Chapter

Engaged to Trouble

It was morning now and Ben had resolved to drive home. If Joe was still missing upon his return, he could do more good for him by directing a search party from there. This lead had proved to be pointless as neither Clay nor Joe were here and the one name that Ben had been given by this anonymous source could provide no more to him than he knew already. If she did know more, she wasn't divulging.

There was a knock at the door as he was packing to leave. Ben was half hoping it were Clay coming to make amends for his absence and clear up this whole confusion. If not, then at the very least, room service. It were neither. The Mexican companion from the night before, the one who had sat at the bar staring on was standing outside the door. Without speaking a word, he handed Cartwright a note. On a napkin was written 20 minutes. On the flipside was the logo of the Yellow Rose Cantina. The burly Mexican departed leaving Cartwright in a curious state.

Though given the time to finish his packing, settle up the bill at the front desk and load up his horse; he spent this time instead, after a few minutes of queer reflection, spiffing himself up to appear at least somewhat presentable. Not like a man who'd ridden five days after a long cattle drive in the hopes of discovering information on his missing child whom he'd left behind, only to discover more questions than answers. Cartwright did finish packing but left his things on the bed waiting for his return.

He followed the note.

The Cantina had a different look to it in the light of the morning. The most noticeable difference is it had been mostly emptied out but for two occupants. A woman of about middle age whom sat at the very table he and Concepcion occupied the night previous, facing the door and the bar. She nodded to the barkeep whom was a different man than the night before. These were the only two there.

He returned her nod.

She stood to greet the aging father.

"Mr. Cartwright?" Her voice had a rasp surrounding a thick Mexican accent. Her dress was one of a Mexican peasant woman dressing up for a celebration. There was a strength to this one too which suggested both farmer and fighter. Ben entertained the thought that maybe the woman from the night before was not the true Concepcion. That perhaps this one was. At Ben's affirmation she offered him to sit down, which after taking her up on it, she did not join him. Instead, she left him and went out into a different hall. The same hall last night's lady escaped off to. This was all so weird and very mystique Ben couldn't help but squirm.

He glanced back at the barkeep who nodded to him, in a way as if to let him know that he was doing the right thing by staying put. Taking a breath, he sat back and waited.

After ten minutes, the older woman came back in. "Follow me, Mr. Cartwright."

She led him into the next room which appeared to be the floor of a restaurant still in development. Tile half laid. Few tables and chairs piled against a far wall. The service counter void of anything but carpenter tools. Curtains covered a curvature doorway that led down a different hall which took them to a hidden staircase.

The second floor was a yellow hallway beautifully painted in a top floral trim of red and purple roses. There were four rooms down this hallway, but it curved off at the end, possibly leading to more rooms. The older woman stopped at the first door on the left. Giving it a light tap, the Mexican who gave him the note opened up. Seeing the pair, he opened wide and stepped aside. The old woman slighted her head directing the pater in with a smirk. She did not follow. She bent this time at the burly Mexican and turned to leave. The Mexican was closing the door.

Ben wasn't sure how much danger he had just put himself into by coming here. Though wary of this man, his spine definitely tingling, the large Mexican neither addressed him nor openly attacked him allowing time instead for Cartwright to take in the room.

This room was also yellow. The same purple and red roses adorning the walls. The room was L shaped. There was a wall to his left that likely hid behind it the washroom. The door to which faced the bed which was tucked in around the corner.

There was another Mexican there, shorter and darker, whom was sitting at the foot of this bed. Holding his own head in his hands. Elbows braced in his knees. He entertained the idea of an ambush, but the second Mexican's countenance told Cartwright that he was in no mood for that.

"Come sit down, Mr. Cartwright." The young woman from the night before emerged from the washroom patting her face which appeared to have recently been washed. She was more moderately dressed this time. Adorned in a paled blue gown. The scar that ran down her face looked angry against the softness of the gown. He commented none on it. She floated to a small white dinette that held a tea set and some other aroma that suggested food which made his stomach dance with delight. "Perhaps you would like some tea. You haven't eaten yet I presume. My compadre Miguel tells me you were just in the middle of packing."

"Yes. Clearly coming here has been a mistake. It is time for me to head home."

"Certainly, you have time for breakfast." She indicated again for him to sit. Looking at the burly one who remained at the door, he took a seat at the petite white dinette adjacent the yellow stained walls. Her two bodyguards stared on from these positions in the room. She poured him a cup first then herself. "Firstly, I would like to apologize for last night. I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot." There was a deportment about her that suggested to Cartwright that he hadn't been brought here just so she could apologize. Perceptive of his perceptibility she took a seat across from him. Her presence and the scene itself was a strange blend of gruff and sweet.

"Mr. Cartwright, I think you have good cause for believing that your son is in danger." Why she has chosen to admit this over tea and crumpets was near maddening. "Furthermore, I think that Clay is afraid that he put him at risk." He decided to play her game.

"What makes you say that?" She set her cup down and pulls out a folded paper which Ben hadn't noticed until now had been tucked under the tea platter. She slides it before her but keeps her fingers atop. Instead, she asks.

"You don't think very highly of Clay, do you?" He was desperate to know what was on that paper, but he slaked himself and answered her question.

"I'm afraid I don't know what to think of him. I don't know him well enough to form any sort of an opinion."

"Somehow I don't think that's true." She said bluntly. "I do think it is true that you don't know him well. Though I do believe you know him well enough to have formed some sort of opinion. Some judgment on him, furthermore, I think that what judgment you have formed is not very high." She leaned back with that same pride taking another sip of her fresh brew. Leaving the note naked and alone on the table. Ben had half a mind to jump for it, but he stayed.

"I admit I don't know much of the man, for he divulges little, but what I have learned of him has admittedly placed him in a poor light with me. I want to give him the benefit of whatever doubts I have about him, but his own actions make that quite difficult."

"Of course, this is what you would see. Oh. I don't blame you Mr. Cartwright." She amended at his look. "Your son is missing which is very worrisome and you believe that Clay is at the root of it. Maybe he is. He worms his way into your life, kicking up trouble before he has a chance to get settled in and leaves your innocent family to suffer in his wake. I'd be upset too. So upset in fact I would want to go kicking in doors, charging down men, hurting anyone who stood in the way of me and the truth. And when I found this strange, this pitiful creature who has caused so much pain in our lives, his mere look of surprise might be enough to make me do something rash. Something, out of character." Ben was typically a mild-mannered guy but at the sake of his son's there was no telling just how far he would go. Problem was, he couldn't tell her she was wrong. "Perhaps, you should get to know Clay."

"How can I when he doesn't ever talk about himself? When all he does is run away at the first sign of trouble? Trouble he's caused." The men and woman exchanged wary glances. Ben half-expected Clay to come jumping out of the washroom. Like this had all been a bad rouse to test Ben's loyalty. To get his true feelings on the matter.

"Before you read this," She directed back to the note. "There are some things that I think you should know." Ben measured. "First off, Clay and I are betrothed. We are set to be married soon."

Admittedly, this came as a bit of a shock, for he could only manage an, "Oh?"

"What you saw last night was a celebration among shared compadres."

"Well, congratulations. I didn't know." Of course, if this were true then that begs the question why her affianced was not in attendance.

"Second, I think Clay went back. This was given to me by my Compadre Balduino. She finally slid over the handwritten note for him to take up.

Unfolding the sheet, he read:

Do you remember me telling you that trouble follows me? I'm afraid I have brought trouble to the Cartwright's. Trouble greater than they could bare alone and they shouldn't have to. My greatest fear is that if I do not take care of this now, this trouble will follow me to you. I cannot imagine my life without you, but I would never forgive myself if I allowed you to be hurt on account of me.

Give our guest my regards. If I have any power over this, I will be home as soon as I'm able. If not, your love goes with me from here to eternity.

Prince.

"Prince?"

"It was a name he used to go by. I am one of a handful of people he allows to call him that."

He never pictured Clay, with as closed of a book as he was, to be the romantic type. He had to admit the sincerity in this letter seemed genuine. That did not negate the fact that he caused whatever this was. In his own words he admitted as much.

"How long have you known about this?"

"Just this morning." She said, glancing at the gentleman to her right.

"What did he say before he left?" She went off in her head replaying his words to her.

"He said he had some business to attend to."

"It looks like…"

"He's on his way to your home."

"I must go." He got up to leave but she stopped him with a hand.

"There is more." He glanced around ponderingly. "Not about your son, but about Clay. Things I think you should know. You may not know, but Clay has a colorful history."

"So I've heard."

"You may have heard of his colorful past, but do you know what that past entail's?"

"I know enough."

"You don't really though. What you have heard is but a smidgeon. What he has allowed you to hear. There is still so much more he holds deep within."

"So whose fault is it then, that nobody knows his story?" He spewed almost angrily. "Am I to be made to feel guilty then?"

"I did not say that."

"Alright I'll bite." He retook his chair and leaned in. "Why, do you think he holds it in?" She kept glancing at these other two men which made him nervous.

"Much pain." She answered. Ben reflected for a bit. Something switched in his brain just then and he looked to her.

"But he's told you."

"Oh yes. We are to be married you know."

"So you've said? What uh, has he told you?" He leaned back in his chair.

"Everything." She answered plainly. "He has told it all to me."

"Really?" He responded undecided.

"Oh, not at first." She amended. "I did not know all about his life when we were both soldiers together." Soldiers? Something about this tidbit of information made sense to him now. "He would tell just bits and pieces of himself. Share them like... How you say?... Antidotes. He did not decide to tell me everything until after he had asked me to be his wife. Only then did it all come out. Like river. No not river." She corrected. "Like dam. It was like a dam that had cracked open. Everything which he had kept inside came bursting out."

"Like what? What is so big that he keeps to himself?"

"Not one thing. Mr. Cartwright. Many things." He waited for her to continue but instead she backtracked. "I know he would not want you to know."

Ben took an exasperated breath as he considered, then answered.

"But you want to tell me." She eyed him warily. "You've done everything you could to tell me he has a story just not what it is. I think you want to tell me. You know that he is in trouble. That something in his past has come back to haunt him. You know that telling me is the best thing you could do for him right now."

She returned a smile. "You are wise man Mr. Cartwright."

"Tell me what you know, and I will do what I can to help him."

She reflected. "I'm afraid there is not enough time for me to tell you all I know, but I will tell you this. Clay has a wandering spirit, you know. He does not like to sit still."

"Yes. So I've gathered."

"He does not want to be tied to one spot." She took a breath gazing out the window behind her. Her gaze went far beyond this dusty town and sought out the far distant hills. "I used to think it was me. He was afraid to settle with me." She turned her gaze now to the tea she held in her lap. "I sorrowed that I could not be enough for him." She went into herself, drawing a finger around the rim but then looked up as she said this. "That was before I knew what it was that he was hiding." Ben peered back. "It is not so much that he does not like the feeling of being trapped." She took a thick swallow. "He fears it. With the upmost intensity." There was a rising emotion in her voice. She placed her cup back down on the table. "It terrifies him." She gesticulated with clenched fist as if clasping her own heart. "Any hint of entrapment real or perceived sends him into a panic." She took a moment to regain composure, then righted herself. "This does not stem from nothing."

"Where does it come from?"

She swallowed again. "Clay has spent half of his life in cages you know, of one sort or another."

"Prison?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know. I just assumed…"

"Oh, but not just prison." She cut him off. "No. This fear goes way beyond that. It dates back as far as his early childhood." Ben slighted his head in disturbed interest. "It has resurfaced many times throughout his life, but it got its start in New Orleans. He was just a young boy you know."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"He was born in New Orleans."

"That much I've heard."

"Lived his early childhood in a small mansion."

"Yes."

"Many would think he was blessed to grow up in a place like that."

"Many might."

"They would not say that if they knew."

"From what I understand of the DeMarigny's, I could believe them to be the overbearing type."

"Overbearing." She scoffed. "Many people have overbearing parents. Overbearing grandparents." She licked dry lips and stated brusquely. "Clay was a prisonerin that home."

"A prisoner?" He scoffed in disbelief. "How do you mean?" He asked with a smirk.

"I mean it in the worst sense one could." She took a breath. "Mr. Cartwright. You were shocked to learn that Clay was alive. This is true?"

"It did come as a surprise."

"Would you believe that you are not the only one who was surprised by this?"

Thinking upon it. "I suppose not. I could believe that it probably came as a surprise to others as well."

"It has. To an entire city in fact."

"What?" He nervously laughed this question.

"Yes. It is true. His story made headlines. Oh, not at first of course. A straggler comes in to town and tells a city that he is the heir to a DeMarigny. No one wanted to believe him. He had to prove himself. Once they found the evidence to support his claim there was no stopping the firestorm." This had Ben thinking. "The ironic thing was, he didn't even go there with that intention. His only intention was to find his mother. This is likely why he hadn't told you. Why add those complications, you know? Isn't it enough that he found you?"

He gulped his consternation. This didn't settle well with Ben. "Surely some had to have known."

"Yes. Some knew. Clay could count four people at least that knew of his existence. When Monsieur DeMarigny died, that number dwindled to three. Madame DeMarigny and her two servants. He would discover later that there might have been others whom also knew but kept her secret."

"What about family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances? Didn't anybody question?" He smirked disbelieving. "You see a child with no other reason for being in that home, doesn't that raise some flags. How did she explain that?"

"She didn't have to." At his confusion she explained. "If you were to ask people years ago if there had ever been any children in that home, they would say only one and that was her own son Jean. They would agree that there had never been any children in that house since."

"How can that be?"

As he asked this, he thought back to his own visits in that house and how void of children it seemed to be.

"You tell me Mr. Cartwright. How does a boy grow up in a house, a house with frequent visitors I might add, as Madam was a pillar in her community, and yet his mere existence is a surprise to people?"

"I don't know."

"Think, Mr. Cartwright."

"He was kept out of sight?"

"There it is."

"Well surely he must have been seen at some point. Maybe as he played outside. Somebody had to have seen."

"She couldn't risk it."

"Risk it?"

"People knowing."

"You can't tell me he never went outside." He was adamant now.

"That is exactly what I am saying." She responded with some fervor. "From the moment he was taken to that home, until the moment of his release, eight years." She emphasized. "He stepped outside not once. Madame DeMarigny wouldn't allow it. He did not know even the feeling of grass until the day of his release. Yet Madame had a lawn and a garden. How could that be, that he would not even know the smell of a flower but what drifted in from his bedroom window? Everything he knew of the world he learned through stories told to him; or from the sights and sounds and smells that drifted in; and even that window was only ever opened to him at night, when there was no chance of being seen."

This revelation hit him like a ton of bricks.

"I had no idea." He humbly muttered.

"Of course you didn't, because he did not want you to know."

What must it have been like to be raised by such an awful woman? He mulled.

"There it is. Now you know."

"This is what he's been hiding?"

"Let me ask you now Mr. Cartwright. Knowing what you know now, would this be enough for you to not be kicking in any doors? Is this enough to gain your sympathy and give him the benefit of the doubts you have?"

Ben was ill-disposed to answer.

"I wouldn't think it would be. Of course it would not." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Because Clay has lived a lifetime since then. He has had the ability to make his own decisions and live his own life. To get himself into trouble and out as he sees fit; but he has chosen into trouble more often than out and now those decisions has put your family at risk. I'd be upset too. Not upset. I'd be infuriated." She took a breath to reclaim her poise. "I understand the way you feel Mr. Cartwright and I know that I cannot change the way you feel. Not in the time that you have here which is no time at all. For you must head home to your sons. You will go home and find this man, this stranger who calls himself family, who has wormed his way into your life and upon kicking up dust leaves just as quickly. You'll see him and make rash decisions based off of what you think you know of him. I could sit here and tell you how wrong you are but you and I both know that there isn't enough time in the day for that. That is why I am giving you one more thing."

She left the table and went to a three-drawer bureau, which sat under the window sill, opening the top drawer. She withdrew a brown leather satchel and came back over to join him.

"Take this. You want to know about Clay? I think that it is important that you do. There may not be time now, but you will have time out there in your travel back home. Do me a favor Mr. Cartwright. Please read it."

The request giving Ben insight as to what lay within.

He agreed with a nod.

A word from the author:

Thank you for sticking with me thus far. So yes, if you haven't guessed by now this is going to take on some sort of Flowers in the Attic kind of feel.

It kind of bothered me that Clay told Ben that he had been raised by his grandmother (which a judge from New Orleans confirms) and yet when Ben had visited that house years before there was not a sign that a boy dwelled within. This had got me pondering why that might be. The only answer that made any real sense became the true inspiration for this story.

Please leave a comment to let me know what you think.