Coulson's Wife (The Coulson Series) (14 page)

T
he next Sunday Mary
Ellen walked over to William’s townhouse under the pretense of returning
several books she’d borrowed. While she did need to return the books, that
wasn’t the reason for the visit. She wanted to see the man she loved.

William had no
household staff on Sunday, so she let herself into the house using the key he
had given her. She entered from the side door, away from the prying eyes of
neighbors.

“William!” she called
out as she walked through the house. All was quiet on the lower level and she
wondered if she would find him upstairs. He didn’t respond to her repeated
calling, but she continued to look through the downstairs rooms. Thinking he
was probably upstairs she almost didn’t check the kitchen, but changed her mind
at the last moment.

She found him standing
by the kitchen window, looking outside. He held something in his right hand.
From where she stood it looked like a thick piece of paper or piece of cardboard.

“William, didn’t you
hear me?” She entered the kitchen. He didn’t respond, but continued to look out
the window.

“William, are you all right?”
Concerned, she walked to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged
off her touch then turned to face her.

“What’s wrong?” She’d
never seen him wear such an angry expression.

“I got around to
looking through those boxes from the attic.”

“William, what is
wrong? You’re scaring me.”

“I found one of me.
According to the date, it was taken in 1903. I was about Harrison’s age at the
time. It’s been staring me in the face all these years, I just refused to see.”
He shoved what he had been holding at her. It was the mentioned photograph.

Nervously she took it
from him. The boy in the picture could have been Harrison. The likeness was
uncanny.

“He’s mine, isn’t he?”
The level of rage in his voice frightened her.

She closed her eyes
briefly to hold back the tears. Feeling physically ill, she was unable to
contain the tremors of her shaking hands. Unable to speak, she nodded the
affirmative.

William took a deep
breath, attempting to control his anger.

“I don’t understand.
How is this possible? I thought you were pregnant with Randall’s baby.”

Opening her eyes, she
looked at William. Wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand she
was determined to answer his questions.
He deserves the truth,
she
thought.

“I was never pregnant.
Randall assumed I was because my period was late. I never told him I was
pregnant. I started my period the day he left for Chicago.”

“Why didn’t you say
anything?”

“Because if I did, I
was afraid he’d come home when my period was over and try to get me pregnant
again. I couldn’t bear being with him that way. And when you and I… I never
thought for a moment that it was a possibility because it had been every night
with Randall and just that one night with you. I planned to ask Randall for a
divorce when he returned home.”

“But you couldn’t…”

“No, by that time I
knew I was pregnant. I had nowhere to go. My mother had just died and I assumed
my father would be furious with me, so I couldn’t go back to Virginia.”

“Why didn’t you tell
me?”

“You were gone, William.
When I woke up that morning, you were gone. It was weeks before I saw you
again. By that time Randall had changed so much toward me, I felt staying with
him was the only option.”

William closed his eyes
for a moment and collected his thoughts. When he first realized Harrison was
his, he was furious with Mary Ellen for keeping the secret from him. But now
after hearing what she had to say, he remembered how young she had been, just
eighteen. Guilt washed over him when he considered how she must have felt when
he left for Chicago, never saying goodbye. Had he not allowed himself to be
pressured by Randall to leave so soon for Chicago, Mary Ellen might have been
brave enough to tell him the truth and the two of them could have found a
solution so she could leave Randall and marry him.

He realized then that
succumbing to Randall’s pressure to leave immediately for Chicago was simply
his way of taking the easy way out. Assuming he had no real future with Mary
Ellen, it was easier to run away, and Randall gave him that opportunity.
Had
I been man enough to stand up for the woman I loved back then, she would be my
wife, not my mistress.

 When he opened his eyes,
he looked into the face of the woman he loved. Tears streamed down her cheeks
and once again, guilt consumed him. Gathering her up in his arms he held her
tightly.

“I’m sorry Mary Ellen,
it was just a shock.”

She began to sob in earnest,
clinging to him as he held her. Silently tears slid down William’s face, unseen
by the woman he loved.  Gently, he turned her in his arms and led her upstairs
to his bedroom, where he silently removed her clothes—and then his—before
making love to the mother of his child.

• • • •

 “Do you think Randall
knows?” The two lovers lay under the sheets in William’s bed.

Mary Ellen considered
William’s question for a moment.

“I don’t think so. But
now that I’ve seen the photograph—he knew you at that age. Wouldn’t he see the
resemblance? Harrison looks exactly like you.”

“People see what they
want to see. I never saw it. When I looked into Harrison’s blue eyes, I saw
yours.”

“What now, William?”

“Nothing’s really
changed. While I’d love to claim Harrison as mine, that would only appease my
ego. Harrison looks up to Randall as his father and loves him. And Randall
loves Harrison. I don’t think we have the right to destroy that. It would just
confuse our son.”

“If Randall has figured
it out on some level, I think he would prefer to deny the possibility.”

“Well one thing for
sure, those old photographs of mine get burned.”

“No, please don’t do
that!”

“Fine. But back in the
box and returned to the attic.”

“I better get going.
Harrison and Randall should be home soon. Don’t forget dinner tonight.”

“Are the Andersons
still coming?” Randall gave Mary Ellen a final kiss before they moved from the
bed to get dressed.

“Yes. But don’t worry;
he isn’t bringing his cousin Lucille. I told him you weren’t quite ready to get
back in the game—Melinda and all.”

William chuckled and
swatted her behind as she moved away from the bed. “What time?”

“I told them four.”

“See you then.”

• • • •

 “Where is William?”
Randall sounded irritated. He checked this watch. It was a quarter past four.
He and Mary Ellen sat in the parlor with the Andersons having a cocktail before
dinner.

“I’m sure he’ll be here
any minute. He’s usually prompt,” Mary Ellen said. While dinner wasn’t
scheduled to be served for another forty-five minutes, Randall was obsessive
about punctuality.

“Do you think he
remembers?” Randall asked.

“I’m sure he does,”
Mary Ellen assured him.

“Mom, you want me to go
get Uncle William?” Harrison asked from the doorway. He’d obviously heard them
discussing the tardy dinner guest.

“Sure, that would be
fine.” Mary Ellen watched her son dash from the house.

“We could have just
called him.” Randall grumbled. Impatient, he picked up the phone a few minutes
later and started to dial.

“Remind me dear, never
to be late for one of Randall’s dinner parties,” Mrs. Anderson told her
husband. They all laughed.

As Randall let the
phone ring, his wife and guests continued to chat.

“Harrison, why are you
answering William’s phone?” Randall said into the phone a few moments later.
“What?”

Mary Ellen and the
Anderson’s stopped talking and listened.

“I’ll be right there.”
He hung up the phone. “It’s William, Harrison found him passed out in his
kitchen.”

• • • •

Distraught with worry,
Mary Ellen waited with her husband in the hallway outside the downstairs guest
bedroom at William’s townhouse. The Andersons had gone home and dinner was
cancelled. Harrison refused to go home, and waited in William’s kitchen to see
what the doctor had to say.

Finally, William’s
doctor exited the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him.

“He’s resting. I really
don’t want to move him right now, so I’ll arrange to have a nurse stay with
him.”

“Shouldn’t he go to the
hospital?” Mary Ellen asked.

“Let’s go talk in the
library,” the doctor suggested. Randall and Mary Ellen followed the doctor into
the other room.

“I’m afraid there
really is not much I can do for him, at this point.”

“What are you talking
about?” Randall seemed as concerned as Mary Ellen.

“It’s his heart.”

“William is too young!”
Mary Ellen insisted.

“We’ve known for some
time there was a problem. In all probability his bout with the influenza did
its damage.”

“He never said anything,”
Mary Ellen whispered. Tears filled her eyes. Randall wrapped his arm around her
shoulders and hugged her to him. They both looked at the doctor in disbelief.

“He didn’t want to
worry either of you. But he told me if—when this time came—I was to tell you
whatever you needed to know. He considered you both his family. He doesn’t want
to go to the hospital. He wants to stay in his home.”

 “How long?” Randall
asked.

“Maybe a few months, or
less.”

Mary Ellen could no
longer contain her sorrow. Randall took her in his arms and held her as she
wept, while silent tears slid down his own face. The doctor mumbled something
about going to call for a nurse and left the couple alone in their grief.

“I love him so much,”
she sobbed, unable to conceal her true emotions.

“Yes I know, we both
do,” Randall continued to hold her, his hand stroking her hair. He let her cry
and then took hold of her shoulders and held them tightly, as he looked her in
the eyes.

“Mary Ellen, we both
need to pull ourselves together. We can mourn later, but right now William
needs us. And our son is in the kitchen. I need to go explain things to him. He
adores William.”

Mary Ellen nodded and
wiped the tears from her face.

S
he heard the door open,
yet did not turn to see who had entered the room. Her attention was on William
who continued to sleep. A hand lightly touched her right shoulder and she looked
up to see her husband standing over her.

“He’s still sleeping,”
Mary Ellen explained.

“The doctor said he
would sleep for a while, considering the medication he gave him,” Randall
whispered. “Come out in the kitchen, I brought over some food—the dinner we
never got around to eating. You need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t want you to
get sick. Go eat, you need your strength. I’ll sit with him, then you can come
back after you eat something.”

Seeing the
determination on her husband’s face she knew it was best not to argue. Giving
him a weak smile she stood, kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the
thoughtful gesture. After she left the room, Randall sat in the chair Mary
Ellen had been sitting in a moment before, and looked down at his old friend.

He reached out and
brushed his fingertips across William’s forehead.

“Seems I was here
before—when you had influenza. We almost lost you then. I felt so relieved when
you beat it. But has it returned in its own way, to claim you? Why didn’t you
tell us about your heart?” Taking back his hand, he continued to watch the
sleeping man.

William shifted his
body slightly and let out a little groaning sound. He licked his lips, as if
thirsty then cried out, “Mary Ellen!” The sound of his own voice woke him.
William opened his eyes and found Randall sitting by the bed.

Randall immediately
picked up the glass of water sitting on the nightstand and offered some to William.
Leaning down, Randall propped up William’s head a bit, making it easier for the
sick man to accept the water. When he drank his fill, Randall returned the
glass to the nightstand.

“Thank you,” William
said in a hoarse whisper. He licked his lips again and glanced around the room
as if looking for something.

“She’s in the kitchen
having a bite to eat. I imagine she’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

“How long have you
known?” William asked.

“That you love her? I
can’t recall when I haven’t known.”

“Take care of her,
Randall. Please.”

“I’ve always felt
somewhat guilty keeping her—knowing you love her—that she loves you. But she
gave me the son I always wanted, and I was afraid I might lose him if…if I did
the right thing and let her go.”

William said nothing to
him about Harrison being his son. He didn’t see the point, not now.

“Had I thought you were
in love with her…” William began, yet Randall stopped him.

“It’s fine, William. If
there is any guilt, it’s mine.”

Randall didn’t explain
what he meant, and William didn’t ask.
She gave me more than a son,
Randall thought. With Mary Ellen as his wife, a son to his credit—the world
viewed him as a respected member of society. The façade allowed him to lead a
private life that afforded him some happiness, and a bit of solace after
accepting the fact that the man he loved was incapable of loving him in the way
he needed—in the same way Randall was unable to love his wife.

“Is he awake?” Mary Ellen
asked from the doorway.

Randall stood up,
touched William’s shoulder briefly then walked to the door, leaving Mary Ellen
alone with the ill man.

Rushing to her lover’s bedside,
she fell to her knees on the floor and leaned over the mattress. William looked
at Mary Ellen and reached out, his fingertips touching her face.

“Why didn’t you say
anything about your heart?” she asked.

“I kept telling myself
it wasn’t that serious and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s why you’ve been
so tired lately.”

“Yes.”

“You’re too young William.
You can fight this. I’m sure there’s something they can do!” She refused to
believe his illness was as grave as the doctor painted.

“I love you Mary Ellen.
I’m sorry I got so mad when I found that photograph.”

“I should have told you.”

“Maybe it really is
best this way…everything has its own time.”

 She didn’t understand
what he meant. Resting her head on the mattress, she wept.

The nurse promised by
the physician never arrived. After a long conversation with the doctor, Randall
convinced him that he and Mary Ellen could care for William. In truth, Randall
wanted privacy for William’s final days. Mary Ellen stayed at her lover’s bedside,
getting little sleep. They never moved William into his bedchamber upstairs;
keeping him instead in the downstairs bedroom where they’d initially taken him
after Harrison discovered his unconscious body.

William Hunter passed
away on the Wednesday following his initial collapse. Mary Ellen and Randall
were both by his side.  His funeral was widely attended. The pretty Miss
Melinda Miller, who’d recently broken off with William, was quite dramatic in
her mourning, portraying herself as the girlfriend of the deceased, instead of
the young woman who’d recently ended their brief relationship.

“We were planning to
marry,” Melinda sobbed to a small group of attentive mourners at the wake
following the services.

“I thought you’d broken
it off with him?” one of her closer friends asked.

“Oh, you know dear William—never
able to make a commitment. I only broke it off so he would make a decision one
way or another. A girl can’t wait indefinitely. And he did!” She sobbed
dramatically. “He begged me to come back to him—he wanted to marry me! I was to
be William Hunter’s fiancée—his wife!”

“Are you all right?”
Randall asked Mary Ellen after they overheard Melinda’s dramatic display.

Mary Ellen glanced
across the room at Melinda. “I suppose in some ways, it stifles any gossip. One
never knows what the housekeeping staff sees or repeats. Although, the respect
I once had for the girl is sorely diminished, considering she’s using William’s
death to garner attention for herself.”

Randall leaned over and
kissed Mary Ellen on the cheek. The gesture surprised her, for it was something
he rarely did.

“What was that for?” she
asked.

“You’re my best friend,”
Randall told her. “I love you.”

• • • •

 “Do you want a
divorce?” Randall asked his wife. It was a week after William’s funeral and
they were finishing their breakfast in the dining room, before going to see the
attorney about William’s will.

“Divorce? Why would you
ask that?” Mary Ellen was clearly surprised.

“It just dawned on me
that while our marriage suits me perfectly, you’re a vibrant woman. Maybe not
right away, but eventually you will want
—
and need
—
another
man in your life. One that will give you what I can’t.”

“You were also in love
with him.” She didn’t sound judgmental—her tone empathetic. Randall’s eyes met
hers.

“Yes, for as long as I
can remember.”

“I’m sorry, Randall.
Did he know?”

“If he did, he never
said anything.” He was silent for a moment; then he spoke. “You saw me that
night. The night I found the glass.”

“Yes.”

Mary Ellen reached over
and patted his hand.

“Randall, you are not
getting rid of me that easily. William’s death has been hard on our son. I
don’t want him to deal with his parents’ divorce. And the idea of another
man…no. If that time comes, then we can discuss it then.”

Randall smiled at his
wife and then poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Life is funny,
Randall. When we were first married, I never imagined I would feel about you as
I do today.”

“And how is that?”

“A dear friend. I used
to find you quite frightening.”

“Back then William said
I was an ass.”

“You were dear, you
were.”

• • • •

 “Please just cut to
the bottom line, Bill,” Randall told the attorney when the man began reading
the will. Bill Taylor had been Randall and William’s attorney and friend for
over a dozen years. Randall and Mary Ellen sat together in Taylor’s office.

“Of course,” Taylor
said as he shuffled the papers in his hands before setting them on his desk. “His
share of Coulson-Harrison Enterprises goes to you, Randall. He leaves his
house, any personal property—expressly his library—to Mary Ellen.  He wanted me
to make sure and include the library, because a portion of it’s in storage, and
he didn’t want it to be forgotten or auctioned off by the storage company if
left unclaimed. It was important to him for Mary Ellen to have it.”

“I suppose this means I’ll
need to build a larger home, with a library room to house all his damn books.”
Randall chuckled.

• • • •

William’s townhouse
proved to be the temporary solution for his vast book collection. Instead of
using one room in the townhouse for a small library, Mary Ellen devoted the
second floor for his collection. Understanding it was just a temporary
solution, she removed upstairs doors instead of walls. Harrison insisted he
would one day build her a house more magnificent than the Philadelphia estate,
and it would include a library to make William proud.

Bringing the books from
storage proved therapeutic for Mary Ellen, and gave her the opportunity to take
her time while sorting through William’s personal belongings, including the boxes
of old photographs that William had never gotten to. She refused to throw them
away, but stored them safely in a discrete, inconspicuous cubical in the
upstairs library.

It also gave her a
place to grieve. To Harrison, William was a beloved uncle, yet for as much as
he loved the man he wouldn’t understand his mother’s state of despair, had she
allowed him to see it. Instead, when the moments of profound grief befell her—which
were frequent—Mary Ellen retreated to William’s townhouse to mourn in private.

On a Saturday two
months after William’s funeral, Mary Ellen retreated to her sanctuary. Curled
up on the living sofa with a book from William’s library, she allowed her mind
to escape into another world. Randall had taken Harrison to the office for the
afternoon. Her son was beginning an apprenticeship at Coulson-Hunter
Enterprises. Randall was grooming the boy to eventually step into the void left
by William.

The only sounds in William’s
house were those that drifted in from the street through the opened windows.
There was no reason to hire fulltime household staff for the property. No one
ever used the kitchen or slept in the beds. Mary Ellen hired someone to clean
it once a week and see to its general maintenance.

She closed the book and
placed it on her lap. “What should I do, William? I can’t hide here
indefinitely,” she asked the empty room. “I wish I could talk to you. I think I
miss talking to you most of all.”