Down from the Mountain. Barbara Gale
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you done?” Ellen whispered, her shoulders drooping.
David rose to his full height and glared down at Harry. “You can’t be serious!” he hissed. “Are we talking living together? Co-habitating? As in man and wife?”
Harry looked up, amused for the first time that morning. “Really, David, I think John intended something a little bit more…brotherly.”
“Dammit, Harry, you’d better talk quickly or some cat hospital is going to be very happy tomorrow!”
“Very well, David. Ellen is scheduled for eye surgery in early October. She needs someone to care for her till then. John needed someone he could trust absolutely, and you’re it! And just in case you’re thinking to hell with it, Ellen needs the money desperately, even if you don’t. Surgery is a very expensive proposition, exceedingly so, in her case, and Ellen has never been able to buy insurance. Preexisting condition, or some such nonsense. Anyway, no insurance company would take her on. So, as I said, my boy, you’re it!”
The room was silent as everyone digested Harry’s words. David felt murderous, although he knew he couldn’t blame Harry. His father was the sole author of this misdeed, and David knew that no one, not even Harry, had ever been able to sway John Hartwell once his mind was made up.
“Damn!” The sound of David’s fist resounded through the room as it came crashing down on the desk.
“Mr. Gold,” Ellen begged, her hands twisting in her lap, “surely you can see for yourself that this won’t do. There must be some way around it. John couldn’t have meant…he must have known that David wouldn’t…” Words failed her, but David knew what she meant.
“Ellen’s right,” David agreed coldly. “I’m not fit to live with. You know that better most, Harry.” Unconsciously he rubbed his scarred cheek, a gesture not lost on Harry Gold. But the gesture was futile. Harry’s hands were tied.
“I really am sorry,” he clucked sympathetically as he shuffled to his feet, “but there’s nothing I can do, absolutely nothing. It’s an airtight will. Unfortunately you both have only until tomorrow noon to decide what to do. That’s another stipulation of the will. John didn’t want things dragged out. I’ll return at twelve for your decision.”
Walking toward the door, he paused by David’s side, placing a sympathetic hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, son. Believe me when I say I tried my best to talk your father out of this. But you know John. He refused to reconsider—said something about cats and canaries. His letter is on the desk, there. Maybe it will explain things better. I certainly do hope so.”
Stunned, neither Ellen nor David spoke for some time after Harry left. Ellen was a million miles away, while David perched on the edge of the desk, staring hard at the woman who had him trapped. It was Ellen who spoke first.
“I’m sorry, David, I really am. I had no idea. It’s kind of spooky the way John is trying to control your life almost from his grave.”
“What about yours?”
“I know, it’s crazy.”
“Do you at least know what’s in his letter?”
“No, I do not, but he was very thorough.”
“That he was.”
“And I might as well tell you now that he knew he was dying, for well over a year.”
“You’re joking! Harry said Dad knew he was ill, but not dying! And certainly not for a year!”
“I wish I were joking,” Ellen said sadly. “Maybe that will go a little way toward explaining his behavior. I begged him to tell you how sick he was. We had quite an argument over it, more than one, but he refused—the only thing he ever refused me. I even tried to call you myself, one morning, but he walked in while I was dialing and became absolutely livid. He insisted I hang up, and swore me to secrecy right then and there. He certainly knew how to tie up loose ends, though, and I guess I was one of them. I just wish he’d asked me what I wanted. He could be a little autocratic at times.”
“A little?” David snorted as he rose to his feet. “Now there’s an understatement!”
Ellen took a deep breath, courage fighting with her instinct to run. Courage won out, but the cost was high. John Hartwell’s high-handedness, coupled with David’s resentment, was upsetting. The way Harry Gold had kept apologizing to David had really begun to grate! Hey, what about her? she’d wanted to shout. Didn’t she rate the same consideration? What on earth was so special about David Hartwell, that everyone should feel sorry for him? After all, she was the one who was going to undergo surgery! If anyone should complain…
She stopped short, shocked by her display of self-pity. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to begin to sound like an off-key singer in a honky-tonk bar. Still, David Hartwell was so bitter, Ellen had to wonder, and not for the first time, exactly what had happened to him. It was awful, that much she knew, but only because of certain allusions John Hartwell had made about David, not because of anything specific John had told her. When pressed, John had always blown her off, and now, here David was, raising the same red flag to any and all trespassers who dared to cross the same line his own father had so carefully drawn. It was enormously irritating.
“You know, John hasn’t asked you to do all that much, just help me out for a couple of months. Does my blindness make you uncomfortable? People sometimes do have that reaction. Being handicapped is not a popular venue.”
David’s silence was awful.
“Yes, well, perhaps we need a break,” she decided, fiddling nervously with her cane. “I know we have an important decision to make, but this whole thing has been a big surprise to both of us. I know I certainly need time to sort things out. John was very good to me, but this… I need to try and figure out what he meant.”
“The answer may be in this envelope,” David said, forcing himself to speak as Ellen rose to her feet.
“I’m sure it is,” she agreed with a tight smile, “but you must read it first, alone. It’s what John wanted, or it would have had both our names on the envelope.”
A curious brooding filled David’s heart as he watched her escape to the safety of her rooms. How much had she known? How hard had Harry Gold really fought this will? How much had John laughed? He hardly knew what he was doing as he opened his father’s letter.
Greetings, my son, from your dying father,
Now, I ask you, how’s that for an opening? I trust it got your attention, something I wasn’t very good at doing in real life. My truest regret is that we won’t have time to make our peace—we would have, you know. I believe that with all my heart—because if you’re reading this, then the worst has happened—but you’ve come home.
The car accident you suffered as a boy left a void you never allowed me to fill. Well, I am going to fill it now. However you have rewritten history is the quarrel of a young child, but suffice it to say—to the wounded man that poor, scarred boy has become—I leave my most valued possession. You’re the only one to whom I can entrust the well-being of Ellen Candler. She needs you, although she would never admit to it and I know you will protect her with your life. In return, she will give you back yours. I only wish I could be there to enjoy the fireworks.
Your loving father,
John
David stared down at the letter crumpled in his fist. Got me! Just as he knew he would. He closed his eyes and massaged his brow, fighting the onslaught of a headache. This was no time for a headache, not when he needed his wits about him—for Ellen’s sake, if nothing else. Even if it was she who had unwittingly opened the old wounds of that poor, scarred schoolboy! Wounded man! Let’s not forget that part! But hey, he could be forgiven a lot of sins for what happened one night, twenty long years ago! And the personal cost to him—well, hell, only his damned face—and all semblance of normal life! And if anybody doubted that, they just had to watch people