To Save a King, page 28
“Go on,” Catherine said.
“If you ask me, he just wants attention. Validation. Like the boys used to do when they were young. We’d spend an evening with them and they’d be fine.”
“If he’s looking for approval, he chose a poor path by going into the parliament.”
“Let’s invite him here. You listen to his complaints about the monarchy, his plans to improve things, affirm him, and voila, he’s on our side.”
“I wonder at your recollection. There are a good many politicians who have never wanted to be on our side.”
“We have to win one over sometime,” Edric said.
“From what I can see, Hamish Fickle’s plan for government improvements is to do the same thing a different way. Only with him in charge.”
“Of course, he’s young, isn’t he? For him, history began the day he was born.”
“All right, I’ll invite him to the palace,” Catherine said. “But I get to say I told you so.”
“As do I, my darling. As do I. Now what’s on the telly?”
Catherine reached over to squeeze her husband’s hand. He was a gift. A compliment to her. John must find the same sort of love to walk with him through his reign.
And Catherine, the mother, and Queen Catherine, the monarch, knew Gemma Stone was not the one.
Then again, Emmanuel, whom she’d not seen since his visit to her hospital room, might have a thing or two to say about John’s future bride.
If he had plans to speak to her son, then he’d best get on with it.
“Can our crown prince and future king marry a woman with a sordid background? If he did, he wouldn’t be the first. On the blog today, the scandalous love affairs of Europe’s royal families.”
— Loyal Royals Blog
If you ask me, the prince should run from this girl. Why? Those videos will follow her the rest of her life. Who’d want that? Give her some privacy.
— @StefwithanF on Instagram
“Prince John lays the final memorial wreath on Princess Holland’s grave amid questions of her involvement with her father in the Reingard scandal.”
— the News Leader
“My heart breaks for Prince John. Maddie, look at this image of him alone at her grave. Solemn and dignified. I’m weeping, truly.”
— Hyacinth on the Madeline & Hyacinth Live!
Chapter Twenty-seven
Gemma
She arrived home on a Sunday afternoon. Forty-four hours after she left Port Fressa.
A delay at LaGuardia was followed by a flight cancellation which stranded Gemma until Sunday morning.
They’d just started boarding the eight o’clock flight to Nashville when the gate agent announced the toilets were broken so they were going nowhere soon.
Couldn’t they all just hold it for the two-hour-and-forty-minute flight? Anyone ever stood in a line to ride Space Mountain during the height of Disney tourism?
At least, praise God, she made a twelve-thirty flight—back row, middle seat—and when she rolled her luggage through Nashville’s airport to catch an Uber ride home, she paused to kiss the ground. Literally.
Good news though. During her layover at LaGuardia, she’d rented a shower and washed the lacquer from her hair. Two hours, five bottles of travel shampoo, and a thousand gallons of hot water did the trick.
When she returned to her gate, her skin beamed like she’d spent a week on the beach without sunscreen.
At an overpriced women’s store, she purchased a change of clothes. Then she paused at the bookshop when an interesting-looking novel caught her eye. Back at the gate, she curled up with a sandwich, chips, and water ready to get distracted from her life with a good story.
But after an hour of reading the first paragraph over and over she gave up. Tired, unnerved, restless, and shamed, she just wanted to go home and hide. Home and hiding worked for her. Even if she only had her home for a few more weeks.
During the long flight over the Atlantic, she ate about ten mini bags of nuts and pretzels and slept fitfully. Yet twice she fell into a deep sleep where she dreamed of dancing through the lights in the Heart of God while wearing a gown of swan’s feathers, a handsome, glorious prince watching in the distance. Just as he reached for her, a bump of turbulence jolted her awake.
While awake, the whole mess was a nightmare. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop imagining the prince’s reaction. She grabbed for another bag of snacks every time.
What must he think? Did he watch it? The whole thing? Was there any room for her to explain? To tell the rest of the story? How she fell from the stage because of swaths of bright lights and shadowy darkness. How she hated what she was doing so much she’d mentally checked out.
On the flight to Nashville, she began to prep for the family. For her friends. What would, could she say to them?
“Oh yeah, I filmed a risqué show in Vegas. Anyone up for pie at Ella’s?”
When the Uber driver, Burt, turned onto the farm’s driveway, Gemma felt as if time had stood still. As if the hour was the minute before she left with Scottie. As if the past week hadn’t happened. As if there was no video. As if there was no shock and shame.
Mama and Daddy greeted her with enthusiastic, in fact, overly enthusiastic hugs, and escorted her inside where the old stove had managed to bake a lasagna.
Over salad Daddy announced he’d fixed the leak in the bathroom sink.
“The Kingstons will probably gut the place but at least they’ll know it was in good hands with you.”
Over lasagna, Mama regaled them with housekeeping tales from the Hearts Bend Inn.
“The man left a pile of sunflower shells six inches high beside his bed. Just left it there! Can you imagine?”
Over dessert—cherry pie from Ella’s—Imani talked about school, volleyball, the upcoming basketball season, Justin and Penny, and her bid for Junior Class President.
“I’m running against Blake Gooch and everyone says he’s the best-looking guy in our class. But I’ll crush him during our debate.”
That’s when she dashed to her room and returned with a set of debate-crushing three-by-five cards.
Afterwards, Mama cleaned up while Daddy and Imani insisted on taking care of the herd.
“You just rest. Long trip home,” Daddy said.
Not once did any of them ask about Port Fressa, Prince John, living in a palace, or the magic of attending a royal ball. Though Gemma could see a thousand questions looming large in Imani’s hazel eyes.
But any story of Lauchtenland led to questions about the video. Not to mention the secret even social media couldn’t dig up.
Prince John had proposed. And there she found a bit of a silver lining. The one good decision on her journey of a thousand bad ones. She’d turned him down. It made her breathing easier. Her anxiety lighter. Prince John from the House of Blue would not be saddled with her story for the rest of his life.
She was proud of herself. Truly. Then it took the rest of her effort to not admit she was in love with him. But she had the rest of her life to get over it.
Sunday night she slept hard. Monday she grounded herself in her day-to-day, unpacking, doing laundry, spending time with the herd, loving on the puppies, sitting under the trees by the pond, and burning the midnight oil to pack up the house.
Tuesday, she returned to work where Haley and JoJo—who were never shy about prying into Gemma’s personal life—said not word one about any of it.
They talked about the shop, their plans for the weekend, Buck’s new song, Cole’s new construction project, and how Haley’s daughter Emily, two, had picked out a song on the piano.
“She’s a prodigy, I just know it.”
Breath-by-breath, morning-by-morning, day-by-day, Gemma put the past behind her and pressed toward her future. It was the only way to survive.
August turned into September. The first Saturday turned into moving day.
The Music Row exec from the private flight over to London came over with his family to pick out two of the puppies. They left with Ross and Rachel, and two very happy children.
Penny adopted Joey and Justin’s mama took Phoebe home in a monogramed wool-lined bed.
The rabbits went to a petting zoo in Cincinnati. The goats were adopted by a farm in Ashland City. The folks there loved Miss Frances. Hooley called and said he’d take the barn cats.
“Doc says they’re fixed so I won’t have to worry about kittens but I just love a barn full of cats.”
Suddenly the barnyard was lonely, and Gemma began to feel lost, unanchored. At this stage in her life, she intended to feel like she had a handle on things. At least what the next five to ten years might look like. Instead, she was broke and moving home with her parents.
At least she had Imani. She was Gemma’s bright future. She’d give her all to her.
In all of this, one little thing nagged her from the back of her mind. Her so-called best friend, Prince John, had gone silent. She’d not even had so much as a text from him. Admittedly her phone was shut off for the first two days, but now, after some of the brouhaha had died down, didn’t he want to talk?
Was the ball in his court or hers? If she called, she felt like she’d just be making an excuse. If he rang, she felt she’d be giving more of an explanation. The outcome would be the same—a goodbye—but she’d feel better with option two.
Then there was the night she couldn’t sleep, and perhaps had temporarily lost her mind. Gemma scanned the comments on a picture of her with the prince. They were brutal and mocking, as if those two-dimensional people didn’t possess real, beating hearts.
Some dude named Hamish Fickle made a career of bashing the royal family and challenging Prince John’s character. The House of Blue maintained their dignity and never responded.
Silence often required more courage than speaking out.
A few days later while at work she saw a news story of Prince John laying the final wreath on Holland’s grave.
Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, his hair shiny and styled, he looked every bit like a regal, royal prince doing his duty. But when he turned to the cameras, he looked like a man who’d buried his new wife and newly conceived child. Sad and sober, he moved slowly as he balanced the weight of his world.
Not only did he lose his wife, but thanks to the Reingard scandal, he lost the woman he thought he knew.
She almost texted him that day. Almost. But decided to let him move on and in doing so, realized she took the first step in reclaiming her dignity.
By the time moving day rolled around, she almost felt like her before-Lauchtenland self and inched toward her before-Prince John self.
Daddy arrived early with one of Cole Danner’s work trucks and a couple of the younger guys to load up Gemma and Imani’s bedroom furniture. That was about all they came with so that was all they were taking.
She wanted the Formica kitchen table, but B. A. Carpenter made it clear it was not to leave the premises.
By noon they’d loaded up Justin and Imani’s truck with boxes and suitcases, dog beds and two fifty-pound bags of dog food.
All in all, she felt strong, like she was commanding life. Making lemonade, you know? The day dawned with a bright sun in a blue, cloudless sky and just a touch of fall fragrances in the summer breeze.
Then as she cleaned the last of the papers from the desk tucked into the kitchen corner and powered down her computer, the screen door slammed behind her as Daddy stepped inside.
“He’s here.”
Everything changed. Her faux sense of confidence. Her propped-up hope. Jeb Kornowsky had come for the horses.
She kept her back to Daddy, shuffling through a stack of junk mail like she might find she’d won a million dollars, a sadness pouring through her.
“Gemma,” Daddy said. “I know this ain’t easy but—”
His gentle confession popped her building bubble of emotion. “Easy? Do I act like any of this is easy? Do you think losing my precious farm, my herd, my furry family is not ripping out my heart? This isn’t one of those, ‘You’ll get them next time, Gemstone,’ moments, Daddy. This is, ‘You screwed up. You make bad decisions.’”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. We’ve done talked about this and—”
“You’re too kind to me. You give me too much credit. Daddy, you’ve not said one word about the video. I know you know. You may not have seen it. Oh I pray to the good Lord you’ve not seen it—”
“I haven’t. Your mama’s seen a few seconds. All the boys at work have seen it.” Was there a slight blush on her father’s whiskered cheeks? “Some of them many times.”
“Then say something. Your silence is killing me. I didn’t even realize it until now. Tell me how I lost my way, gave up my values and virtue, surrendered my reputation and dignity, all for a shot at fame. Tell me how I let myself, you and Mama, the family, the town, down. I was the golden girl, Daddy. The one who was going to change the world, do good, help people, set an example. I was smart, beautiful, and talented. Now look. I walk with a limp and my former golden glow is draped with a black curtain of shame. Scottie O’Shay didn’t lower herself for a shot at something better. She worked for it.”
“Scottie O’Shay had advantages that you didn’t. I’ll take the blame for that.”
“No, Daddy, I’ll take the blame. You and Mama raised me right. I chose my own path of destruction. I guess I can tell you now Prince John proposed to me. Yeah, he did. The night of the ball. But I turned him down because I knew what type of person I’d been in Vegas. I was afraid if I stepped any further onto his stage, one of those shows, especially the one your coworkers have lingered over, would make it to the surface. Matt assured me they’d been destroyed with his hard drive. But ah, we were foiled by a nerdy porter at the Delafield Hotel who’d discovered it when Matt uploaded it a couple years back. He took it down but it was too late. When I saw it blew up the internet, I knew, I knew, I had to run. So don’t tell me ‘this ain’t easy,’ Daddy. Tell me how much I’ve disappointed you. How I’ve let myself and everyone down. How I don’t deserve a man like Prince John. Shoot, even Hooley can do better than me and he’s missing half his teeth.”
“Don’t seem like I need to say anything. You’re doing a mighty fine job of beating yourself up. Seems you have it all decided.”
“Am I wrong? Have I missed something?”
“You have it all wrong, Gemma. But we ain’t got time for this. Jeb is here.” Daddy pushed open the screen door. “We didn’t ask you about it because you didn’t seem to want to talk about it. But if you want to know what your mama and I think, ask. Don’t assume. Don’t think and speak for us. In that, I know we raised you right. Now come on.”
Gemma bowed her chin to her chest, sniffing back the tears, Dad’s rebuke tender and kind. Tearing a corner of the roll of paper towels on the kitchen table, she dabbed the tears from her eyes and headed out.
A glint of light bounced off the cracked mirror tacked to the doorpost. She leaned for a close look. Her hair was knotted on her head and her T-shirt said Port Fressa Wharf.
To her surprise, there was a bit of a glow about her. Maybe her speech to Daddy freed her up a bit. But this sort of light seemed to sparkle. It reminded her of the Heart of God.
The bags under her eyes were faded and her formerly pale lips boasted a rosy hue. She was going to have to speak her mind more often.
Taking a step back, Gemma rose up on her tiptoes to examine her breasts and waist. She wasn’t the bag of bones she’d been before the accident. She actually liked her curves. They’d filled out the feather dress rather nicely.
She leaned just a bit closer and smiled. The light in her eyes seemed to sway and swirl, and goodness but if she didn’t bring home some of the Heart of God light.
Gemma unhooked the mirror from its nail and settled it in one remaining box. Sorry Kingstons, but she was taking this with her.
Outside, she met Jeb Kornowsky in the yard as he stood by the open trailer gate. “Gemma.”
“Jeb.”
On the other side, Justin and Imani sat on her lowered truck gate. Twenty yards away, Gemma could see the tears in her eyes.
The herd was leaving. After she’d promised them a forever home. But Jeb was a good man.
“I’ll take good care of them, Gemma. I promise.”
“I know, Jeb. Doc said we couldn’t find a better place.”
Gemma turned as Daddy led Whinny out. That’s when it hit her. A deep sensation of loss. Hold onto the girl in the cracked mirror. Hold onto the girl that understands life moves on.
Hold on…hold on. But the tears were rising hot.
Daddy handed Whinny’s reins to Jeb.
“Up you go, girl.” Jeb owned a large spread northeast of the new highway. His daughter and son-in-law just moved back to HB with the grandkids, so the horses would get plenty of attention and love. And carrots.
Settled in her stall, Whinny stuck her head through the drop window with a snort. Gemma gritted her teeth and breathed against the sting of emotion.
“She doesn’t want to go,” Imani said with a sob.
“She’s fine, Imani-girl.” Daddy handed over Silver to Jeb. “She’s just saying goodbye.”
Silver pranced toward the trailer like she was queen of the parade and trotted up the ramp, smiling at her view of the world from her low window.
“What adventure are we going on now?”
Oh Silver you do make me laugh. I wish I was more like you.
Steady. Steady. No tears, no tears. Jeb’s place was a good place. His grandkids would spoil the herd rotten.
But she wasn’t prepared to see Hercules. The big boy walked so steady, so graceful toward his new ride. His giant hooves crushed the gravel, then banged up the ramp. When he appeared in his window and gazed toward Gemma, she buckled to one knee.
