26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
The afternoon sun was gentle, not too overbearing, as Margaret and Roger sat in the shade beneath a sweetgum tree.
Margaret had planned a picnic for them both, and for entertainment, reading Jane Austen, but Roger couldn’t care less about the book.
Although he had read sections of Austen’s novels in college, he was far more captivated by the beauty of the woman reading.
Margaret’s hair was neatly pinned up, but the wind blew through the loose strands.
She still hadn’t given up on him, even when he tried to push her away.
Roger tried hard to shield himself from her with a brick wall, but she found a way to slip through a tiny crack and into his heart.
Roger couldn’t deny he wanted her to break through harder.
However, it wasn’t right, not one ounce of it.
Margaret hadn’t mentioned anything about Lord Burton since they arrived in Charlottesville.
Even when they were in Richmond, she hardly mentioned him.
But why hadn’t the man called? Any man would easily fall for her.
Roger tried his best not to, but it was nearly impossible to avoid her.
She would make a great wife for any man, specifically Lord Burton.
Everything about her would fit into the aristocracy—beauty, grace, elegance, and intelligence.
It was every quality Lord Burton needed in a wife.
Eventually, Margaret paused after a chapter and set the book in her lap. She exhaled loudly and smiled. Her smile could light up any room, just like the way her eyes sparkled.
“Don’t you just love the way she writes? It’s almost too good to be true.”
“It’s fiction, Margaret,” Roger teased.
Margaret giggled, pulling windblown hair behind her ears. “I had to learn that the hard way.”
“What do you mean?”
Margaret shrugged. “Just romance in general. When I first came to Richmond, I was naive about love and life.” Her smile then faded, and she rubbed her forearms. “I never told anyone this but my sisters . . . When my grandfather died, I was to inherit his fortune.”
Roger’s eyes grew wide. Margaret, an heiress?
He knew her grandfather had been a wealthy man, but after her father took over the business, he assumed he was the heir.
However, since he confessed he hadn’t, well .
. . Roger hadn’t thought much about it. If he had, he would have never guessed Margaret was the heir.
“But I rejected it, and that is why we are here.”
Roger’s jaw dropped. “Why did you reject it? That was a multi-million-dollar fortune! You must be more insane than me.”
Margaret bit her lip. “There’s more . . . I had to find a wealthy husband before my twenty-first birthday.”
Roger leaned against the tree, sucking in a breath as though the world he once knew and his perceptions of Margaret and her family had been completely erased.
“Lord Burton,” Roger said, now suddenly remembering the way Margaret’s grandmother forced them to sit together, and the way the man acted towards Margaret. The proposal! Had he proposed? “Are you going to marry him?”
Margaret shook her head, looking down. She picked at the grass. “I was engaged to him . . . no more than five days. He was using me to gain my fortune.”
Roger scooted closer to Margaret. “I had no idea.”
Margaret met his gaze, an absence of light in her eyes. “I didn’t tell you.”
“Whyever not? I would have listened.”
“Because I could barely admit it to myself. I was disgusted by the fact that I was becoming a fortune hunter. But . . . when I met you and . . . the night we kissed . . . I decided to abandon it all. My family didn’t want me to marry Lord Burton, or anyone else for money anyway, and coming to terms .
. . how much I cared for you . . . I let it all go. ”
Roger’s heart beat out of control, consumed with guilt. If he hadn’t been so courteous as to stop at the side of the road, he and Margaret wouldn’t be in the place they were in. They would be happy, working together and starting a new relationship. But now, too much damage had been done.
“When were you engaged to him? Was it after my arrest?”
Margaret nodded. “I decided to marry him to have the chance to possibly free you.”
Roger’s jaw dropped. She was going to marry Lord Burton, move to England, and all for him? “Why would you do such a thing?”
Margaret sucked in a breath and looked away. “Because I . . . I wanted to do something right. I didn’t want you to suffer in that place.”
Roger reached out, taking Margaret’s hand. “If I could go back in time and change things, I would. You shouldn’t marry anyone for any reason other than love.”
Margaret wiped a single tear from her cheek. “And what would you change? Getting arrested or kissing me?”
Roger’s gut twisted at Margaret’s words.
Deep pain was evident in her eyes. “I would never regret kissing you. If that was my final memory, I’d die the happiest man on earth.
You gave me the urge to return to my old self for a few moments, but .
. . after my arrest, I realized it is not that easy to escape from the man I have become. ”
“You can still make progress,” Margaret said sweetly. “Have you thought about thinking back in time and remembering those good days?”
Roger dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a small notebook.
He held it in his hands, remembering the days he’d wear it out cover to cover, writing almost every hour of the day, scribbling and tearing out poems that were failures to him, and writing the ones that came from his inner soul.
Graydon had mailed it to him, and Roger had kept it inside his coat, unable to find the time to read.
He handed the book to Margaret. “Graydon sent me this anthology I wrote back in 1916.”
Margaret’s lips curved into a soft smile as she opened the book, running her fingers over his handwritten words. “These are your poems.”
“I know you have always wanted to read them, and this is the best I can do since I no longer write.”
Margaret clutched the notebook against her chest. “Thank you, Roger. I will cherish these.”
“You can have them,” Roger said flatly, wanting the book far from his reach. He had no desire to read those poems again. He had buried that man long ago and wanted him to stay buried.
“Are you certain?” Margaret asked, her brows raised. “These are your words.”
“Keep them safe for me,” Roger said. “Call it . . . an early birthday gift.”
Margaret giggled. “My birthday isn’t until Thursday.”
“Still, you should have it.”
Margaret sighed, flipping through the pages again. “My favorite poet. How did you know?”
Warmth flowed through his cheeks. He still found it hard to believe she wanted to read his words. “If your favorite poet is someone you never read, you have awful taste.”
“Hey,” Margaret said defensively. “I’m trying to start a new hobby. After all that Jane Austen reading, I need to read something new, even if that includes poetry.”
Roger sat in silence as Margaret read, watching her expressions closely. Her eyebrows raised, and her forehead creased in concentration. Occasionally, a smile would break through.
“Have you read these lately?” Margaret asked.
Roger shook his head. “I try not to. I read one once many weeks ago, but I steer away from them.”
“Why?” Margaret asked.
“I kept them because they remind me of the good 'ole days, but now I know it’s time to put them behind me.”
One thing Margaret missed about home was afternoon tea parties with her sisters and mother.
Those moments were unforgettable, filled with laughter and occasional entertainment from Marjorie’s gossip sessions.
During their stay in Richmond, Margaret had been unable to attend afternoon tea due to her work at the loan office, but she had never felt more relaxed than she did now, seated in the patio chair amid the garden.
Margaret sipped her tea, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat. It was comforting to drink their usual Luzianne instead of whatever French brew her grandmama had ordered, which was far too bitter for her taste.
“So, Margaret, have you any ideas for your birthday?” Mama asked, taking a sip of tea.
Margaret shook her head, placing her teacup back onto its saucer. “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about it.”
“Why not?” Marjorie asked. “It’s your birthday!”
Margaret shrugged. “It’s just another day.”
“It’s not every day you turn twenty-one,” Mama reminded.
Margaret sighed. “I know . . . There’s just a lot happening right now, and I’d prefer to spend the day as if it were any other.”
“You’re a strange one,” Marjorie said with a giggle, taking a sip of tea.
“It’s your special day,” Evie said. “If I were you, I’d consider a picnic, just like the one we had before we left.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Evangeline,” Mama agreed. “A picnic would be wonderful, and it can just be us and Mr. McKinley.”
Remembering Roger was under their roof was quite an adjustment, especially for Margaret. She had wondered what it’d be like to share a home with him, and now she was—just in a way she didn’t expect. If only circumstances were different.
“I’m sure Mr. McKinley wouldn’t mind a big party,” Marjorie commented with a wink.
“Mr. McKinley is still recovering,” Mama reminded. “I doubt he’d enjoy a night of being pampered.” Mama took another sip of tea. “How is Mr. McKinley, Margaret? I try to speak to him, but he is usually resting in his room. I understand you two have been taking some outings.”
“Just some fresh air,” Margaret chimed. “I’ve been taking him to the meadow.”
Mama grinned. “What a wonderful idea. I dearly hope it will give him peace. It has helped me more than once, going out there. I used to ride through the tall green grass on my thoroughbred.”
“Was he the midnight-black one?” Evie asked.
Mama nodded. “Yes, that was him. I can hardly believe you remember him.”
“Just briefly,” Evie said.
“Will we invite Grandmama?” Marjorie asked.
Margaret almost dropped her teacup, thinking about Richmond.
She didn’t mind Grandmama’s company, but what she did mind was her pestering.
Grandmama would spend the day pouting and blaming Margaret for losing the fortune.
Margaret wanted her birthday to be a joyful occasion, not one she would eventually regret.
Knowing her grandmama, it would be more like a funeral than a day of celebration.
“I think Grandmama will need her rest,” Mama added. “She is getting up in age, and traveling might cause her . . . discomfort.”
Mama shot Margaret a soft smile, making her straighten her posture.
“I hope Mr. McKinley will enjoy the picnic,” Evie said.
“Me too,” Margaret added. “He has been having some struggles . . . accepting what has happened in the past, and I pray he will come to trust Christ as his Savior.”
“He will need to do that first before he can heal,” Mama said. “We all come to the place when we realize we can’t overcome our troubles alone, and when we do, God is there to help us.”
Margaret nodded. “That is very well said.”
“Before I could submit to God’s will in my life—which was building a life with your father—I had to first forgive the ones who caused me pain.”
“Your parents?” Evie asked.
Mama nodded. “Yes. Remember when I said your father's return to Richmond was important for him to move on? Well, if I hadn’t come to my father’s bedside, I’d never have forgiven him. After that, I came to a place to forgive my mother, too.”
“Grandmother Martin told me that story almost every week,” Marjorie said. “She was very grateful for your forgiveness.”
“You see, Margaret,” Mama said with a smile. “You must forgive before you can heal completely.”
She took another sip of tea and prayed for God to soften Roger's stubborn heart so he would accept His love and healing. It was the only way he could get better, and Margaret had more than enough faith in that.