Page 89 of The Rules of Matrimony
“Since that time, your mother has managed a few short visits here and there, but no Society. That she is here now and handled the theater and musical with such strength attests to her years of healing and personal growth.”
Ian couldn’t wrap his head around this tale. He did not know what to make of it.
“So now,” Father continued, “I must correct an untruth. Upon my honor, I have never been unfaithful to your mother. There are no mistresses and never have been. Like you, I swore I would never bear the sins of my father, and I am true to my word.”
Ian needed to sit down. Mind reeling, he reached for the post at the end of the bed and leaned against it. No mistresses? But he’d heard the men talking in the clubs. He’d seen his father leave Mama behind year after year for his own pursuits. Why else would he abandon her in the country and come to Town alone? Mother was no wandering spirit who longed for adventure. She preferred her home because of its comforts. Did she not? “It cannot be true,” he argued. “Any thought of your family is gone the moment you leave for Town. You cannot tell me you spared one thought for my mother all these months away.”
“I do not blame you for your judgments, Ian. Everyone else thought our marriage was troubled, too, and I knew not how to correct them. I determined it was better for them to assume the worst in me than for them to think less of her. I miss your mother when we are apart. When you care for someone as deeply as I do, you are not meant to be separated. Your souls long to be together, as God intended. I was born to responsibilities that require a great deal of sacrifice, and thankfully, your mother supports me as I do her, but it wears on us both.”
Ian had never heard his father discuss such vulnerable feelings openly. The wordscare,miss,sacrifice, andsupportwere notvocabulary words that matched how Ian imagined his father. “Then, youdolove her?”
“Of course I love her,” Father snapped. “It’s one thing to think I’m unfaithful, but how could you ever doubt my love for your mother?”
Ian stared, completely baffled. “Do they not go hand in hand?”
His father glowered. “I suppose one could think that, but it sounds very bad, indeed, coming from your mouth.”
Ian ran his hand through his hair. “I’m at a loss. If I believe you, everything I’ve ever thought about you changes.” Mother had argued Father’s good qualities to Ian for years, but he had refused to believe her. When it came to Father, she was soft, besotted, ignorant. Ian rubbed his temple. Could her devotion be rightfully placed and Ian’s opinion be the one in the wrong?
His father shifted against his pillow. “I admit, I have weaknesses enough. I can be obsessive with work, and I am not the most affectionate of men. My own father saved lives with his donations and public lectures, but he was not a family man. His strict mannerisms were all that were modeled for me, and I assumed your independent nature led you to resent my firm hand.
“I did not think I deserved your ire and long wondered why you loathed me so entirely. Having your wife come and confide in me your reason clarified years of hurt and confusions. Why I couldn’t reach my son suddenly illuminated my mind. To know you thought I hurt your mother—the same way my father hurt my mother—deeply wounds me. I was younger than you when I decried the vileness of such a lifestyle.
“I loved your mother from the moment we wed, and I knew I had to cherish her and protect her with my whole soul. And when you were born, I committed to giving you every opportunity at life and goodness and opportunity. This is why I throw myself into my work, so you might have a legacy worth inheriting. Even as you grew and drew yourself away from me, I vowed to give you all a fathershould give his only son with the hope that someday you would see my efforts for what they were.”
Father’s chin quivered ever so slightly. “I am sorry you thought the worst of me. I should have recognized the reason sooner. Now perhaps you might think your old man a decent person.”
It was not so much a request as a plea. Father had never asked him so earnestly for anything. He had only ever demanded it. Ian’s gaze darted absently around the room before settling back on his father. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought of you as decent.”
Father sank back against his pillows. “Not a very encouraging start.”
“But it is a start,” Ian said quietly. A start that would require humility and forgiveness and letting go of past hurt. His feelings wouldn’t just disappear in a moment, even with the truth dangling in front of him. The words were still sinking in, but Ian couldn’t doubt his father’s sincerity. He knew Father well enough to know there was no possible way he would fabricate such a tale.
The door opened, and Mama stood within the small gap. Her gaze darted between them, while she worried her bottom lip. “Is it done?”
“It’s done,” Father said, his shoulders drooping.
She sighed and let herself in. “Finally.” Coming up beside Ian, Mama put her hand on his arm. “Oh, my son. If I’d known the reason you despised your father all this time, I would have told you myself. I thought it was merely your headstrong ways and differences of personality.” Her eyes welled up with tears—tears he so rarely saw in his strong mother. “It is hard to admit to a weakness, especially when logically, my fears make little sense.”
His own emotions were stretched thin, and he couldn’t bear to see her struggling. “Mama, I—”
“Don’t, Ian. I must own this trial,” she said, cutting off his pleading. “I have caused this entire family to suffer because of my inadequacy.”
“Not quite, dear,” Father said, his voice softer than Ian had heard it in a long time. “We all have our struggles. You are no less than anyone else.”
“It doesn’t diminish the regret,” she said.
Father sighed. “No, it does not. No one would understand how troubled I was to inherit so young after my father died. Everyone thought I should rejoice in my fortune. We cannot always choose the scars we bear.” Father’s eyes seemed to cradle his mother. “Some choose us and never let go. Just like that cruel day for you, dear, so many years ago. But while our scars affect us, they do not need to consume us. Not anymore. Let it be a lesson to us: We will never stop trying to rise above our circumstances.”
The message struck a chord deep in Ian’s chest. Ian’s scars had been of his own choosing. All this time, his righteous indignation toward his father had felt perfectly justified, but his anger had been the real wedge in his family. His father was still obsessed with his work and a grumpy, controlling man, but then again, so was Ian. His father, however, was not guilty of the many sins Ian had laid at his feet. In fact, he had sacrificed much to support his wife, even bearing unfounded rumors for nearly thirty years. Suddenly, being so much like him didn’t seem so disgusting to Ian.
And Amie ... Never in his life had he considered that he could love someone—truly love someone. But his father had been a good husband, which meant there was hope that Ian could be one too. There was no reason to keep Amie suffering. There was nothing inherently wrong with him that would lead to a senseless lack of control once he truly bound himself to her. He would injure her from time to time with his stupidity, like today, and it would take discipline to put his family before his work. But like his father said, he would never stop trying to rise above his challenges to be better a husband to her. His previous commitment against marriage and against love was years and years in the making, but he would be brave like his father was being right now and start the wheels of change.
The sins of his paternal line no longer touched him as they once had.
Everything would be up to him now. It had likely always been that way, but sometimes, the past was a difficult coat to shed. He had let his cling to him, thinking it a source of protection. It lay at his feet now, freeing him to see hope for the first time.
If it weren’t for Amie, he might not even want that hope. Now he was ready to run toward it.
