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Colorado Springs

Armed with her new found realisation, Rebecca didn't know what to do with it.

She and Colleen had shortly parted company, the former using the excuse that she had things to do at the farm before getting ready to attend the dance. Instead, she had wandered down to the telegraph office and hovered around the hatch, her mind twisting this way and that.

"Anythin' I can do for you Rebecca?" Horace asked after she had paced back and forth for at least five minutes.

She hadn't known how to respond. Should she send a telegram to Boston confessing her feelings? On the one hand, it seemed like a sensible idea, the right thing to do. If you love someone, you should tell them. That was always the mantra she had followed, despite never having had to actually follow it before. It seemed perfectly logical to wire Preston and tell him how she felt. On the other hand, she would feel incredibly foolish if he and Helen were indeed reconciled and planning to marry, especially if they returned to Colorado Springs. In all honesty, she wasn't sure she would be able to ever look either of them in the eye again.

In the end, fear won out. "No thank you Horace," she had replied, "I was just…pondering."

"Ponderin' what?"

"Nothing," she said, "nothing at all." Then she had gone home to the farm, all the while distracted by how she felt and what she should do about it. She had mindlessly and unnecessarily cleaned the farmhouse until every surface gleaned and she was exhausted from the effort. When she sat down to rest, her mind immediately strayed right back to Preston. When had these feelings started? She tried hard to remember. It certainly hadn't been the first day she walked into the bank, full of indignation at his letter. If it had, she wouldn't have insisted he refer to her by her full name. Replaying events over in her mind, she came to the conclusion that it had been his kindness when he had found her unconscious in the road. At that point, he had ceased to be the local banker trying to take away her home and had become a friend, someone who was concerned with her wellbeing. She remembered how she had felt when he had looked at her, when he had touched her, accidentally or otherwise. She remembered blushing to the roots of her hair imagining what it would be like to be in his arms…Even with that, she had never expected those feelings and felt herself taken quite unawares.

"Oh Lord the time!" She glanced at the clock and realised that Matthew would be arriving to pick her up for the dance in less than an hour. Frantically, she rummaged through her clothes trying to find the perfect dress. She decided to wear the green one that she had described to Colleen. It clung generously to her figure and the neckline was suitably scooped to attract the right sort of attention without making her look as though she was touting for business. As she admired herself in the mirror she suddenly remembered that Preston wouldn't be there to see her in it. He wouldn't be there to appreciate the generous way it hugged her waist or exposed her décolletage. She wouldn't be able to experience dancing with him, being close to him…

"What are you thinking Rebecca McKendrick?!" she scolded herself out loud. "You can't think like this! You just can't!" Embarrassment as the intensity of her thoughts overcame her, followed swiftly thereafter by the cold hand of reality. "You know you can't fall in love," she told her reflection, "It wouldn't be fair on either of you, you know that." Perhaps that was why she was happy to be attending the dance with Matthew, because there was no danger of anything happening between them, no risk of her having to confess her secret. Perhaps it would be best if Preston did remain in Boston. Then she wouldn't have to torture herself with the thought of what could never be.

As all these thoughts rolled around in her head, competing for her attention, she heard the sound of horses and, moving to the window, she saw Matthew approaching in the wagon. As he climbed down, she couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked, and he had brought her flowers.

"The way to a woman's heart," she joked, opening the door, "Matthew, they're beautiful."

"It don't mean nothing," he reassured her, handing them over, "but I can't take you to the dance without bringin' you somethin'."

"It's very sweet of you, thank you." She stepped back into the kitchen to place them in some water. "And you look very dashing Sheriff, I must say."

"You look pretty good yourself," he replied, admiring her dress, "You and Doctor Mike are gonna be the prettiest ladies there."

Rebecca twirled for him mockingly, "Why thank you kind sir," she joked. They left the house and Matthew helped her into the wagon. It was a still evening, the sun beginning to go down and almost no wind. The perfect weather for a dance. As they made their way back towards town, Matthew started talking, but Rebecca found she wasn't listening. She was thinking again about Preston. What he would be doing, who he would be doing it with…she couldn't help a stab of envy go through her as she thought about Helen. They were probably laughing and joking together, delighted to be back in such familiar surroundings. He probably hadn't given her a thought since he left town.

"You listenin?" Matthew broke into her reverie.

"What?" she glanced round.

"You were miles away."

"Sorry," she said, "just thinking."

"Bout what?"

"The farm," she lied, "my deadline. Only another three weeks to go."

"Got every confidence in you, Rebecca," Matthew remarked, "if anyone can make it work, you can."

She patted his arm, "Thank you Matthew. I appreciate your support." As they neared their destination, she forced Preston to the back of her mind. There was nothing worse than spending time dreaming about something, or someone, that you could never have. But she couldn't help the longing.

XXXX

Boston

For the well-to-do in Boston, Saturday night was the evening when they descended en masse on the latest playhouse or restaurant to mingle with their own kind. To allow the men to do a little business and the women to discuss the latest fashions. Preston quickly realised that he was not going to be permitted to absent himself from this as his mother gleefully announced over breakfast that they would all be attending the new production of Madame Butterfly that evening.

"I mentioned it to Helen last night," she said to him, "She seemed very excited by it. A few weeks without any culture and the poor child is crying out for some entertainment. She and her parents will come here first for dinner and we will then all go together." Preston had merely forced a smile onto his face and continued eating.

The morning was spent at his father's main bank headquarters. Preston Senior seemed to think that by taking his son there he would help him make what he considered to be the obvious decision. They toured the bank speaking to various employees and investors and although Preston smiled and made small talk as he knew he was supposed to, his heart wasn't in it. If he was being honest, his heart wasn't even in Boston. It was in a small town back west.

At lunch he and his father met up with the youngest of his elder brothers, Peter, at one of Boston's most exclusive restaurants. It took them a good ten minutes to walk the short distance to their table as numerous people stopped to engage Preston Senior in conversation.

"So," Peter said as he and Preston stood slightly back from the current conversation raging between their father and Frederick Brown, a fellow banker, "what's she like?"

"What's who like?"

"The little farm girl you've rejected Helen for."

Preston glared at his brother, "She is not 'a little farm girl'" he replied.

"So you know to whom I'm referring then."

"There is nothing between us."

"Of course there isn't," Peter smirked, "you can tell me the truth, Preston."

"I just did."

"Oh come on!" Peter leaned in closer, "I've heard about women in these frontier towns. The minute a rich man comes to town they're all over them like bees in a honey pot."

Preston fought to keep his temper, "I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Thankfully, he was prevented from listening to any more of his youngest brother's pearls of wisdom by his father finishing his conversation and them continuing their journey to the table.

Once seated, Peter, who seemed intent on continuing to badger his younger brother said, "I understand the Drapers are joining us for dinner this evening prior to the opera."

"That's right," Preston Senior replied.

"It'll be good once they become proper family," Peter continued, "have you and Helen discussed a wedding date yet, Preston?"

Preston kept his eyes on his menu, "No."

"You had better hurry up. All the best places will be booked up soon."

"They have time," Preston Senior said, "besides, I'm sure that anywhere in the city would be prepared to accommodate a Lodge."

"I must say that Mary and I have found this first year of marriage quite pleasant," Peter remarked, "we've been to so many balls and parties I've found the whole thing quite fatiguing."

"Yes well," Preston said, "there's more to life than balls and parties."

"Such as?"

"Work. Which you seem to have spent the last thirty-five years doing your utmost to avoid."

"Now, now Preston," their father said mildly, "I don't want to have to referee a boxing match in here."

Peter's face flamed with embarrassment. "At least I'm not trying to bring the family name into disrepute by lavishing my affections on some whore from Colorado," he hissed.

"How dare you…!" Preston raged, getting to his feet.

"Preston!" Preston Senior looked hard at his son. "Sit back down."

"No thank you Father," Preston replied, continuing to glare at his brother. "I've rather lost my appetite." He left the restaurant and spent the rest of the afternoon walking the streets of his hometown, compounding his anger with every footstep, his thoughts taken up only with Rebecca, until he felt quite exhausted. Returning to the house just before dinner, he was met at the door by his mother.

"Preston, where have you been?" she demanded. "Your father came home in a terrible temper with some story of you storming out of the restaurant!"

"It's not a story, Mother," he informed her, "it's quite true. I couldn't stand to spend another moment at the table with Peter after the venom he had spewed about Rebecca."

"Rebecca?" she looked at him, "is this the young lady in Colorado Springs?"

Preston caught himself, "She is a customer of the bank. A woman I admire very much. She returned to town from Boston to save her father's farm and she is doing a remarkable job whilst suffering ill health." He found his mind straying to her. "She is…"

"Preston," Alice said, her voice low, "you must listen to your father. He told me of the choice he gave you and I'm inclined to agree with him that you should close the bank in Colorado, return to Boston and marry Helen as soon as possible."

He shook his head, "I can't."

"You have been at pains to emphasise that there is nothing between you and this Rebecca. If that is indeed the case then what is to stop you from doing as your father asks?" He was prevented from answering by the doorbell ringing loudly behind them. "That will be the Drapers," Alice concluded. "Go and wash up, Preston, now."

Obediently, he climbed the stairs to his room as if he were ten years old. As he washed and changed, he could hear the sound of voices coming from downstairs, Helen's loudest of all. When he appeared at the door of the drawing room, she hurried over to greet him. "Preston, where have you been?" her tone was light but her implication clear. "Father, here he is!"

Preston found himself face to face with Albert Draper, a tall, imposing man who looked as though he would like nothing more than to punch Preston in the face. "Preston, at last," he remarked, "I see you've decided to put in an appearance this evening."

"I apologise for my tardiness, sir," Preston replied.

"Yes well….at least you're back in town. That is at least something. We can now get down to the important business."

"Business?"

"Oh Preston!" Helen giggled, "Father means the wedding of course!"

"I was speaking with your father earlier and we think January 14th. It is, admittedly, soon after Christmas but far enough away to allow the relevant plans to be made. And I believe it's high time these things get organised after so much…passing time."

Preston glanced at Helen who was grinning inanely at him. "I think it's a perfect idea," she enthused, "with a winter wedding I can have one of those dresses made with the fur collars. They're all the fashion. Sally Queenlee had one last year and people were talking about it for months afterwards!"

Dinner was immediately called and Preston found himself propelled into the dining room and sat between Helen and James. As everyone took their seats, the latter leaned over, "Sooner rather than later, Preston."

Preston looked at his brother, "What?"

"Do it sooner rather than later," James repeated.

"I don't…"

"For heavens sake, man! Be true to yourself. You only have one shot at life and I would hate to see you waste it on Helen when your heart quite clearly lies elsewhere. Remember," he glanced at his wife Louisa sat opposite, "I almost fell into that trap myself."

"Which of your brothers are you thinking of for best man, Preston?" Jennifer Draper asked, "I've quite lost track over the last few years over who has acted for whom?"

"Mother, you know Preston has always gotten on best with James," Helen replied. "I would imagine that he would be first choice. Isn't that right, Preston?"

Preston felt all eyes on him and it was as if their collective gazes were sucking all of the air out of the room. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though he were being suffocated by the weight of responsibility. The choice he had been given was stark: leave Colorado Springs, marry Helen and return to Boston or lose his bank. Banking was in his blood. It was all he had ever wanted to do. Going to Colorado Springs had seemed foolhardy to many, but at least he had been continuing in the profession he loved. Coming back to Boston permanently would mean that he could continue to do that albeit under his father's watchful gaze. He may even, one day, take over the running of the main headquarters. At one time, that would have been his every wish fulfilled.

But now…now it was so different. Now his every waking moment wasn't taken up with thinking about figures and investments and interest rates. It wasn't about polite Boston society, playhouses, operas and fancy restaurants. It wasn't about marrying a suitable Bostonian woman and having a suitable Bostonian family. If he hadn't been able to admit it before, he found he had to admit it now. His every thought, since arriving in Boston and even before leaving Colorado Springs, had been of one thing, one person…

"Rebecca." He didn't realise he had said her name out loud until he saw fury begin to overtake Helen's face.

"I'm sorry, Preston," Jennifer said obliviously, "What was that?"

James nudged him hard in the ribs, encouraging him on. "I said…" he faltered slightly, "I said, Rebecca." He looked at his father who looked shocked. "I'm sorry," he got to his feet, "I'm sorry to let everyone down but I can't continue on like this any longer. I can't continue living a lie. I have tried hard not to hurt anyone," he glanced at Helen, "but I fear that I can't succeed."

"Preston, sit down," Helen urged, "you…you don't know what you're saying."

"Helen, you are a beautiful, charming, talented woman," he told her, "and any man would be proud to marry you and build a life with you, but…but I'm afraid that man isn't me. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart and I'm afraid mine belongs to someone else. I want to release you from your obligation to me and allow you to make a life with someone far more deserving of your love."

"Preston," his father stood up, "I'd like to speak with you privately."

"Father, I must apologise to both you and Mother. And to Mr and Mrs Draper," he glanced at Helen's parents who looked incredulous, "I know that you all would wish nothing more than for me to return to Boston permanently and marry Helen but then I would only be doing what you wanted and it would ultimately make no-one happy, least of all," he turned to Albert, "your daughter."

Albert got to his feet, "Lodge, I won't have this!" he thundered, "You are betrothed to my daughter and you will honour that betrothal!"

"I don't love your daughter, sir," Preston said, buoyed by the adrenaline coursing through him. "I haven't for a long time and it was wrong of me not to end the relationship long ago. I love someone back in Colorado and…and I know now that I've been away from her too long already." He looked squarely at his father, "If you wish to close the bank in Colorado Springs, Father, I have no power to stop you. But doing it won't change my mind and, if needs be, I'll find a way to start my own bank. All that is secondary, however, to my returning to Colorado Springs immediately, because right now…" He looked at James who was grinning at him, "I need to see Rebecca."

With that, he walked away from the table and into the hallway where he paused to catch his breath. He was swiftly followed by his father and, in turn, James.

"Preston you will go back in there and apologise immediately for that outburst!" Preston Senior demanded.

"Father, leave him be," James said.

"I can't, Father, I'm sorry." Preston turned for the stairs, "I have to pack."

"You think that I wasn't serious before?" his father shouted, "I will close that bank, Preston, I mean it!"

Preston turned back to look at him, "I'm sure you do, Father, and I'm sure you will. But right now, I have to go home." He hurried up the stairs, leaving his father and brother to argue at the bottom. Throwing open the bedroom door he pulled out his suitcase and began throwing things in. If he was right, there would be a train leaving for Denver in an hour. He could be back in Colorado Springs by the beginning of the week. "Rebecca…" he breathed her name again, thinking about how when he saw her again he was going to take her in his arms and tell her that Helen had been right all along.

His heart was hers and it overflowed with love.