O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [86]
Another swig and a three-minute sitting nap.
“You here already?”
Zach came alongside and cooled down.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Thought I’d work,” Zach answered.
“It’s Sunday. George Barjac has twice invited me to bring you. You come with me.”
The request had the ping of a command.
“Sure, what’s the dress code?”
“Informal, mess jacket.”
“Are you sure you need me, Ben?”
“I do not want George Washington Barjac to be insulted. He’s my buddy-buddy from before you were born. You know how important the man is to the Corps.”
“I guess I have become a little antisocial,” Zach said. “What’s the event?”
“Sunday picnic, lawn games, three-hour lunch, mobs of kids and grandchildren, first family, second family. You’ll like them. And, by God, they’re Catholics.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
Zach helped the major to his feet. They double-timed it back, but Ben did not turn off to his cottage.
“Come up to the office for a few minutes.”
They headed into the building and up the stairs in silence. No need to ask what this was about.
The envelope lay on Ben’s desk.
“This came this morning. I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Why don’t you stay.”
“Sure.”
Dear Zachary,
I have been remiss in failing to contact you sooner. Immediately after the Constitution Ball, I went away to Virginia on a personal matter, and by the time I returned to Inverness, you were gone.
Let me congratulate you on your commission and your new assignment.
A few nights before the Constitution, at the wedding of Beth and Casper, I was swept up in the sentiment of the moment and told you I still loved you.
This passage of time has allowed me to clear my mind and gain a fuller understanding of what my future course need be.
I do not believe you were sent to Newport as an act of a merciful God, but because of keen judgment on Major Boone’s part. If anything, it will test our resolve to go our proper ways.
That day at the glen, I epitomized the selfish side of my character and tried to lure you into a battle in which we both would have been slain. You had an honest grasp of what was, and is, a hopeless situation. I totally agree with you now, that to carry our friendship further would be to court disaster.
Falling out of love has not been my easiest task, but it has given me the maturity to be able to transform my thinking. I know what must be done.
Glen Constable and I have set out with the idea of a future permanent relationship. He can afford me a steady life and companionship. I must tend to my roots and the meaning of my family.
I have undertaken to play big sister this summer to his young daughter, Dixie Jane, who is a lovely child but sorely undereducated and unprepared to live a life of important intent. Dixie Jane and I were together at the Constable farm near Richmond and have developed a deep affection for each other.
I do not foresee a formal announcement concerning Glen and myself until after the coming winter season. The courtship came on quite suddenly and we should allow for a proper time to pass. Yet it seems a natural conclusion.
I won’t pretend this is any easier for you to read than it is for me to write, but what was between us is being tucked away, forever.
I know that Newport has greeted you with open arms and hope you are already back in the chase. I will not see you formally or entertain any pleadings, and I know you will respect these wishes.
For certain we will run into each other by chance during the season and I trust we will greet each other, at such times, in a civilized manner.
Good luck, dear Zachary.
With kindest regards,
Amanda
Zach handed the letter to Ben.
“I don’t have to read it,” Ben said.
“Yes, please,” Zach answered.
Ben read it sadly, and was sad for the young lieutenant.
“I don’t want to lose you, Zach.”
“I dug my own hole. I’ll cause you no grief. I want to stay.”
“You going to be able to make it?”
Zach nodded.
“And you feel alone, hung out to dry, and wish to hell that someone understood how much it hurts,