Father, Mother, and the Gardener

"Not yet, Mother." James sat up and looked at the exceptionally beautiful woman.

"You must have been studying for a long time. I told you that you'd only just recovered and shouldn't overexert yourself!" Elizabeth sat beside James, put an arm around him, and spoke with concern as she gently kissed his forehead.

"I'm really fine. It's been over a month, and I've recovered completely. Look, haven't I been doing well lately..."

"That's good, that's good..." Elizabeth tightened her embrace around James and murmured.

She always felt guilty after James recovered from an illness. Her eldest son, Tony, had died in her arms, sending her into hysterics and leaving her on the verge of a breakdown. And James was always falling ill with fevers. Each time, it seemed to bring back those old memories, driving her into a frenzied, uncontrollable state.

When James was four and first fell into a feverish, unresponsive sleep, Elizabeth held his small body and wailed Tony's name over and over. Mr. Howlett then ordered the servants to confine Elizabeth to her room and forbid her from leaving.

This had also left the mother feeling deeply guilty for being unable to stay by her sick son's side. Though perhaps there were other reasons, too.

Victor Logan was a very unusual child. That wasn't just because he was young yet tall and strong, or because his fingernails looked somewhat grotesque and hideous. More than anything, he acted nothing like a servant's son. The way he spoke and carried himself made it seem as though he, not anyone else, were the young master of the estate.

There was an innate, unyielding pride in him, and he only reined it in somewhat in front of Mr. Howlett, even managing a few gestures of a servant's humility.

Even in front of Mr. John, he was often brusque. That might have been another reason John disliked him, besides his father, Thomas Logan.

The air was cooler at night. James's room had a spacious balcony with an excellent view, and he was growing fonder of practicing there. He was only doing proper exercises to strengthen his bones and tendons and build up his health—not anything mysterious like "absorbing the moon's essence and swallowing clouds." Still, the exercises called for a clear and expansive mind.

The magnificent Rocky Mountains, scarcely touched by humans, the forests, the countless stars overhead, and the enormous, brilliant moon—this was an ideal environment for practice, worthy of the saying in the boxing manual: "The mountains nourish the bones and tendons; the stars open the Ren and Du meridians."

With every motion, breath, and visualization, he could now complete the first volume of Yijin Gong from start to finish. A child's body really was suited to laying the foundation for the meridians. Compared to when he'd started practicing in his twenties, his progress was who knew how many times faster.

James leaned on the balcony, feeling a little bored. The sprawling estate was eerily quiet.

People in the nineteenth century didn't have much in the way of entertainment. By around ten at night, it was as quiet as two or three in the morning.

James's father, Mr. John Howlett, had gone east in recent days to inspect the breeding of the ranch's livestock. These days, John was handling most of the family's affairs and business. Mr. Howlett mostly stayed at the estate and enjoyed his retirement, but as long as he was there, every part of the Howlett Family's business ran smoothly.

"Elizabeth! Listen to me first, damn it! Wait!"

From the balcony, James faintly heard what sounded like a stifled roar coming from the garden not far below.

"Thomas, you're hurting me!" A woman's voice rang out, sharp with distress. James recognized it as his mother, Elizabeth. He nimbly climbed down onto the roof below the balcony and crept closer, catlike.

"Tell me! Is James really my son?" The gardener, Thomas Logan, wore a coarse, flax-colored shirt. He was a burly man, his chest covered in thick hair. One hand gripped Mrs. Howlett's slender arm. She twisted and struggled against him, but he didn't budge.

"Of course James is John's son! Could a crude fool like you have fathered such a beautiful child?" Mrs. Howlett's fair skin had flushed red, whether from shame and anger or the strain of struggling, and she shot back sharply at Thomas Logan's accusation.

"No, that's not right! James doesn't look like me, but he doesn't look like John either. He only looks like you! I always thought it was strange. The date James was born and when you and I..."

"Shut up! Thomas, shut your foul mouth! We ended things long ago. I won't let you bring that up again, ever! You're only a gardener! Just a gardener!" Elizabeth's furious rebuke seemed to pierce Thomas Logan to the core. A deep, sinister look appeared on the man's face. He let go of her and grew eerily calm.

"Yes, I'm only a gardener, and you're the most distinguished lady in this estate. But what's there to be proud of about a Mrs. Howlett who sneaks around with the gardener?"

"I can't, Thomas, I can't... No one can find out about us, do you understand? Howlett will kill us. It was just a mistake I made when I'd lost Tony, and Victor's mother had died giving birth to him. We were just two grieving people who happened to come together. No one can ever know about this!" Elizabeth's beautiful face was full of pleading, a sight that made it hard not to feel for her.

"At least, at least think about James! He's still so young. Do you think Howlett would spare his life?"

"So James is my son!" Thomas's excitement flared again. Elizabeth didn't answer. Her excessive silence was as though nothing had happened that night, and it made the answer perfectly clear.

"Let's go, Elizabeth. Let's leave!"

A fleeting trace of disdain crossed Mrs. Howlett's face, but she hid it well by lowering her head.

"Where could we go? We have nothing. Where could we go with the children?" she sighed helplessly, lost in sorrow and uncertainty.

"Just the two of us! We can go anywhere—even, even to America! Or we could go back to the United Kingdom. I only want you, just you. You should know how I feel. When we were children and played together, you liked me more, didn't you? John was just lucky to have the Howlett name!"

Elizabeth felt even more contempt for this man who wanted a woman so badly that he was willing to abandon even his own two sons. Without dwelling on her own past mistake, she soothed Thomas. "Could you give me some time to think it over, darling? This isn't a small matter. We need to plan everything carefully."

Elizabeth's gentle words filled Thomas Logan with delight. The brawny oaf, all muscle and no brains, nodded excitedly, as if a happy life together were already within reach. The two murmured together for a while longer, then quickly left the garden. James was left lying in the corner of the roof, staring up at the stars, stunned and motionless.

This was probably a textbook case of a sordid love triangle. John, Thomas, and Elizabeth had grown up together. They'd been inseparable as children. Perhaps John and Thomas had even been close friends, and both boys had loved the beautiful Elizabeth. Back then, the tall and strong Thomas had been more popular with girls.

But as they grew up, John, the estate owner's son, naturally had a bright future ahead of him, while Thomas was just a poor boy from an ordinary farming family. Elizabeth's choice was obvious.

The former friends had fallen out over it. Their simple friendship was gone, and perhaps something had happened along the way that made John Howlett begin to hate his childhood friend.

But now, if the scandal between Mrs. Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan came to light, it would undoubtedly end in a massacre. Even James, Mr. Howlett's precious "grandson," might not escape.

He couldn't quite remember when or how he had gotten back to bed. What troubled James wasn't that his mother had been having an affair with the gardener, or that he might be an illegitimate child born of their tryst, but how to get through this "disaster" unscathed.