Master of the Game

It was time to spring the trap. Over the previous six months, Jamie McGregor had quietly bought out Van der Merwe’s partners in his various enterprises so that Jamie now had control of them. But his obsession was to own Van der Merwe’s diamond fields in the Namib. He had paid for those fields a hundred times over with his blood and guts, and very nearly with his life. He had used the diamonds he and Banda had stolen there to build an empire from which to crush Salomon van der Merwe. The task had not yet been completed. Now, Jamie was ready to finish it.

Van der Merwe had gone deeper and deeper into debt. Everyone in town refused to lend him money, except the bank Jamie secretly owned. His standing instruction to his bank manager was, “Give Salomon van der Merwe everything he wants.”

The general store was almost never open now. Van der Merwe began drinking early in the morning, and in the afternoon he would go to Madam Agnes’s and sometimes spend the night there.

One morning Margaret stood at the butcher’s counter waiting for the spring chickens Mrs. Owens had ordered, when she glanced out the window and saw her father leaving the brothel. She could hardly recognize the unkempt old man shuffling along the street. I did this to him. Oh, God, forgive me, I did this!

Salomon van der Merwe had no idea what was happening to him. He knew that somehow, through no fault of his own, his life was being destroyed. God had chosen him—as He had once chosen Job—to test the mettle of his faith. Van der Merwe was certain he would triumph over his unseen enemies in the end. All he needed was a little time—time and more money. He had put up his general store as security, the shares he had in six small diamond fields, even his horse and wagon. Finally, there was nothing left but the diamond field in the Namib, and the day he put that up as collateral, Jamie pounced.

“Pull in all his notes,” Jamie ordered his bank manager. “Give him twenty-four hours to pay up in full, or foreclose.”

“Mr. McGregor, he can’t possibly come up with that kind of money. He—”

“Twenty-four hours.”

At exactly four o’clock the following afternoon, the assistant manager of the bank appeared at the general store with the marshal and a writ to confiscate all of Salomon van der Merwe’s worldly possessions. From his office building across the street, Jamie watched Van der Merwe being evicted from his store. The old man stood outside, blinking helplessly in the sun, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He had been stripped of everything. Jamie’s vengeance was complete. Why is it, Jamie wondered, that I feel no sense of triumph? He was empty inside. The man he destroyed had destroyed him first.

When Jamie walked into Madam Agnes’s that night, she said, “Have you heard the news, Jamie? Salomon van der Merwe blew his brains out an hour ago.”

The funeral was held at the dreary, windswept cemetery outside town. Besides the burying crew, there were only two people in attendance: Margaret and Jamie McGregor. Margaret wore a shapeless black dress to cover her protruding figure. She looked pale and unwell. Jamie stood tall and elegant, withdrawn and remote. The two stood at opposite sides of the grave watching the crude pine-box coffin lowered into the ground. The clods of dirt clattered against the coffin, and to Margaret they seemed to say, Whore!…Whore!…

She looked across her father’s grave at Jamie, and their eyes met. Jamie’s glance was cool and impersonal, as though she were a stranger. Margaret hated him then. You stand there feeling nothing, and you’re as guilty as I am. We killed him, you and I. In God’s eyes, I’m your wife. But we’re partners in evil. She looked down at the open grave and watched the last shovelful of dirt cover the pine box. “Rest,” she whispered. “Rest.”

When she looked up, Jamie was gone.

There were two wooden buildings in Klipdrift that served as hospitals, but they were so filthy and unsanitary that more patients died there than lived. Babies were born at home. As Margaret’s time for delivery drew closer, Mrs. Owens arranged for a black midwife, Hannah. Labor began at three A.M.

“Now you just bear down,” Hannah instructed. “Nature’ll do the rest.”

The first pain brought a smile to Margaret’s lips. She was bringing her son into the world, and he would have a name. She would see to it that Jamie McGregor recognized his child. Her son was not going to be punished.

The labor went on, hour after hour, and when some of the boarders stepped into Margaret’s bedroom to watch the proceedings, they were sent packing.

“This is personal,” Hannah told Margaret. “Between you and God and the devil who got you into this trouble.”

“Is it going to be a boy?” Margaret gasped.

Hannah mopped Margaret’s brow with a damp cloth. “I’ll let you know as soon as I check out the plumbin’. Now press down. Real hard! Hard! Harder!”

The contractions began to come closer together and the pain tore through Margaret’s body. Oh, my God, something’s wrong, Margaret thought.

“Bear down!” Hannah said. And suddenly there was a note of alarm in her voice. “It’s twisted around,” she cried. “I—I can’t get it out!”

Through a red mist, Margaret saw Hannah bend down and twist her body, and the room began to fade out, and suddenly there was no more pain. She was floating in space and there was a bright light at the end of a tunnel and someone was beckoning to her, and it was Jamie. I’m here, Maggie, darling. You’re going to give me a fine son. He had come back to her. She no longer hated him. She knew then she had never hated him. She heard a voice saying, “It’s almost over,” and there was a tearing inside her, and the pain made her scream aloud.

“Now!” Hannah said. “It’s coming.”

And a second later, Margaret felt a wet rush between her legs and there was a triumphant cry from Hannah. She held up a red bundle and said, “Welcome to Klipdrift. Honey, you got yourself a son.”

She named him Jamie.

Margaret knew the news about the baby would reach Jamie quickly, and she waited for him to call on her or send for her. When several weeks had passed and Margaret had not heard anything, she sent a message to him. The messenger returned thirty minutes later.

Margaret was in a fever of impatience. “Did you see Mr. McGregor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you gave him the message?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he say?” she demanded.

The boy was embarrassed. “He—he said he has no son, Miss van der Merwe.”

She locked herself and her baby in her room all that day and all that night and refused to come out. “Your father’s upset just now, Jamie. He thinks your mother did something bad to him. But you’re his son, and when he sees you, he’s going to take us to live in his house and he’s going to love both of us very much. You’ll see, darling. Everything is going to be fine.”

In the morning when Mrs. Owens knocked on the door, Margaret opened it. She seemed strangely calm.

“Are you all right, Maggie?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She was dressing Jamie in one of his new outfits. “I’m going to take Jamie out in his carriage this morning.”

The carriage, from Madam Agnes and her girls, was a thing of beauty. It was made of the finest grade of reed, with a strong cane bottom and solid, bentwood handles. It was upholstered in imported brocade, with piped rolls of silk plush, and it had a parasol hooked on at the back, with a deep ruffle.

Margaret pushed the baby carriage down the narrow sidewalks of Loop Street. An occasional stranger stopped to smile at the baby, but the women of the town averted their eyes or crossed to the other side of the street to avoid Margaret.

Margaret did not even notice. She was looking for one person. Every day that the weather was fine, Margaret dressed the baby in one of his beautiful outfits and took him out in the baby carriage. At the end of a week, when Margaret had not once encountered Jamie on the streets, she realized he was deliberately avoiding her. Well, if he won’t come to see his son, his son will go to see him, Margaret decided.

The following morning, Margaret found Mrs. Owens in the parlor. “I’m taking a little trip, Mrs. Owens. I’ll be back in a week.”

“The baby’s too young to travel, Maggie. He—”

“The baby will be staying in town.”

Mrs. Owens frowned. “You mean here?”

“No, Mrs. Owens. Not here.”

Jamie McGregor had built his house on a kopje, one of the hills overlooking Klipdrift. It was a low, steep-roofed bungalow with two large wings attached to the main building by wide verandas. The house was surrounded by green lawns studded with trees and a lush rose garden. In back was the carriage house and separate quarters for the servants. The domestic arrangements were in the charge of Eugenia Talley, a formidable middle-aged widow with six grown children in England.

Margaret arrived at the house with her infant son in her arms at ten in the morning, when she knew Jamie would be at his office. Mrs. Talley opened the door and stared in surprise at Margaret and the baby. As did everyone else within a radius of a hundred miles, Mrs. Talley knew who they were.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. McGregor is not at home,” the housekeeper said, and started to close the door.

Margaret stopped her. “I didn’t come to see Mr. McGregor. I brought him his son.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. You—”

“I’ll be gone for one week. I’ll return for him then.” She held the baby out. “His name is Jamie.”

A horrified look came over Mrs. Talley’s face. “You can’t leave him here! Why, Mr. McGregor would—”

“You have a choice,” Margaret informed her. “You can either take him in the house or have me leave him here on your doorstep. Mr. McGregor wouldn’t like that either.”

Without another word, she thrust the baby into the arms of the housekeeper and walked away.

“Wait! You can’t—! Come back here! Miss—!”

Margaret never turned around. Mrs. Talley stood there, holding the tiny bundle and thinking, Oh, my God! Mr. McGregor is going to be furious!

She had never seen him in such a state. “How could you have been so stupid?” he yelled. “All you had to do was slam the door in her face!”

“She didn’t give me a chance, Mr. McGregor. She—”

“I will not have her child in my house!”

In his agitation he paced up and down, pausing to stop in front of the hapless housekeeper from time to time. “I should fire you for this.”

“She’s coming back to pick him up in a week. I—”

“I don’t care when she’s coming back,” Jamie shouted. “Get that child out of here. Now! Get rid of it!”

“How do you suggest I do that, Mr. McGregor?” she asked stiffly.

“Drop it off in town. There must be someplace you can leave it.”

“Where?”

“How the devil do I know!”

Mrs. Talley looked at the tiny bundle she was holding in her arms. The shouting had started the baby crying. “There are no orphanages in Klipdrift.” She began to rock the baby in her arms, but the screams grew louder. “Someone has to take care of him.”

Jamie ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Damn! All right,” he decided. “You’re the one who so generously took the baby. You take care of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stop that unbearable wailing. Understand something, Mrs. Talley. I want it kept out of my sight. I don’t want to know it’s in this house. And when its mother picks it up next week, I don’t want to see her. Is that clear?”

The baby started up with renewed vigor.

“Perfectly, Mr. McGregor.” And Mrs. Talley hurried from the room.

Jamie McGregor sat alone in his den sipping a brandy and smoking a cigar. The stupid woman. The sight of her baby is supposed to melt my heart, make me go rushing to her and say, “I love you. I love the baby. I want to marry you.” Well, he had not even bothered looking at the infant. It had nothing to do with him. He had not sired it out of love, or even lust. It had been sired out of vengeance. He would forever remember the look on Salomon van der Merwe’s face when he had told him Margaret was pregnant. That was the beginning. The end was the dirt being thrown onto the wooden coffin. He must find Banda and let him know their mission was finished.

Jamie felt an emptiness. I need to set new goals, he thought. He was already wealthy beyond belief. He had acquired hundreds of acres of mineral land. He had bought it for the diamonds that might be found there, and had ended up owning gold, platinum and half a dozen other rare minerals. His bank held mortgages on half the properties in Klipdrift, and his landholdings extended from the Namib to Cape Town. He felt a satisfaction in this, but it was not enough. He had asked his parents to come and join him, but they did not want to leave Scotland. His brothers and sister had married. Jamie sent large sums of money back to his parents, and that gave him pleasure, but his life was at a plateau. A few years earlier it had consisted of exciting highs and lows. He had felt alive. He was alive when he and Banda sailed their raft through the reefs of the Sperrgebiet. He was alive crawling over the land mines through the desert sand. It seemed to Jamie that he had not been alive in a long time. He did not admit to himself that he was lonely.

He reached again for the decanter of brandy and saw that it was empty. He had either drunk more than he realized or Mrs. Talley was getting careless. Jamie rose from his chair, picked up the brandy snifter and wandered out to the butler’s pantry where the liquor was kept. He was opening the bottle when he heard the cooing of an infant. It! Mrs. Talley must have the baby in her quarters, off the kitchen. She had obeyed his orders to the letter. He had neither seen nor heard the infant in the two days it had been trespassing in his home. Jamie could hear Mrs. Talley talking to it in the singsong tone that women used to talk to infants.

“You’re a handsome little fellow, aren’t you?” she was saying. “You’re just an angel. Yes, you are. An angel.”

The baby cooed again. Jamie walked over to Mrs. Talley’s open bedroom door and looked inside. From somewhere the housekeeper had obtained a crib and the baby was lying in it. Mrs. Talley was leaning over him, and the infant’s fist was tightly wrapped around her finger.

“You’re a strong little devil, Jamie. You’re going to grow up to be a big—” She broke off in surprise as she became aware of her employer standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” she said. “I—is there something I can get for you, Mr. McGregor?”

“No.” He walked over to the crib. “I was disturbed by the noise in here.” And Jamie took his first look at his son. The baby was bigger than he had expected, and well formed. He seemed to be smiling up at Jamie.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. McGregor. He’s really such a good baby. And healthy. Just give him your finger and feel how strong he is.”

Without a word, Jamie turned and walked out of the room.

Jamie McGregor had a staff of over fifty employees working on his various enterprises. There was not an employee from the mail boy to the highest executive who did not know how Kruger-Brent, Ltd., got its name, and they all took fierce pride in working for Jamie McGregor. He had recently hired David Blackwell, the sixteen-year-old son of one of his foremen, an American from Oregon who had come to South Africa looking for diamonds. When Blackwell’s money ran out, Jamie had hired him to supervise one of the mines. The son went to work for the company one summer, and Jamie found him such a good worker that he offered him a permanent job. Young David Blackwell was intelligent and attractive and had initiative. Jamie knew he could also keep his mouth shut, which is why he chose him to run this particular errand.

“David, I want you to go to Mrs. Owens’s boardinghouse. There’s a woman living there named Margaret van der Merwe.”

If David Blackwell was familiar with the name or her circumstances, he gave no indication of it. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re to speak only to her. She left her baby with my housekeeper. Tell her I want her to pick it up today and get it out of my house.”

“Yes, Mr. McGregor.”

Half an hour later, David Blackwell returned. Jamie looked up from his desk.

“Sir, I’m afraid I couldn’t do what you asked.”

Jamie rose to his feet. “Why not?” he demanded. “It was a simple enough job.”

“Miss van der Merwe wasn’t there, sir.”

“Then find her.”

“She left Klipdrift two days ago. She’s expected back in five days. If you’d like me to make further inquiries—”

“No.” That was the last thing Jamie wanted. “Never mind. That’s all, David.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy left the office.

Damn that woman! When she returned, she was going to have a surprise coming. She was going to get her baby back!

That evening, Jamie dined at home alone. He was having his brandy in the study when Mrs. Talley came in to discuss a household problem. In the middle of a sentence, she suddenly stopped to listen and said, “Excuse me, Mr. McGregor. I hear Jamie crying.” And she hurried out of the room.

Jamie slammed down his brandy snifter, spilling the brandy. That goddamned baby! And she had the nerve to name him Jamie. He didn’t look like a Jamie. He didn’t look like anything.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Talley returned to the study. She saw the spilled drink. “Shall I get you another brandy?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jamie said coldly. “What is necessary is that you remember who you’re working for. I will not be interrupted because of that bastard. Is that quite clear, Mrs. Talley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The sooner that infant you brought into this house is gone, the better it will be for all of us. Do you understand?”

Her lips tightened. “Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”

“No.”

She turned to leave.

“Mrs. Talley…”

“Yes, Mr. McGregor?”

“You said it was crying. It’s not ill, is it?”

“No, sir. Just wet. He needed a change.”

Jamie found the idea revolting. “That will be all.”

Jamie would have been furious had he been aware that the servants in the house spent hour upon hour discussing him and his son. They all agreed that the master was behaving unreasonably, but they also knew that even to mention the subject would mean instant dismissal. Jamie McGregor was not a man who took kindly to advice from anyone.

The following evening Jamie had a late business meeting. He had made an investment in a new railroad. It was a small one, to be sure, running from his mines in the Namib Desert to De Aar, linking up with the Cape Town-Kimberley line, but it would now be much cheaper to transport his diamonds and gold to the port. The first South Africa Railway had been opened in 1860, running from Dunbar to the Point, and since then new lines had been run from Cape Town to Wellington. Railroads were going to be the steel veins that allowed goods and people to flow freely through the heart of South Africa, and Jamie intended to be a part of them. That was only the beginning of his plan. After that, Jamie thought, ships. My own ships to carry the minerals across the ocean.

He arrived home after midnight, undressed and got into bed. He had had a decorator from London design a large, masculine bedroom with a huge bed that had been carved in Cape Town. There was an old Spanish chest in one corner of the room and two enormous wardrobes which held more than fifty suits and thirty pairs of shoes. Jamie cared nothing about clothes, but it was important to him that they be there. He had spent too many days and nights wearing rags.

He was just dozing off when he thought he heard a cry. He sat up and listened. Nothing. Was it the baby? It might have fallen out of its crib. Jamie knew that Mrs. Talley was a sound sleeper. It would be dreadful if something happened to the infant while it was in Jamie’s house. Then it could become his responsibility. Damn that woman! Jamie thought.

He put on a robe and slippers and went through the house to Mrs. Talley’s room. He listened at her closed door and could hear nothing. Quietly, Jamie pushed open the door. Mrs. Talley was sound asleep, huddled under the covers, snoring. Jamie walked over to the crib. The baby lay on its back, its eyes wide open. Jamie moved closer and looked down. There was a resemblance, by God! It definitely had Jamie’s mouth and chin. Its eyes were blue now, but all babies were born with blue eyes. Jamie could tell by looking at it that it was going to have gray eyes. It moved its little hands in the air and made a cooing sound and smiled up at Jamie. Now, that’s a brave lad, Jamie thought, lying there, not making any noise, not screaming like other babies would do. He peered closer. Yes, he’s a McGregor, all right.

Tentatively, Jamie reached down and held out a finger. The infant grabbed it with both hands and squeezed tightly. He’s as strong as a bull, Jamie thought. At that moment, a strained look came over the infant’s face, and Jamie could smell a sour odor.

“Mrs. Talley!”

She leaped up in bed, filled with alarm. “What—what is it?”

“The baby needs attention. Do I have to do everything around here?”

And Jamie McGregor stalked out of the room.

“David, do you know anything about babies?”

“In what respect, sir?” David Blackwell asked.

“Well, you know. What they like to play with, things like that.”

The young American said, “I think when they’re very young they enjoy rattles, Mr. McGregor.”

“Pick up a dozen,” Jamie ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

No unnecessary questions. Jamie liked that. David Blackwell was going to go far.

That evening when Jamie arrived home with a small brown package, Mrs. Talley said, “I want to apologize for last night, Mr. McGregor. I don’t know how I could have slept through it. The baby must have been screaming something terrible for you to have heard it all the way in your room.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jamie said generously. “As long as one of us heard it.” He handed her the package. “Give this to it. Some rattles for him to play with. Can’t be much fun for him to be a prisoner in that crib all day.”

“Oh, he’s not a prisoner, sir. I take him out.”

“Where do you take him?”

“Just in the garden, where I can keep an eye on him.”

Jamie frowned. “He didn’t look well to me last night.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. His color’s not good. It wouldn’t do for him to get sick before his mother picks him up.”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“Perhaps I’d better have another look at him.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I bring him in here?”

“Do that, Mrs. Talley.”

“Right away, Mr. McGregor.”

She was back in a few minutes with little Jamie in her arms. The baby was clutching a blue rattle. “His color looks fine to me.”

“Well, I could have been wrong. Give him to me.”

Carefully, she held the baby out and Jamie took his son in his arms for the first time. The feeling that swept over him took him completely by surprise. It was as though he had been longing for this moment, living for this moment, without ever knowing it. This was his flesh and blood he was holding in his arms—his son, Jamie McGregor, Jr. What was the point of building an empire, a dynasty, of having diamonds and gold and railroads if you had no one to pass them on to? What a bloody fool I’ve been! Jamie thought. It had never occurred to him until now what was missing. He had been too blinded by his hatred. Looking down into the tiny face, a hardness somewhere deep in the core of him vanished.

“Move Jamie’s crib into my bedroom, Mrs. Talley.”

Three days later when Margaret appeared at the front door of Jamie’s house, Mrs. Talley said, “Mr. McGregor is away at his office, Miss van der Merwe, but he asked me to send for him when you came for the baby. He wishes to speak with you.”

Margaret waited in the living room, holding little Jamie in her arms. She had missed him terribly. Several times during the week she had almost lost her resolve and rushed back to Klipdrift, afraid that something might have happened to the baby, that he might have become ill or had an accident. But she had forced herself to stay away, and her plan had worked. Jamie wanted to talk to her! Everything was going to be wonderful. The three of them would be together now.

The moment Jamie walked into the living room, Margaret felt again the familiar rush of emotion. Oh, God, she thought, I love him so much.

“Hello, Maggie.”

She smiled, a warm, happy smile. “Hello, Jamie.”

“I want my son.”

Margaret’s heart sang. “Of course you want your son, Jamie. I never doubted it.”

“I’ll see to it that he’s brought up properly. He’ll have every advantage I can give him and, naturally, I’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

Margaret looked at him in confusion. “I—I don’t understand.”

“I said I want my son.”

“I thought—I mean—you and I—”

“No. It’s only the boy I want.”

Margaret was filled with a sudden outrage. “I see. Well, I’ll not let you take him away from me.”

Jamie studied her a moment. “Very well. We’ll work out a compromise. You can stay on here with Jamie. You can be his—his governess.” He saw the look on her face. “What do you want?”

“I want my son to have a name,” she said fiercely. “His father’s name.”

“All right. I’ll adopt him.”

Margaret looked at him scornfully. “Adopt my baby? Oh, no. You will not have my son. I feel sorry for you. The great Jamie McGregor. With all your money and power, you have nothing. You’re a thing of pity.”

And Jamie stood there watching as Margaret turned and walked out of the house, carrying his son in her arms.

The following morning, Margaret made preparations to leave for America.

“Running away won’t solve anything,” Mrs. Owens argued.

“I’m not running away. I’m going someplace where my baby and I can have a new life.”

She could no longer subject herself and her baby to the humiliation Jamie McGregor offered them.

“When will you leave?”

“As soon as possible. We’ll take a coach to Worcester and the train from there to Cape Town. I’ve saved enough to get us to New York.”

“That’s a long way to go.”

“It will be worth it. They call America the land of opportunity, don’t they? That’s all we need.”

Jamie had always prided himself on being a man who remained calm under pressure. Now he went around yelling at everyone in sight. His office was in a constant uproar. Nothing anyone did pleased him. He roared and complained about everything, unable to control himself. He had not slept in three nights. He kept thinking about the conversation with Margaret. Damn her! He should have known she would try to push him into marriage. Tricky, just like her father. He had mishandled the negotiations. He had told her he would take care of her, but he had not been specific. Of course. Money! He should have offered her money. A thousand pounds—ten thousand pounds—more.

“I have a delicate task for you,” he told David Blackwell.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to talk to Miss van der Merwe. Tell her I’m offering her twenty thousand pounds. She’ll know what I want in exchange.” Jamie wrote out a check. He had long ago learned the lure of money in hand. “Give this to her.”

“Right, sir.” And David Blackwell was gone.

He returned fifteen minutes later and handed the check back to his employer. It had been torn in half. Jamie could feel his face getting red. “Thank you, David. That will be all.”

So Margaret was holding out for more money. Very well. He would give it to her. But this time he would handle it himself.

Late that afternoon, Jamie McGregor went to Mrs. Owens’s boardinghouse. “I want to see Miss van der Merwe,” Jamie said.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mrs. Owens informed him. “She’s on her way to America.”

Jamie felt as though he had been hit in the stomach. “She can’t be! When did she leave?”

“She and her son took the noon coach to Worcester.”

The train sitting at the station in Worcester was filled to capacity, the seats and aisles crowded with noisy travelers on their way to Cape Town. There were merchants and their wives, salesmen, prospectors, kaffirs and soldiers and sailors reporting back for duty. Most of them were riding a train for the first time and there was a festive atmosphere among the passengers. Margaret had been able to get a seat near a window, where Jamie would not be crushed by the crowd. She sat there holding her baby close to her, oblivious to those around her, thinking about the new life that lay ahead of them. It would not be easy. Wherever she went, she would be an unmarried woman with a child, an offense to society. But she would find a way to make sure her son had his chance at a decent life. She heard the conductor call, “All aboard!”

She looked up, and Jamie was standing there. “Collect your things,” he ordered. “You’re getting off the train.”

He still thinks he can buy me, Margaret thought. “How much are you offering this time?”

Jamie looked down at his son, peacefully asleep in Margaret’s arms. “I’m offering you marriage.”