Page 71 of Christmas at the Ranch
“Is Drew the one who was supposed to be getting married?” Marigold asked.
“Yes,” Samantha said with a sigh. All the problems came rushing back. “Being with Drew makes me so happy. I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to decide now,” Marigold counseled. “My Native Americans friends have taught me that patience is one thing that separates humans from animals. With the internet, we’ve lost that virtue. You can get it back.”
When Samantha returned to the ranch, Arthur was sitting in the living room. A fire crackled in the fireplace and the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled in the afternoon light.
“Samantha.” Arthur looked up from the book he was reading. “Please join me.”
She hung up her jacket and sat across from him on the sofa.
“I’d offer you a cocktail but I don’t drink before six p.m.,” Arthur said with a smile. “I’m a little old-fashioned.”
“I don’t want anything.” Samantha shook her head. She turned to the window. “It’s so pretty, I never tire of the view.”
“I agree, it’s better than all the galleries in New York.” Arthur placed the book on the coffee table. “Drew told me the wedding is postponed. Beatrix had to go back to New York.”
Drew hadn’t told Arthur the engagement was over. Beatrix and Drew wanted to do it together.
“Drew thought I’d be upset, but all I care about is that he’s happy.” Arthur was still talking. “When you first have a baby it’s like being given a blank notebook. You fill the pages any way you like. If you’re a good parent, you spend the next eighteen years attending their events, overseeing their homework, and making so many bowls of cereal you consider buying stock in General Mills.” He smiled. “Then it’s over. The kid goes off to college and starts a career. There isn’t an extra set of car keys in the entry or a jar of peanut butter in the pantry. If they’re fairly happy, they assume they owe you something for everything you did. Parenting isn’t like that,” he finished. “The only reward we need is knowing that we gave our child enough love and attention, so they want to do the same for their children.”
“My parents are the same,” Samantha acknowledged. “They only want me to be happy.”
“Of course, one doesn’t always see it that way when one is young,” Arthur chuckled. “When I was a boy, I was certain my mother made me eat broccoli to punish me. And I was furious at my father for not wanting me to major in underwater photography in college. I saw a documentary on Jacques Cousteau and thought it would be thrilling. It wouldn’t have suited me, I’m not a good swimmer.”
“It can take a while to find what we love to do,” Samantha said. “I’m lucky that I get to write books for a living.”
“We’re lucky to have you.” Arthur sat up straighter. “I shouldn’t take up your time. Dr. Parr wants you to rest.”
“If I rest any more, I’ll be like the bears that hibernate all winter.” Samantha grinned, standing up. “I’ll go upstairs and freshen up.”
“One more thing,” Arthur said.
Samantha turned around pensively. Maybe Drew had told him after all.
“I decided we’re going to have a New Year’s Eve party anyway.” His eyes danced. “We can’t let six bottles of vintage champagne go to waste.”
Samantha paced around her room. Marigold had made her feel better, but there were still things troubling her. She and Drew hadn’t discussed what would happen when they left the ranch. If he went back to Thailand, she might never see him again. It was easy for Marigold to say Samantha would find her courage. But she was like the lion inThe Wizard of Oz. The moment she thought about it, it completely deserted her.
And there was the diary. She couldn’t keep it secret from Drew forever. What if she was wrong? Perhaps Diana and Arthur called the engagement off, like Beatrix and Drew. Diana raised her baby in Jackson Hole, and Arthur married another woman.
Samantha took the diary out of the bedside table. She’d read a few more entries to find out for sure if Diana was Drew’s mother. Then she’d figure what to tell Drew.
December 1995
Dear Diary,
I haven’t written to you in four years, I’m a terrible correspondent. To be fair, I lost you for ages. I only discovered you last week when I was cleaning out thenursery. You’d been beneath a pile of blankets all this time!
I read my entries from the beginning and almost didn’t recognize myself. How I miss the confident young woman who made breakfast for ten hungry cowboys on the dude ranch, who thought nothing of horseback riding over Glacier Gulch in the pouring rain.
I’ve had the most terrible time. Even as I write that, I feel guilty. You see, I have everything I could dream of. A husband who loves me, a wonderful little boy, and enough money to be comfortable. But that makes it worse. I want to be happy. Happiness comes from within, and I’ve never been so miserable in my life.
It started after Drew was born. Looking back, I see I had postpartum depression. Even if I had recognized it, Arthur wouldn’t have allowed me to see a therapist. He’s old-fashioned that way. He would think it reflected badly on our marriage.
After six months I felt better, but it was still difficult. Drew cried all the time as a baby and I refused to hire a nanny. I can be stubborn too! I wasn’t working or going to school, so felt I should raise my own child. And I was afraid of being lonely without Drew to take care of.
You can’t have a conversation with a baby, and Arthur worked late almost every night. He said he was doing it for us. And it was true. He bought prettythings for the apartment: a painting, new dishes, and silverware. Sometimes he’d surprise me by taking me out to dinner. But that didn’t fill the hours of the day.
