didn’t show for dinner, I understood, but I thought you might want something when you woke.”

“You were right absolutely right. Those biscuits didn’t last a minute.” Tossing off half the bourbon, David rested an arm along the back of the sofa and stretched his feet toward the fire. Looking around the library, he could see that nothing much had changed here, either, aside from the presence of the young woman. Sitting beside her, David enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of perfume suddenly wafting to his nostrils. A flowery concoction, delicate and faint. Gardenias again. He hadn’t smelled perfume in years and discovered that he missed it. Wrapped in its elusive magic, he turned his head her way, wanting more.

“Is it hard to master Braille?” he asked, glancing at the spine of her book.

“Not if you want to read,” Ellen smiled, unaware of the captivating picture she made.

“What’s it called?” David teased, running his fingers over the dots and dashes. “I don’t know Braille.”

“The Return of the Native.”

“Never read it.”

“I love Thomas Hardy and— Oh, I never thought!”

David laughed even though it was something only half his face could do. Somehow, though, because Ellen could not see his distortions, he felt freer to emote. “Please, don’t apologize! There is an irony here that is irresistible! After all, I am a native returning home, too, in my own way.”

“Yes, well,” she said uncertainly, “as long as you understand that I meant nothing by it. I’m plowing my way through all Hardy’s books.”

“Jude the Obscure, too?”

“Jude the Obscure, too!” she admitted. “Hey, I thought you just said you’d never read Thomas Hardy.”

“I never said I hadn’t read old Thom Hardy, I just said I’d never read The Return of the Native.”

“Oh. Well, it’s my favorite.”

“Then I’ll put it on my list of books to read. Brilliant and beautiful! Seeing you now, I understand why my father kept you under wraps.” He was glad he could openly admire her, she certainly was a pretty little thing. More than pretty, quite beautiful, actually, even if she did look drawn and tired. John had shown good taste, but how on earth had he had the nerve to rob such a cradle? He watched as she played with her book, her face an easy read as she searched to uphold her end of conversation. Failing miserably, she gulped her silence like a fish and he supposed she was grieving, which would make conversation even more difficult. Theirs even more so. He wondered, too, how she felt about his father.

“Did you love my father?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Even David was shocked to hear the tactless question floating on the air. But he couldn’t bring himself to retract it. Something wicked in him wanted to know. No one who knew him would believe the way he was acting, behaving like a fool, barely in control of a conversation he’d never meant to begin.

“Sorry, Miss Candler. That was unkind, even for me. Maybe I’m more upset than I want to admit. I guess I’m not quite sure how to treat you, although I sure don’t wish to quarrel with you. As my father’s mistress, I know how much respect is due you.”

“His mistress?” Ellen gasped. “Oh, how could you think that? John Hartwell was the kindest, most generous man who ever lived, and he would have never…never— Oh, you dreadful man! How could you think such an awful thing?”

David’s face grew hot in the face of his mistake. “Hey, I just assumed…your living here all these years. You’re so beautiful, I just figured… Hell, why else would anyone who looked like you want to hide away on the top of a mountain?”

Ellen scrambled to her feet, fumbling for her cane. “I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. David Hartwell,” she exclaimed. “I was born here in Montana. My parents were attorneys down in Floweree and very good friends with your father. They were going about county business when they were killed in a plane crash, six years ago. I was seventeen—an only child of only children—about to be fostered when John heard and intervened.” How to explain the kindness of an old man to a young girl? Taking her in at an age when most men were planning their retirement, asking nothing in return except some decent dinner conversation. Surely he had given more than he received, but how to explain that to David? Her words sounded inadequate, even to her own ears.

“Took you in, you mean?” he asked uncertainly, amazed at his father’s generosity.

“Took me in,” she repeated proudly. “A grief-stricken teenager who also happened to be blind. Quite a handful for a man about to settle into his senior years, don’t you think? Young as I was, I knew that. I knew the generosity of his act. The day I walked through his front door, I vowed never to make him regret his decision, and he never did!”

David stared into her grass-green eyes, shiny with tears—or was it anger? It didn’t matter. The look she harbored was unforgiving. “Look here, Ellen, I didn’t know.”

Ellen’s body language was her answer to the apology in his voice. She was rigid, her breathing shallow, her voice arctic and impersonal, when finally she spoke. “My cane, please. I thought I left it near the fireplace.”

He found it at once, a beautifully carved mahogany staff inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He’d bet anything it was an antique, and a gift from his father, but he didn’t dare ask.

“Thank you,” she said coldly. “Now, if you’ll point me toward the door, I seem to have lost my bearings.”

Turning her in the direction she requested, David’s fingers clasped Ellen’s shoulders, his touch light. But her stiff resistance made him want to shake her. “Listen, Miss Candler, I’m only trying to understand how things were. There was a lot of distance between my father and me, and now I’m here, I’m beginning to see it was greater than I thought. I mean, look how it is for me! He never even mentioned you, for Pete’s sake! Don’t you think there’s something odd in that?”

He must have touched a chord because he felt her ease up, ever so slightly. “I suppose,” she admitted slowly.

“Yes, you had best!” David agreed with mock severity. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why he kept your presence a secret from me?”

“None whatsoever!” A thin chill clung to Ellen’s words. “I didn’t even know he had. I always assumed you knew about me. After all, he talked about you!”

“And you never thought it strange that we never met?”

Ellen frowned. “Of course I did, but after a while I just figured you were busy and couldn’t be bothered with an old man and a blind, adolescent girl.”

“I would never be so unkind!”

“How could I know that?”

“Why would you not? Did John portray me as some sort of monster?”

“A monster?” she repeated, vaguely amused.

And in that instant, in the innocence of her smile, David knew that Ellen knew nothing about his scars, that his father had been kinder than expected, and he was grateful. Although he had long learned to live with his disfigurement, regret was an old wound that never fully healed. Ordinarily he was philosophical about those things beyond his reach, but something about Ellen had touched him, and for all she confused him, she seemed a gentle, straightforward soul. And then, certainly she was a great beauty, and he was a great respecter of beauty, he himself so badly maimed.

She sighed so charmingly he wished they could call a truce and begin again. But then, he wished many things that were never going to happen, and wishing had made him a bitter man. So he shrugged away his curiosity and bartered her ignorance for a rare moment of peace, when he could pretend for an hour that he was normal and uncut. He cupped her cheek, watched as she blushed, and was grateful that, for once, it had nothing to do with revulsion. “I give you my word, Ellen Candler, that for as long as I know you, I will never willfully cause you pain.”

Since she couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, her only gauge was the sound of David’s voice. She stepped back, hoping she was out of range of his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection, wasn’t sure if this knight’s armor was all that shiny, even if he was John’s son.

“Harry Gold, your father’s attorney, will be here tomorrow. He said he had important things to say about John’s will.”

Perceiving that Ellen was trying to create a physical distance, David was careful not to trail her. “I know Harry quite well. He helped my father to raise me, after my mother died.”

“That’s good. Then you have someone you can trust. And now, Mr. Hartwell,” Ellen sighed, unable to fight the heaviness in her heart, “if you don’t mind, I’m very tired and I’d like to go to bed.”

Not daring to argue with the sadness in her eyes, David watched as Ellen left, her path unerring as she headed for the door. The tables turned so swiftly, he was helpless to do anything but stare as she closed the door behind her. He stood lost in thought until the night chill finally roused him. Throwing a fresh log on the fire, he found the decanter of bourbon and retrieved his glass. It would be a long night and he had no other friends.

Chapter Two

Harry Gold, attorney for the late John Hartwell, arrived promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. The witching hour for lawyers, Ellen mused as she made her way to the library. As far away as the hall, her sensitive nose picked up the aromatic scent of an expensive cigar that always seemed to be in the air when Harry was around. Harry would probably die with a Havana clenched between his teeth. Turning the doorknob, she tensed involuntarily. Cigar smoke may have disguised any scent of David Hartwell she might recognize, but when he cleared his throat, she knew he was in the room. Her red curls severely anchored by tortoiseshell combs, her stiff spine sent an unmistakable message as she entered the library.

To David, looking up as he pored over some papers, Ellen looked every inch a queen as she glided across the room. Damned if she wasn’t intent on behaving like one, too, he grinned as he watched her raise her elegant chin and purse her dainty pink lips against any threat of conversation. From him! Harry Gold was another matter altogether. He watched as Harry hurried to her side, whispering his condolences, positioning a chair for her, assuring her comfort. Feeling slighted, David pulled his chair alongside Ellen’s and sat so heavily the chair squeaked in protest. By the way she frowned, he guessed that Ellen would have liked to protest, too, and it gave him bad-tempered satisfaction. But if he were honest, his temper had more to do with the hangover he had given himself than anything Ellen had done. Still, he felt as though he’d just won a small skirmish in a larger battle. What that battle was about, he had no idea, only that he and Ellen were its main combatants—its only combatants—and that she was fully engaged, too. Well, let the hostilities begin, he thought bitterly as he gave the go-ahead to Harry Gold.

“For the record, David, my condolences. Unfortunate business, eh? So sudden—John’s passing, I mean. You should have been told that he was ill but he refused to tell you. Kept saying he’d bounce back. He didn’t want you to think that you must come home, not if you didn’t want to.”

“Harry, we all knew it was for the best I left Montana. Better for me, better for my father.”

Harry shook his head, his mouth a melancholy twist. “We knew you believed that, David, but we never could figure out how to persuade you otherwise.”

“Too many memories,” David explained with shrug. “You know that better than most. There were some things I had to do alone. Make my own way, on my own terms.”

“Ah, well, what’s done is done. Shall I start with the pensions and endowments? There are quite a few.”

“Perhaps we might skip over them,” David suggested. “After all, we’re among friends, aren’t we, and I’m sure my dad wouldn’t have wanted us to drag this out. The endowments are probably everything they should be, especially since you drew them up. Don’t you agree, Ellen?”

If she didn’t understand his words, she surely understood his meaning when David covered her hand with his own. “Of course,” she agreed quickly, startled by the unexpected contact.

“Good,” he said softly, his hand hovering over hers. “Please, continue, then, Harry. We won’t say another word.”

“Well, then. In aid of cutting to the chase…” Throwing down the papers he was holding, Harry leaned back in his chair, his fingers a temple over his vast belly as he fastened his eyes on the ceiling. “John Hartwell has left the bulk of his estate to you both—equally.”

“Everything left is to be split down the middle. My guess is about two million each. With certain stipulations,” he warned as he lowered his eyes to face his audience of two. “Certain ironclad stipulations,” he added ominously.

This time it was Ellen who reached for the hand that had late imprisoned hers, her sightless eyes wide with surprise. David stared at the long, delicate fingers that curled around his hard knuckles, his mouth a tight slash that pulled at his scars. He watched her green eyes fill with tears, her lips quivering as she spoke.

“David, I had no idea, you must believe that! I mean, I knew he was leaving me something, he’d told me so. But two million dollars! I’ll sign it back over to you immediately. I only need a very little to tide me over. You’re his son, after all. I don’t deserve this.”

Harry reshuffled his papers and peered over his glasses. “I think, young miss, that perhaps I ought to finish before either of you makes any decisions. These ironclad stipulations, you see…” he explained, almost apologetic. “The situation is such that—I’m sorry, David, but this is the case—that you, ‘said David Hartwell, is required, in order to meet the terms of the will, to attend to the well-being of one Miss Ellen Candler, for the next four months…’”

“Excuse me?”

“‘…twenty-four hours a day,’” Harry continued, his voice becoming sharper and sterner, “‘seven days a week, until such time—deemed by her doctors, in writing—as no longer essential to her well-being.’ John has left behind for you, David, a sealed letter explaining his reasons. But in essence, if you refuse—or in the unlikely event that Ellen declines your help—” Harry concluded solemnly “—the entire estate is to be signed over to charity—pensions and endowments included.”

“Why, that’s blackmail!” David swore, jumping to his feet.

“Oh, John, what have you done?” Ellen whispered, her shoulders drooping.

David rose to his full height and glared down at Harry. “You can’t be serious!” he hissed. “Are we talking living together? Co-habitating? As in man and wife?”

Harry looked up, amused for the first time that morning. “Really, David, I think John intended something a little bit more…brotherly.”

“Dammit, Harry, you’d better talk quickly or some cat hospital is going to be very happy tomorrow!”

“Very well, David. Ellen is scheduled for eye surgery in early October. She needs someone to care for her till then. John needed someone he could trust absolutely, and you’re it! And just in case you’re thinking to hell with it, Ellen needs the money desperately, even if you don’t. Surgery is a very expensive proposition, exceedingly so, in her case, and Ellen has never been able to buy insurance. Preexisting condition, or some such nonsense. Anyway, no insurance company would take her on. So, as I said, my boy, you’re it!”

The room was silent as everyone digested Harry’s words. David felt murderous, although he knew he couldn’t blame Harry. His father was the sole author of this misdeed, and David knew that no one, not even Harry, had ever been able to sway John Hartwell once his mind was made up.

“Damn!” The sound of David’s fist resounded through the room as it came crashing down on the desk.

“Mr. Gold,” Ellen begged, her hands twisting in her lap, “surely you can see for yourself that this won’t do. There must be some way around it. John couldn’t have meant…he must have known that David wouldn’t…” Words failed her, but David knew what she meant.

“Ellen’s right,” David agreed coldly. “I’m not fit to live with. You know that better most, Harry.” Unconsciously he rubbed his scarred cheek, a gesture not lost on Harry Gold. But the gesture was futile. Harry’s hands were tied.

“I really am sorry,” he clucked sympathetically as he shuffled to his feet, “but there’s nothing I can do, absolutely nothing. It’s an airtight will. Unfortunately you both have only until tomorrow noon to decide what to do. That’s another stipulation of the will. John didn’t want things dragged out. I’ll return at twelve for your decision.”

Walking toward the door, he paused by David’s side, placing a sympathetic hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, son. Believe me when I say I tried my best to talk your father out of this. But you know John. He refused to reconsider—said something about cats and canaries. His letter is on the desk, there. Maybe it will explain things better. I certainly do hope so.”

Stunned, neither Ellen nor David spoke for some time after Harry left. Ellen was a million miles away, while David perched on the edge of the desk, staring hard at the woman who had him trapped. It was Ellen who spoke first.

“I’m sorry, David, I really am. I had no idea. It’s kind of spooky the way John is trying to control your life almost from his grave.”

“What about yours?”

“I know, it’s crazy.”

“Do you at least know what’s in his letter?”

“No, I do not, but he was very thorough.”

“That he was.”

“And I might as well tell you now that he knew he was dying, for well over a year.”

“You’re joking! Harry said Dad knew he was ill, but not dying! And certainly not for a year!”

“I wish I were joking,” Ellen said sadly. “Maybe that will go a little way toward explaining his behavior. I begged him to tell you how sick he was. We had quite an argument over it, more than one, but he refused—the only thing he ever refused me. I even tried to call you myself, one morning, but he walked in while I was dialing and became absolutely livid. He insisted I hang up, and swore me to secrecy right then and there. He certainly knew how to tie up loose ends, though, and I guess I was one of them. I just wish he’d asked me what I wanted. He could be a little autocratic at times.”

“A little?” David snorted as he rose to his feet. “Now there’s an understatement!”

Ellen took a deep breath, courage fighting with her instinct to run. Courage won out, but the cost was high. John Hartwell’s high-handedness, coupled with David’s resentment, was upsetting. The way Harry Gold had kept apologizing to David had really begun to grate! Hey, what about her? she’d wanted to shout. Didn’t she rate the same consideration? What on earth was so special about David Hartwell, that everyone should feel sorry for him? After all, she was the one who was going to undergo surgery! If anyone should complain…

She stopped short, shocked by her display of self-pity. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to begin to sound like an off-key singer in a honky-tonk bar. Still, David Hartwell was so bitter, Ellen had to wonder, and not for the first time, exactly what had happened to him. It was awful, that much she knew, but only because of certain allusions John Hartwell had made about David, not because of anything specific John had told her. When pressed, John had always blown her off, and now, here David was, raising the same red flag to any and all trespassers who dared to cross the same line his own father had so carefully drawn. It was enormously irritating.

“You know, John hasn’t asked you to do all that much, just help me out for a couple of months. Does my blindness make you uncomfortable? People sometimes do have that reaction. Being handicapped is not a popular venue.”

David’s silence was awful.

“Yes, well, perhaps we need a break,” she decided, fiddling nervously with her cane. “I know we have an important decision to make, but this whole thing has been a big surprise to both of us. I know I certainly need time to sort things out. John was very good to me, but this… I need to try and figure out what he meant.”

“The answer may be in this envelope,” David said, forcing himself to speak as Ellen rose to her feet.

“I’m sure it is,” she agreed with a tight smile, “but you must read it first, alone. It’s what John wanted, or it would have had both our names on the envelope.”

A curious brooding filled David’s heart as he watched her escape to the safety of her rooms. How much had she known? How hard had Harry Gold really fought this will? How much had John laughed? He hardly knew what he was doing as he opened his father’s letter.

Greetings, my son, from your dying father,

Now, I ask you, how’s that for an opening? I trust it got your attention, something I wasn’t very good at doing in real life. My truest regret is that we won’t have time to make our peace—we would have, you know. I believe that with all my heart—because if you’re reading this, then the worst has happened—but you’ve come home.

The car accident you suffered as a boy left a void you never allowed me to fill. Well, I am going to fill it now. However you have rewritten history is the quarrel of a young child, but suffice it to say—to the wounded man that poor, scarred boy has become—I leave my most valued possession. You’re the only one to whom I can entrust the well-being of Ellen Candler. She needs you, although she would never admit to it and I know you will protect her with your life. In return, she will give you back yours. I only wish I could be there to enjoy the fireworks.

Your loving father,

John

David stared down at the letter crumpled in his fist. Got me! Just as he knew he would. He closed his eyes and massaged his brow, fighting the onslaught of a headache. This was no time for a headache, not when he needed his wits about him—for Ellen’s sake, if nothing else. Even if it was she who had unwittingly opened the old wounds of that poor, scarred schoolboy! Wounded man! Let’s not forget that part! But hey, he could be forgiven a lot of sins for what happened one night, twenty long years ago! And the personal cost to him—well, hell, only his damned face—and all semblance of normal life! And if anybody doubted that, they just had to watch people gawk when he walked down the street, or went to a museum, or entered a restaurant, or…or looked in a goddamned mirror and saw what he saw every goddamned day of his tormented life!

Two million dollars and a blind girl!

Fireworks? David shook his head sadly. More like murder in the first degree—and who’d be holding the smoking gun was anybody’s guess.