To Save a King, page 18
Or was there more news about the writ and how John could not legally be the queen’s deputy?
“They’re saying a member of parliament is behind the Reingard land deal,” Gus said.
John drew away from the mirror where he’d been inspecting his hair. Definitely too much gel.
“Lords or members?” Lords inherited their positions. The members were elected. Either chamber was capable of scandal, malfeasance, fraud, corruption. “Please tell me Hamish Fickle is caught up in it all.”
Not nice, but a legal trial would get him off the talk show circuit.
“The little man with the big mouth? I don’t think so. John, look here.” Gus tapped John’s shoulder. “Your tie is crooked. They don’t know who’s behind it. The typical ‘Oops, there was a leak in the investigation’ foul-up.” Gus finished with the tie and patted his brother on the back. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“To eat and speak? How hard can it be? I’ve rehearsed my remarks so much I woke up this morning muttering, ‘I’m delighted to welcome you to Perrigwynn Palace.’” A new revelation dawned. “You don’t think they’ll be disappointed to have me presiding instead of the queen?”
“Who cares? You’re her deputy, the future king. Be confident. Forget Hamish Fickle and anyone who sides with him. The crown has survived a thousand years of ridicule and speculation, enemies and naysayers. Do you think one MP from a small county can topple us now?”
“Napoleon did a bit of damage.”
“Hamish is no Napoleon.” The brothers returned to the living room to await Dad and Daffy.
“You place the wreath on Holland’s grave in a few weeks.”
John stopped at the tea trolley for a quick, fortifying cup. “Your point being?”
“Your duty. Dating. Marriage.”
“Good golly, has Mum drafted you to her side? Did she tell you I agreed to meet Scottie if she changed the writ?”
Gus made a face. “Did she agree?”
“Told me she had a meeting with Elias.”
“She asked me to encourage you to date. Even suggested setting you up with some of Daffy’s friends.”
John dropped cream into his tea but didn’t take a drink. “She has no intention of changing it, does she?”
“I wonder…” By his expression, John knew Gus was conflicted. “You know she’s slow to change long-standing traditions and writs. She believes in them.”
“Then you’ll have to be the heir. You’re married with a child on the way. It’s perfect.” John paced toward the window, the conversation unsettling, all the while bringing Gemma to mind. “I know, let’s hand the whole lot over to Scottie. She’s strong. Determined.”
“She’s also never been to Lauchtenland or met Mum. I’m afraid that scheme won’t fly.”
“I refuse to marry without love. Marriage is too long and too intimate to go into it without affection, without common goals and dreams. I can’t date with marriage as the endgame. It feels phony. Old Grandfather Louis would side with me were he alive. I know it. Besides, I’ve done my part. I married and was ready to take the oath. If Holland died even a month later, we’d not be having this conversation. Talk to God about why He took her from me.”
The Port Fressa summer days were long and as John stood at the window, twilight barely colored the horizon over the bay.
“Mum would sooner change the writ than release her crown prince.” Gus’s voice was mellow and sincere. “But my daughter could still be your heir until you have children of your own.”
“Daughter?” John turned around to see his brother’s smile, so white and wide he’d guide the longshoremen home on a moonless night. “Congratulations.”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Of course I do.” He offered to shake Gus’s hand then drew him into a hug. “Let’s pray she looks like Daffy.”
“Every night.” Gus’s joy faded a little. “I can’t help but think you’d have had your own son or daughter by now.”
“Well, don’t. It’s enough to deal with Holland being gone. Besides, your blessing is my blessing.”
Gus went to the door and looked down the hallway. Dad and Daffy should arrive any moment. “I think back to the day Coral Winthrop left me at the altar,” he said. “When I thought my life was over. Now, I can hardly remember the pain. I’m married to a woman I love madly, and miracle of miracles, I’m good friends with the woman who dumped me as millions watched. God brought it all right. He did.”
“For you, maybe.”
“John, He will for you too. He can’t abandon you. It’s not in His nature.”
Okay, fine. John let the conversation drop because in the past he’d tried to push back but he got a sermonette every time on the beauty of faith and believing in a God who gave His own life for him.
Him being a relative term. Crown Prince John Titus Edric Rein Blue? Or just mankind in general? There were moments when John believed the poor soul in the streets had more of God’s attention than he did. Perhaps that was as it should be. The balance of things.
Still, little brother, also a prince, had had a supernatural encounter with a man he called Emmanuel. Even Mum claimed the occasional visit from this ethereal character. Yet John, the future king of Lauchtenland, had never met the heavenly man. Or been touched by God. Unless Holland’s death was His finger. Then he had nothing to say to the Almighty.
Dad arrived with Daffy. John kissed her cheek, congratulating her on having a daughter, and together they started down the corridor to the center staircase leading to the grand foyer. That’s when Dad pointed to John’s empty hands.
“Where’s the scepter?”
Of course. The royal scepter. The one the sovereign used to open every ceremony and dinner. Briggs reminded him only a short while ago the cedar-and-velvet box containing the wood, steel, and gold rod was in the queen’s office.
“Go ahead,” John said. “I’ll get it and be along.”
At the queen’s office, John punched in her security code and entered. The space was eerie and quiet with Mum’s continual absence, Mason not at his desk, phones not ringing.
He found the scepter box on her desk. Opening the lid, he hesitated. No one but the king or queen touched the scepter. At his investiture ceremony, he’d see the scepter, pay homage to what it represented, but even then, he would not hold it. Not until his coronation.
But as the queen’s stand-in, he had no choice. Palms sweating, John started to reach for the ancient royal staff with the emerald-and-ruby-encrusted crown and polished brass stem, engraved with House of Blue cyphers.
Then he hesitated, an intuition warning him to consider his actions. Once he lay hold, he’d be changed. He’d be accepting his destiny, investiture aside. Was he ready?
Breathing deep, he overcame his slight trepidation and gripped the scepter, half expecting a flash of lightning and crack of thunder.
Instead, he felt at peace and little doubts faded away. He’d known his whole life he’d be king. But in this moment, he grasped the enormity of it all without fear.
Closing the box, he turned to go, but something caught his eye from the grounds below. Probably the dogs running free, their minders chasing after them. Glancing down, John expected the dogs, or members of the ground crew, but instead he spotted a man in a long anorak and wide-brimmed hat standing under the elm. Three stories down and a dozen meters apart, John felt as if they were face-to-face. The man’s blue eyes radiated with a laser-like glow that cut through the glass and stone of the palace, through the bulwark John lived behind.
After a long, visual exchange, the man nodded, and for a second, the scepter glowed and burned in John’s hand. Then the moment was gone. And so was the man.
“John, did you find it?” Dad stood just inside the office. “We must go down. The Family is never late.”
“Yes, sorry. I’m just coming.” He raised the scepter. “I have it here. In my hand.”
And somehow in his heart, in his mind, and in his soul.
* * *
Gemma
Three days after B. A. Carpenter arrived, announcing Gemma lived on stolen property, her house was full of Stones.
Mama, Daddy, Granny, Aunt Edwina and Uncle Bud, along with Hank and Betty, Al and Betty (yes, it got confusing), Bill and Nancy. Because even a crisis called for a good game of cards. And prayer. Cards and prayer.
Mama called everyone she knew to pray, announcing Gemma’s shame and failure to the world. Even strangers on the street.
“My daughter got hoodwinked by land swindlers. She could use your prayers.”
Even the guests at the Hearts Bend Inn got a full account as Mama made up their beds and emptied their trash. (She knew all this because Daddy gave Gemma a detailed account.)
Gemma Edwina Stone once again walked the journey of a thousand bad decisions. Now a thousand and one bad decisions.
Tonight Pastor Clyde came to pray after supper—which Gemma appreciated—though he was rather loquacious despite the heat of bodies gathered in the kitchen under a weak working ceiling fan. The old air conditioner huffed and puffed trying to keep the house cool, but its old motor wasn’t enough against so many warm bodies and too many long-winded prayers.
Escaping outside after the prayer, Gemma sat on the back deck, grateful the August evening had cooled. Imani started school this week. She’d play a short volleyball season, then get straight into basketball.
Gemma anticipated a lot of nights at the Rock Mill High gym or traveling around the state for away games.
She welcomed the distraction. Because she still spent too much time thinking about the one thing she desperately wanted to forget. The prince.
She created a couple of social media accounts—with a fake name of course—and followed some of the royal blogs and the Perrigwynn Palace account. Prince John had a lot of fan accounts, as did his brother, Gus.
She tried not to look at her feeds often, but scrolling through various accounts had already become her nightly habit.
Worse, she dreamed of him. And also, she blamed the puppies. Everything about them screamed, “The prince, the prince.”
They were growing up. By the end of summer, they should all have new homes. Except Chandler, because the prince wanted him. Gemma wondered if Scottie would go over any time soon. She could take Chandler with her.
By Thursday night, Gemma had enough. Especially after little Jimmy Peterman barged into the bathroom—the lock never worked—and announced to the world, “Miss Gemma’s pooping on the potty. Mama, Mama—”
Embarrassment and limping A/C aside, she was suffocating. People were at the house when she went to work, when she came home, and when she went to bed.
They mopped, vacuumed, cleaned, did the laundry, and attempted to cook—all of which she appreciated—the good southern hospitality in a time of crisis.
Which led to a daily detailed account of every flaw in the house and every quirk of her broken-down appliances.
“The oven don’t heat evenly. I think it’s your coils.”
“Did you know two of your burners are out?”
“What’s with the washing machine tub spinning backwards?”
Yes, she knew all of it, but what did any of it matter? She’d lost the house and the land.
The worst part was when people wanted to help with the herd. Between telling them what to do and what not to do, and running interference for the rescues, the chores took twice as long.
Eventually every conversation ended with, “Why don’t you go on inside and see what Daddy and Mama are up to?”
But enough was enough. Standing between the living room and kitchen, Gemma got everyone’s attention. “Thank you all so much for your encouragement and help but—”
“That’s my granddaughter, boys. Read ’em and weep.” Daddy’s voice cut through Gemma’s.
At the kitchen table, Imani sat cocooned in the affection of the same folks who’d raised and helped raise Gemma. Daddy, Mama, and all the honorary aunts and uncles. Imani and Daddy just won a game of Hearts.
How could she tell everyone to leave when they loved on that girl so well? When they loved on her. When Nancy bustled about to cut Imani another brownie and scoop out vanilla ice cream.
The girl had no idea about B. A. Carpenter, the Samson Development Corp, and the great fraud, or that she now traveled with Gemma on her road of bad decisions. She had no idea her life was about to change. Again. Gemma envied her innocence. Envied that she believed the nightly crowd at the kitchen table just meant they’d suddenly become the party house.
About then Justin arrived. He melded into the glorious chaos, saying yes to a brownie and ice cream. Then Penny popped in.
Forget her announcement. Gemma needed to escape. Leaving the crowd behind, she headed for the barn.
Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, she’d express her appreciation then ask everyone to pray for and support her from their own homes.
Never mind Betty’s lasagna bubbling up in Gemma’s rickety old oven, filling the house with aromas powerful enough to make a girl change her mind. But no. No. They had to go and she had to face a new future.
In the barn, the dogs napped on the stone aisle, cooling under the high ceiling fans, free from the inside chaos.
“Gemma.” She turned as Imani called her name. “Do we have more soda out here?”
“Check the fridge.” Gemma pointed to the old appliance in the far corner. The paint was chipped and faded, and the door had a dent the size of a horse hoof, but the sweet thing hummed with life.
“Did you see Memaw brought more groceries? There’s food everywhere.” The light of the fridge illuminated Imani’s athletic form as she collected bottles of Orange Crush. “Isn’t it fun to be the party house? Justin’s parents always have people over. Can we do this more?”
“More? We have people here every night.”
“True, we do.” Imani grinned as she headed back to the house, her arms loaded with cold soda bottles. After a few steps she stopped and turned around. “Gemma, why is everyone here? Be honest.”
Gemma shrugged, lacking the energy and heart to confess the truth. At least not yet. “I guess they thought it was time.”
But Imani was a smart girl. Her mother’s daughter. “Is everything okay?”
“Right as rain. Go on now before those sodas get warm.”
On the other side of the barn, the goats stirred and bleated. “You’ve been fed. Miss Frances. You all right?” Gemma patted the mama goat’s head. “Y’all go to sleep,” she said.
At the puppy nursery, she stepped over the gate Daddy had recently installed and sat in the hay. The little rascals were milling about, playing, chewing on each other, and climbing on Blue and Tweedy.
“Clearly these puppies are more fun than we are.” Gemma glanced up to see Daddy at the stall opening. Should’ve known he’d come after her.
Clearing the gate, he sat next to her with an umph. “How’s little Chandler?” He searched for the runt of the litter who’d just collapsed after a wrestling match with Joey.
“Growing. I think I’m going to keep them all.”
“Six puppies and five dogs? Quite a handful. I’m sure we can find good homes.” Daddy cradled Ross against his neck, laughing when his tiny tongue kissed his skin.
“The truth is I have to find good homes for all of them. The dogs, the cats, the rabbits, the goats, Herc, Whinny, and Silver.”
“If I could, I’d make this go away. Your mama got on me the other night for wasting so much of our money on schemes. Said we’d have had a nice nest egg by now. We could help you out.”
“Not enough to redeem this place. Besides, I couldn’t take your money. This is my mess.” Gemma toppled sideways and wept softly against her father’s broad shoulder.
“Life doesn’t seem to be going your way, does it?” He kissed her forehead. “What about the prince? What does he say?”
“I’ve not told him, nor Imani, so don’t tell her.” She sat up and wiped her cheeks. “Daddy, don’t get ideas about John and me. We were friends for a few weeks. Maybe what we both needed but he’s off living his life, following his calling. Which is a very different life than mine.”
But oh his kiss…
One day, when she was old and gray, with menopause whiskers on her chin, she’d sit in the back booth at Ella’s Diner, smoke curling from her cigarette (even though Tina told her a hundred times to take “that thing” outside), ashes scattered over the table and into her coffee cup, and regale anyone who caught her eye with her story of the prince.
“You there, did you hear about the time I kissed the king of Lauchtenland? He was only the crown prince then but, honey, what a lover.”
She’d exaggerate, of course, and over time forget the actual details because she’d embellished them for fifty years.
“Did I tell you about the time a crown prince and I slept in the barn on the hay. We had a passel of newborn pups, you see, and—”
“Imani’s strong, Gemma. You should tell her. Best to find out now, and from you. With that lot in there, I’m surprised she doesn’t already know.”
“She probably does.” Gemma sighed. “We talked about adoption. She’s sixteen. All we have to do is fill out forms and see a judge.”
She told how Imani wept on her shoulder, confessed her fears and insecurities, wondering if she was cursed.
“I want her to be as secure as possible, but how can I adopt her when I’ve no place to live? Her world’s been pulled out from under her far too often, so when she finds out, I’d like to have some sort of plan figured out to lighten the blow.”
“What about you? Your world’s been pulled out from under you a couple of times.”
Gemma picked at the hay beneath her legs. “I’m a victim of my own decisions. Including this recent blunder. Dash told me to get a lawyer.”
“Your old boyfriend Dash? The fancy lawyer?”
“I ran into him when I was considering this place. He was in town visiting. But then I talked to Keith Niven, Hearts Bend realtor extraordinaire, and he said to do a title search, but the Samson lawyer said why waste the money? Told me they had other buyers chomping at the bit. I didn’t want to lose this place so I signed on the dotted line. They had the deed. I had the cash. What could possibly go wrong?”
