The first day back at school was hard, and not just for Allie. As Elizabeth sat at the front of the classroom while her students wrote in their workbooks, her mind wandered to the pergola, the porch swing, the feeling of harvesting the abundance of the vegetable garden, laughing with Rebecca while they cooked, riding Toby with the wind in her hair... and Nathan. Always Nathan.
Elizabeth sighed and looked at Allie, who was looking at her. They both smiled with no need for words, because they were both in the same place. In Airdrie in the spring.
As Elizabeth sat in front of the class, she was reading a reference book on adoptions. She had found what she was looking for. Once she and Nathan were married, an adoption would be left entirely up to judicial discretion. In other words, Bill Avery would decide whether Nathan and Elizabeth would be deemed "fit and proper" parents to Allie. Elizabeth smiled to herself. It's always good to know the Judge.
After school, they picked up Jack and went for a ride with Sarah and Sergeant before dinner. Elizabeth would go slow with Jack, though she could occasionally hold him tightly through a short trot. She had learned what Rebecca had called the Horsey Song while she was in Airdrie, and as Jack bounced lightly in the saddle, Elizabeth would sing to him, He's a rootin' tootin' high-falutin' son-of-a-gun from Arizona... but instead of Ragtime Cowboy Joe, she would end with Ragtime Cowboy Jack and he would laugh and laugh.
Thinking of Rebecca was connected to the fact that she had once been Elizabeth's age and that Nathan had once been Jack's. It reminded Elizabeth of the continuum of life, the unchangeable fact that Jack would be a man someday and that these days were so inexpressibly precious with him. And with Allie.
Allie and Elizabeth's relationship had changed since they'd been in Airdrie, in good ways. Elizabeth already loved Allie and had such admiration for her resilience, her intelligence, and her ways of coping with a life that had been less than ideal. But hearing her lay out her case for adoption at the pergola that day had let Elizabeth see how adult Allie had become.
She saw Allie more as a young woman, and they could talk about anything without self-consciousness. And Allie was opening up to her more and more. Elizabeth didn't have to answer with "It's complicated" anymore. She and Nathan were getting married, and that gave Allie the confidence to open her heart fully to Elizabeth.
They finished their ride and stopped off at the Mercantile for a few things and then it was on to dinner. It was only their second night without Nathan, but they were quickly finding a routine.
After they ate, while Elizabeth drew pictures with Jack, Allie read aloud from Jane Eyre at the table.
"I've a strange feeling with regard to you, as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave, I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly."
Allie stopped and said, "Is that how you feel? When you're away from Uncle Nathan?"
Elizabeth smiled. "Well, authors dramatize things, and use metaphors like that string and bleeding inwardly, that are heightened. But yes, the spirit of it is true."
"So, you're... connected? Like Jane and Mr. Rochester?" Allie asked.
"We are, Allie. It's what you feel when you fall in love," Elizabeth said.
"Hmm," Allie said softly. Elizabeth looked at her tenderly. She loved that little noise that Allie made when an idea landed in her head and took root. She loved Allie's mind, her curiosity, and her need to understand the people and the world around her.
"I miss him too," Allie said, her face open. "He's different since he's been with you. I can't explain it, but it's like he cares more for me, too."
Elizabeth smiled. "That's the wonderful thing about opening your heart. It's like a door. You can't really just open it to one person, it opens you up to everyone. I know he always loved you this way, Allie, it's just that now he shows it more."
"He loved Sarah a lot," Allie said. She had taken, lately, to calling her mother by her first name. Elizabeth understood why. Unfortunately, Allie never had the time to make a connection with Sarah, so she was a sort of intangible idea to her. And as time was passing, Elizabeth knew that the concept of mother was belonging more to her. It was an honor and a privilege that Elizabeth didn't take lightly.
"He did love Sarah, Allie," Elizabeth said. "I don't think we can fully understand how close twins are, and how sad he was when she wasn't there anymore."
"But he talks to her. He told me he does." Allie looked at the table of photos behind her. "And you talk to him? Jack's father?"
"I do," Elizabeth said, taking her hand across the table. "People never really leave us. Because we have memories. We can still hear them, and see their faces in our minds."
Allie frowned. "But that's the thing. I don't have that with Sarah. Grandma and Uncle Nathan and Charlie remember her and tell me stories, but all I have are some pictures."
Elizabeth said, "And how does that make you feel, Allie? When they tell you stories?"
Allie frowned. "A little sad that I didn't know her, but mostly just strange that I don't feel very much. Is that wrong? That I don't feel anything?"
Elizabeth smiled and squeezed her hand. "No. Not at all. No one who loves you would ever say that was wrong."
Allie looked down at the tablecloth and smoothed a wrinkle there. "So..."
Frowning, Elizabeth said, "What is it, Allie?"
"Sometime, soon, I hope, you'll be my mother..." Allie still couldn't look up.
"Yes," Elizabeth said, leaning down and trying to meet Allie's eyes.
"And... mothers love their daughters..."
Elizabeth said, "Allie. Look at me, please."
Allie looked up. Elizabeth couldn't leave Jack at the table, so she motioned for Allie to come around to her, and then she folded her into a hug.
"I love you already, Allie. Very much. You're so easy to love, sweetheart."
Allie took a deep breath and said softly into Elizabeth's shoulder, "I love you, too."
April 9, 1917
To: Elizabeth Thornton, General Delivery, Hope Valley, Alberta
Darling Elizabeth,
I was just thinking that we're probably writing letters at the same time. Me in my boyhood bedroom here in Airdrie and you at the kitchen table in your row house in Hope Valley.
You feel very far away, but you're also right here with me.
I have a confession. I have loved books and writing and stories my whole life (that's not the confession, that's the preamble to the confession). But because I've read the best authors since Plato and Euripides, I'm naturally very self-critical and I tend to cross things out and ball up pieces of paper and try over and over to get it just right (That was the confession).
I have promised myself not to do that with you. As long as I tell the truth, I shouldn't need to censor myself. And because you love me, you will love anything I say as long as I say it honestly.
So I may ramble (and use too many parentheses), I may go off on tangents. It's my version of stuttering prose, if you will. I'll hope you find it as charming as my actual stuttering.
(If you don't, I can always revert to my seven-year-old style of naming a thousand horses.)
Here's a tangent: I've loved you for a long time, but it's only since we admitted it to each other that I've been able to take that tendril of escaping hair and tuck it behind your ear, or put my arm around you, or hold you and feel our hearts stop pounding and our breathing go quiet together, or best of all, lose myself in the warmth of one of your kisses. Missing you when I couldn't have you was an abstract concept. Now I know exactly what I'm missing.
(Note: The entire paragraph above would have been crossed out, rewritten, crossed out again, and this page would be balled up on the floor, having missed the trash basket in my frustration to express myself adequately. Be proud of me that I'm still toiling away here and haven't started over.)
You've had a long train ride today. Allie is likely asleep, warm and safe in her little rollaway bed upstairs. Jack is snoring softly in his crib. I would give a lot right now to be able to kiss Allie goodnight, and put my hand on that little boy's warm back while he sleeps; feeling the rise and fall of his breath is one of life's great pleasures.
You're probably writing by the candle, because you prefer that to the harsh light from the wall fixture. I think it soothes and focuses you to have that small pool of light on the paper.
Every now and then, if you have trouble thinking of just the right phrase, you will dip the lead of the pencil into the melted wax, and then burn it off in the flame so you can write with it again.
If you write in pen, you'll have two small circles of ink, one on your forefinger and one on your thumb, and if you're thinking very hard, a spot of ink can make its way from your thumb to your chin as you rest your head there.
Did you know that when you get an idea that you love, you blink your eyes a little faster as you write, almost as if you're propelling the words from your mind onto the page?
I see it all. Every night. Your house or mine, it doesn't matter. You write. I wish I had an ounce of your passion and talent for writing.
But the blessing of this short separation is that now you will be writing to me. Your heart to mine on the page. It's not like a conversation, precious as they are with us. It's as permanent as ink and paper can be, and can be read and re-read, like books.
I think Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett may have had something there.
(Okay, you're inspiring me. I seem to have lost my stutter. The above wasn't too bad.)
The ranch house is very quiet tonight, and the irony is that now I'm the third wheel. Mom and Charlie are in the living room by the fire and I've come to my bedroom to give them some privacy.
Mom said something at dinner about how quiet it was now without Allie and Jack. "There should be children in this house." It was one of those moments when Charlie didn't care what I knew or thought I knew, and he put his hand over Mom's and just held it there.
It's good for me to see them this way, because as I told you, it makes it much easier for me to leave the ranch again, knowing Mom isn't alone.
My father used to call me the man of the house when he would go away. He'd tell me to take care of my mother and my sister. When you hear that at ten years old, it sinks in that it might be your job, and it's hard to let go.
You know that house we're going to build? I'd like to put another house out back, just in case. In case my mother ever decides that she needs family more than this ranch. For now it's a good life for her. But someday, it will be too much.
But we'll make those decisions together, Elizabeth. Your head is about as level as they get. I trust your intelligence and your judgement, and your common sense and compassion are astonishing.
I told you my mother already loves you, and that may sound like lip service, but it's as true as it can be. She fell in love with you the same way I did. Fast and absolutely. She's been talking about you and Jack and Allie all day.
Allie. Wow. I've watched her with you and my heart gets tight in my chest. She's hungry for a mother, always has been, and no matter what I've done for her, I could never be that. That family meeting at the pergola was a revelation to me. She's closer to being a woman than a child, and I was quickly becoming out of my depth. You arrived just in time, as usual, my angel Elizabeth.
Tangent #2: I didn't think I would, but I miss my uniform. I haven't been out of it for nine years. That red serge becomes not only a symbol for others to find you when they're in trouble, but I miss the formality of it (the Sam Browne belt, the cross strap, striped jodhpurs, boots, hat, the sidearm). It's a little like a suit of armor.
Speaking of which, you will recall that in our field of flowers (Yes, it is ours. We raced there, you found me there when I was lost, and you saved my life there by keeping me warm. It is absolutely our field. I may need to put up a wooden plaque), I was forced to cut away my boot and my jodhpurs, not to mention my poor hat which got buried under a thousand pounds of horse flesh. I have ordered replacements from Headquarters, and they're being delivered to you, care of the Mercantile.
Now is your chance to try them all on and see what it feels like to wear the Mountie suit of armor. I know you want to.
You are a warrior, Elizabeth. So strong in the face of grief and adversity, but still you've kept your kindness and your joy for life. You're a lesson for me and for everyone who knows you. Every day.
Here's a secret, I have two extra red serge tunics in my closet at home. They will be far too big for you, but you'll get the idea. It's completely against regulations, but I'll never know, and I'll never ask. (Maybe when we're really old, I'll ask, but you still won't have to tell me.)
I love you. So much. I miss you. I called you my guardian angel once and you are my angel, Elizabeth. I'm so grateful for you in my life. I can't wait to see what forever brings with you.
If this doesn't get any easier, I'll just come home to you and avoid the Mountie office and sneak Bear out to ride.
Sleep well, my angel. Come and meet me in my dreams tonight.
All my love,
Nathan
