Broken Fences, Shattered Dreams
A novel in progress
Written by Janice Williams
Copyright © 1999
Prologue
Long time resident and local rancher Jordan Matthews, son of the late Duncan Matthews, was accidentally killed August 14th, 1999 while mending fences on his Arabian breeding farm in Santa Rosa, California. His horse fell, embedding the coveted Grand Champion belt buckle he wore against his backbone.
The thirty-five year old rancher divided his time between his horse breeding facility and Archer & Associates, a San Francisco-based advertising agency where he held the position of Vice President of Marketing.
He is survived by his wife, Alexandria. The couple had no children. A graveside service will be held Saturday, August 21st for family members and close friends.
CHAPTER I
Alexandria skimmed the worn newspaper article, as she had most mornings since the accident. The circumstances surrounding Jordan's death still managed to unsettle her, sending a cold chill down her spine. She thought six weeks should have dulled the picture painted by a local reporter but it hadn't. Her stomach recoiled with visions of her late husband's body alone for the scavengers to ravage.
It didn't matter that she had stopped loving him long before the accident, after all, they had been married for nearly ten years. She felt comfortable with him, though not necessarily happy.
Now, as the sun edged its way above the coastal mountaintops, the feeling of being entirely alone overwhelmed her. Alexandria wept as she had so many times since the funeral.
Most days she hadn't bothered to dress, leaving the house only a half dozen times and then only to walk up the narrow path behind the house, to the tiny cemetery. She had buried Jordan beside his mother and father because she had assumed that would have been his wishes. The two of them had never discussed the issue of death.
She hadn't slept well the night before. The first storm of winter brought wind and rain that assaulted the house, shaking it to its foundation. Lightening had streaked across the angry sky, brightening her room as if someone had turned on the light switch.
How different it was this morning she thought. Leaves fluttered on a gentle breeze just outside her window and birds chirped merrily. Somehow she had to put the violence of Jordan's death aside, to start anew. She had promised herself this many times, but this time she was determined to do it.
Alexandria tossed the bed covers aside and looked out the window at the distant hills resplendent with green grass and gnarled old oaks. Somewhere off in the distance a tractor labored in the fields. It was going to be a good day she told herself, stretching lazily.
Their marriage hadn't been all bad. Before Jordan's rise to fame in the advertising world they had spent many a summer weekend in the wine country. They stayed in quaint bed and breakfast inns, slept until noon then toured the wineries. They both loved to ski so winter weekends were devoted to the snowy slopes of Tahoe.
Everything changed when Jordan went to work for Archer & Associates. He spent less time at home with her. If he did take a day off, it was spent in the barn or in the show ring. A twenty-four hour day had never been enough for him. He'd slip from bed before sunup, take a quick shower, and then brush his lips lightly across her forehead.
Long before the rest of the community awoke he'd be on his way to the kitchen where their housekeeper, Juanita, would have set up the coffeepot the night before. He'd read the morning paper then, cup in hand, leave through the back door. He'd take the brambled path along the creek and meet his farm manager in the barn at six sharp. Amid contented sounds of horses enjoying their morning hay, the two of them would plan the day's training schedule.
Before he left the barn, Jordan would walk down the cobblestone aisle checking each horse. Bidding Ruben good day, he'd drive into the city to do what he did best--create great advertising campaigns. Most nights he'd return home long after Alexandria had gone to sleep. When she finally worked up the nerve to complain he growled, "There are plenty of women who would be willing to trade places with you, so if you don't like our lifestyle, consider leaving." This was the side of him few people knew about--the part that had caused her to stop loving him.
Alexandria propped herself up on one elbow to watch the sun rise above the hilltops. She considered the alternative to staying in bed and decided against it. On her way to the bathroom the subtle hint of after-shave stopped her short.
"Snap out of it," she mumbled to the hollow-eyed face staring back at her from the mirror. "Get a grip on your life."
Earlier in the week her friend, Kate, had called. When she suggested that Alexandria's anger toward Jordan stood in the way of her healing, Alexandria had denied it. Now she wasn't so sure. Maybe she should talk with someone. It wouldn't be a shrink she assured herself.
"I'm not angry, Kate, I'm pissed off," she had replied.
"Of course you are! You have every right to be. Just go see a therapist. It'll do you good," Kate had told her before hanging up.
Alexandria pressed the palms of her hands to her temples as if they might explode. How Jordan could have dismissed the "what ifs" of life so easily? Why had he left her with no knowledge of what it took to run Lone Oak?
"Kate's right. I have to do something," Alexandria spoke aloud, reaching for the phone. She dialed quickly, as if she was afraid she might change her mind. When a breathy voice announced the offices of Steven Peters, Jordan's financial adviser and accountant, Alexandria made an appointment for later that morning. She also intended to stop by Archer & Associates to see Thomas, Jordan's oldest and dearest friend. Over the years he'd become her friend, too. She worried that he might be working too hard. After the accident he had inherited all of Jordan's accounts.
Alexandria dialed the phone once more, reaching the reception desk of Archer & Associates. "Thomas Bettencourt, please. Alexandria Matthews calling," she said politely. The cheery voice on the other end of the line informed her Thomas wasn't expected in until after eleven. "Could you tell him I called," she asked.
The receptionist said she would, and Alexandria replaced the phone.
"I'm not a brainless twit, Jordan. I'll show you I can manage on my own. I should never have allowed you to dictate my life. Every wife has the right to know how much her husband is worth. Damn it, Jordan, you could have made this so much easier."
Alexandria knew he never intended to tell her. There had been times when she'd asked the simplest question, only to be brushed off or made to feel like a complete idiot.
"Don't concern yourself, Alex, just take care of the house. I'll see to the finances," had been his standard reply.
How had two opposites fallen in love? She thought back to what had attracted him to her in the first place. It was his difference that set him apart from the other college men on campus. Instead of Ivy League clothes, he had worn jeans and boots. While other men talked of cars and sports, he had rambled on about Lone Oak. Above everything she remembered him as a perfect gentleman in a pair of cowboy boots.
After graduation they had gone their separate ways until his daily calls finally persuaded her to visit him.
"My treat," he had told her.
The following day a one way ticket arrived. It seemed romantic then; in hindsight it was the first indication of his need to control her.
"We may have had our problems, Jordan, but I'm going to miss you," she whispered softly. As an afterthought she added, "What made you want to control everything?" Then, as if to find one bright moment, she recalled the night Jordan's prized Arabian colt came into the world. Afterward, when he was sure mare and foal were fine, Jordan sat at the end of the bed, his eyes glowing with tears of happiness. "He's perfect, honey. He'll be a champion one day," he had told her softly.
The irony of Jordan's happiness was that the colt had brought tears of happiness back then, only to fall atop him, embedding the silver buckle they had won together against his backbone.
Alexandria slid the shower door open and stepped inside as steam quickly enveloped the room. With her eyes clamped shut, she lathered the washcloth. The rose scented soap quickly invoked memories of their wedding day.
The weather had been perfect, the garden a brilliant array of color compliments of a very wet spring. Jordan had promised her a fairy tale wedding, and he hadn't disappointed her. The guest list had included the Governor, his wife and a throng of his influential business associates.
Later that evening, after everyone had left, his father had taken the two of them to the airport for a honeymoon in the Bahamas. It had been a perfect place to consummate their marriage. They made love whenever and wherever he chose, and she had been so in love that she hadn't noticed he controlled everything from the food she ate to the clothes she wore.
Alexandria pressed the washcloth to her eyes, to quell the tears. How could anything so beautiful turn sour so quickly? Why did it have to end so painfully? she wondered while turning off the tap. As she toweled dry the sound of nickering horses drew her attention to the window. She quickly shrugged on her robe then went to the window. With the curtain back modestly Alexandria watched Ruben jumped out of the old Ford, a grandchild at his heels. A smile softened her face, and she pressed her nose against the screen.
"Good morning," she called down.
Ruben's leathery face broke into a smile as he lifted his old sombrero, waving it above his head. When he didn't linger long but went about his morning chores, Alexandria's smile faded. How did one tell a valued employee he might not have a job for long? How could she let him go she asked herself while watching the little boy dog his grandfather's heels? After all, Ruben and Juanita had been with Jordan's family for thirty-five years. They had been little more than teenagers when they crossed the border from Mexico into the United States.
Their children were born at Lone Oak, in the little house Jordan's father had built for them. In that instant she understood why she had not had children. A child now would complicate things she told herself as she mentally thanked God for his wisdom. If the worst possible scenario did occur, and she had to leave Lone Oak, at least she wouldn't have to uproot a child.
Alexandria's lip trembled as she recalled the day she had suggested adoption at the dinner table. Jordan's father had gone into a rage, stomping from the room like a mad man.
"If you can't produce one on your own, go without," he had yelled in anger, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he left the dining room. Then, later that evening, as she undressed for bed, Jordan had spoken harshly to her, too, asking her not to mention adoption again. She hadn't and made every effort to stay out of the old man's way. He died several months later, and it was only on his deathbed that he finally apologized.
"You didn't give me a grandson, but God knows you have been a good wife to my son. Even a blind man could see how badly Jordan has treated you." He sighed softly, his breath labored, but he managed to say what was on his mind. "I'm sorry, Alexandria. Jordan is the way he is because I made him that way. If ever a father let his son down, I did. After his mother died I hired a nanny, then kept busy with the farm. I couldn't bare the pain of losing his mother so I lost myself in my work. Jordan learned that from me."
The sound of death had filled the room as he uttered his final words.
"I'm dying, Alexandria. Take care of him. He needs you even if he doesn't know it. I'm so sorry. I let him down in so many ways..."
Alexandria's last vision of her father-in-law had been the lone teardrop that slipped down his cheek. His hand had tightened and moments later his grip had loosened. There had been a small gasp and then silence.
Jordan had arrived minutes later, brushing past her as if she had been invisible. Later when he came out of his father's room, there had been no apology.
"I guess he just got tired of living," he had whispered, his voice hoarse with grief.
Jordan had been so vulnerable then, but when she went to him, he had pulled away from her touch. She had gone to bed holding back an avalanche of tears.
Alexandria shook her head, as if to banish the painful memories. Nothing would ever be the same again. She would miss him terribly, not as a lover or husband, for he'd failed miserably in those areas. She'd miss him for what he had done best, taking charge. She'd miss him for that.
"Alexandria, are you up?" Juanita's voice broke the silence.
"Yes, I'm getting dressed. I'll be down in a few minutes."
Alexandria didn't fuss with her looks, choosing a plain black suit. After surveying herself in the bathroom mirror she decided nothing would help and ran a comb quickly through her hair. Minutes later she stopped outside the kitchen door, forcing a smile.
"Good morning, I'll just have coffee," she announced with mock cheerfulness.
Juanita mumbled something about eating breakfast to keep up her strength up but didn't push the issue. Instead she placed a carafe of coffee in the middle of the table, then went about her morning chores, saying nothing more. She returned later to an empty room and shuffled to the window, to watch the garage door open.
"You best be careful, Missy," she spoke aloud.
Alexandria turned the key, and the Lincoln roared to life. As she looked over her shoulder something caught her eye, sending an icy chill down her spine. A jacket belonging to Jordan lay on the back seat. She wondered what it was doing there because he didn't drive the Lincoln, preferring his truck to the luxurious vehicle. She was still pondering the jacket as the Golden Gate Bridge appeared mysteriously out of the fog.
As she drove along the bridge, tourists roamed the sidewalks like ants. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel. Driving in the city was even worse.
"How can anyone live like this?" Alexandria murmured aloud while scanning the fronts of buildings for Steven's address.
Horns honked, and one motorist even made a crude gesture. Alexandria ignored him, only to have an impatient pedestrian step out in front of her. She jammed her foot on the brake, spilling her purse and its contents to the floor. After a few well-chosen words she retrieved her bag and put the car in gear.
Alexandria arrived at Steven's office out of breath and a bit frazzled. When the receptionist told her he was with another client and asked not to be disturbed, she collapsed into an overstuffed sofa. Twenty minutes later she stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and approached the reception desk. When the woman seemed to ignore her, Alexandria cleared her throat. At the same time she quelled the urge to grab the rude woman by the shirtfront. "How much longer?" Alexandria asked pleasantly.
The woman continued to type for several seconds before picking up the phone. "Mr. Peters, Mrs. Matthews is waiting to see you," she announced while pushing her chair away from the desk. Wearing an artificial smile, she turned to Alexandria. "This way, please," she said, leading the way down a long corridor decorated with some extremely good oils.
Steven must be doing well for himself Alexandria thought, studying one painting in particular from over her shoulder. It was then the receptionist stopped before a door bearing Steven's name. Alexandria bumped into her, and her face went crimson. She managed an apology only to receive a look reserved for the mentally incompetent.
Steven Peters sat behind an enormous oak desk, wearing a smile of equal proportions.
"Nice to see you, Alexandria. You look well," he said, standing to greet her, his hand held out.
It had been a long time since a man had looked at her the way he did, and Alexandria flushed noticeably while lowering her lashes to avoid looking at him.
"I, err…err, thank you," she stammered.
Steven moved from behind the desk, taking her by the elbow.
"Sit, please."
Alexandria allowed him to seat her, then after the customary shuffle of papers, listened politely as he took her through her late husband's portfolio. When he didn't mention the addendum to Jordan's will it surprised her. After all, Steven was Jordan's financial advisor. She would have thought the two of them would have at least discussed it.
"You must be careful, Alexandria, Jordan mortgaged the farm heavily when he built the training center. On the up side the taxes are current," Steven said calmly. He managed a hesitant smile, then continued. "I assume the insurance company paid his benefits?" When Alexandria nodded he added, "A hundred thousand isn't much, but it should keep you afloat until you decide what you want to do."
Steven Peter's wore success well, dressing his six-foot frame in expensive clothing. It would have been obvious to anyone, including Alexandria that he spent a good deal of time in the gym, keeping his body toned. He had that Pierce Brosnan look, very tan with nary a hair out of place. "So I guess you're staying on, then?" he asked hesitantly.
"I'd hoped to, but after what you've just told me maybe the best thing would be to sell the farm," Alexandria replied while watching his reaction for any sign he knew she couldn't sell Lone Oak.
"My intentions were not to intimidate you. I thought you'd be better off knowing what you're up against, that's all."
Steven stood up then, going to the sideboard where a pot of coffee sat on a warmer. After pouring himself a cup, he turned to look over his shoulder.
"I appreciate that, Steven. It's more than Jordan would have done," Alexandria replied sarcastically.
Steven ignored the inflection in her voice, showing no sign he intended to discuss her late husband's idiosyncrasies. Instead of being pulled into a disagreeable conversation he reached into the top desk drawer. He withdrew an envelope.
"Jordan had all of the bills forwarded to me for payment. That's why you haven't been burdened with them. These checks are for your personal needs," he explained, handing the envelope across the desk.
Alexandria lifted the flap and fingered the checks. She managed a rather polite smile, but withheld the fact she hadn't written a check since her college days.
"You should think about hiring a farm manager," Steven advised.
"Can I afford it?" she asked.
"You can't afford not to," he replied, his broad smile meant to reassure her it was the right thing to do. "You should be able to find someone who will settle for a small salary and a percent of the foal crop. Several months remain in the breeding season, so a good ranch manager is crucial."
Steven rocked his chair back and smiled again, and when Alexandria shook her head, as if she might be overwhelmed, his smile changed from appreciative to worrisome.
"Run an ad in the local newspaper, Alexandria. See what you get, but don't put it off. There are twelve mares in the breeding shed. You're going to need someone quick. Once they are shipped home, we can relax a bit."
Alexandria smiled then, and for the first time a jolt of confidence coursed through her veins. The way Steven used the word; he made it all seem so simple.
"Now, tell me how you're really holding up?" he finally asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "You look wonderful, but I have a feeling it's all show. What can I do to make this easier for you?"
"It's kind of you to ask. I'm fine, really, just a bit overwhelmed. After all, I spent the last ten years being Jordan's wife. Now I'm expected to run Lone Oak as if he included me in that part of his life," Alexandria answered, her face turning serious. "So there is no misunderstanding, Steven. I've heard about the codicil. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Jordan did it! I know I can't sell the ranch-that it reverts to Thomas if I leave."
Alexandria reached across the desk to offer him her hand. This time it was Steven who appeared a bit surprised. Rumor had it that Alexandria had had a nervous breakdown after the accident. Some even went as far as to say she had turned into a recluse and had taken to drinking.
"I'm counting on you, Steven. If you're holding anything back, now is the time," she said, her composure rendering him speechless.
Alexandria found pleasure in watching the color rise to his cheeks. It was the first time in a long while she felt in control.
"Of course, Alexandria. Jordan relied on me, and you can, too," he replied while walking her to the door.
"Please, I'll show myself out," she said politely while removing her elbow from his grip.
Without further ado Alexandria made her way down the corridor, past the snooty receptionist, then out into the salty sea breeze heavy with the smell of fish and chips. Her stomach growled in response, the first time in weeks she actually felt hungry.
"You'll have to wait," she told her noisy stomach.
If memory served her right Archer & Associates was just down the street. It was after eleven. She would stop in to see Thomas before going to the bank.
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