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"I c
ertainly don't see it," Byron said, "but whether he does or not doesn't matter, as long as Ian's family believes that he does."
"And when he's grown?" Alanna inquired. "What if he comes to visit us? Will we tell him the truth then?"
"No, of course not," Byron declared.
Elliott was growing increasingly uneasy. "Ian isn't up yet this morning, but I doubt he'll feel any better than he did yesterday. How are we going to broach such a delicate subject with him?"
"I thought of little else all night," Byron admitted. "I think I should talk to him about the boy in general terms, and see if there is someone to whom he can entrust his care. Then, in a week or two, when he's used to the idea of raising Melissa's son, we can explain the truth, and ask him to accept Christian out of love for her."
"I don't think Ian should be misled another day," Alanna argued. "Melissa's affair with Hunter had to have been brief, and she married Ian so shortly thereafter, he was clearly her first choice."
"Wait a minute," Elliott cautioned. "Maybe we're all worrying over nothing. Ian might already know the truth. He and Melissa seemed so close. Isn't it possible that he's known all along that her child wasn't his?"
Byron dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs. "Is that possible, Alanna? Could Ian already know the secret we're all so afraid to reveal?"
Alanna needed only a moment's reflection before she shook her head. "No, I think that's too remote a possibility to consider."
They were all startled by a knock at the door, but Byron quickly recovered. He called out, and his mother peeked into his room. "What are you all doing in here?" she asked.
Rachel was dressed in black, and the stark contrast between her gown and her fair coloring heightened her prettiness. That Melissa had resembled her so closely now seemed an eerie coincidence. Byron rose to welcome her to his room. "We're all worried about Ian, Mother, but we didn't mean to neglect you."
"You haven't, and I'm glad you're all together, because I'm also frantic with worry over Ian. I've tried to lift his spirits by encouraging him to talk about his son, but he shows not even a glimmer of interest. It's as if the boy doesn't even exist!"
Alanna looked to Byron and Elliott, who seemed equally unable to respond.
Rachel noted their exchange of anxious glances, but misinterpreted the cause. "Yes, it upsets me, too, dears," she said. "I'm not certain we should trust him with the boy."
Elliott took his mother's arm and led her over to the bed. "Sit down a minute. We need your help." He glanced over his shoulder at Byron and Alanna. Both nodded, and he cleared his throat as he tried to find the words which he feared would break his mother's heart. Thinking such an unexpected truth ought to be delivered with care, he started and stopped several times, but finally revealed that her grandson was not Ian's after all, but the son of an Indian who had been a guest in their home for less than a week.
Devastated by the recounting of her daughter's indiscretion, Rachel's reaction was far worse than her sons had anticipated. She covered her mouth with her hand as though she feared becoming ill, and Elliott quickly sat down beside her and drew her into his arms. "He's still Melissa's baby, Mother. Try and think of him that way."
Rachel had already been pale, but now her skin lost even the hint of color. Several minutes elapsed before she was able to speak between choking sobs. "Send for your father," she ordered. "Do it now."
Fearing that they had made a very bad mess of an extremely difficult situation, Byron strode from the room, but soon reappeared with John, who had been working downstairs in his study. The strain of the last few days showed plainly in his face, and had aged him beyond his fifty-two years. Seeing his wife's obvious distress, he immediately went to her; Elliott stood up to make room for him.
"Oh John," she sobbed, "they're saying such dreadful things about Melissa. Make them stop."
"What's going on here?" John asked crossly. "Why have you upset your mother?"
This time Byron delivered the fateful news. His expression was solemn, his tone soft, his words as tactful as he could make them, but his father appeared to be no more inclined to believe him than his mother. "It's the truth, Father. I've seen the child."
John Barclay refused to accept the fact that his only daughter had flaunted the high moral values he had striven to instill in his children. He regarded the possibility that she could have lost her virtue to an Indian brave as gross and scandalous speculation. "It can't be true!" he cried out. "Melissa would never have stooped so low. She was a virtuous young woman, and I'll not allow any of you to say otherwise."
"But Father—" Byron began.
"Silence! Not another word is ever to be spoken against Melissa, and I absolutely forbid you to repeat that hideous tale to Ian." He helped his wife to her feet and, after casting angry glances at his sons and niece, escorted her from the room.
"Damn it all!" Byron swore. "How can he even imagine we'd fabricate such a disgusting story?"
Alanna recalled Hunter's eagerness for a message when she had interrupted his swim, and disagreed with Byron's choice of words. "I don't think love ought to be described as disgusting."
"It couldn't have been love."
Alanna inclined her head slightly. "I think Hunter really did love Melissa, but we'll never know whether or not she loved him."
"She couldn't have," Byron repeated. "She barely knew the man."
