Dianna’s Bio:

Dianna Graveman is a manuscript editor and former teacher who also loves to write. She has taught most grade levels from Kindergarten through college. Dianna’s fiction and nonfiction pieces, several of which have won awards, have been published in the U.S. and U.K. She is co-author of a regional pictorial history, St. Charles: Les Petites Côtes, which was released by Arcadia Publishing in 2009 as part of its “Images of America” series. The story she submitted for this contest was inspired by a trip through the American West, an area she feels never fails to provide writing inspiration. Visit Dianna’s websites at www.dianna-graveman.com and www.gravemanbooks.com.

The Sad Affair of Maxwell Weedon

By Dianna Graveman

 

A historical marker stands sentry where gravel meets sagebrush, in the shadow of a great rock. It was here that Maxwell Weedon diligently oversaw the construction of his lavish home. They say he was done with New York, with the hustle and bustle of legal business and the demands of a dissatisfied wife. He had worked hard and long to make money enough to build a mansion for his mistress, who deserved no less. Together they would make their home, away from the stares and gossip of busybodies and shrews.

The architect was dismayed to learn Weedon wanted his mansion built in an undeveloped corner of Colorado. Important people were not likely to pass this way. He had come around a bit, however, upon learning Weedon had arranged to ship some of England’s finest chandeliers and furnishings to complement the building’s design. There may not be passers-by to exclaim over its beauty, but still the mansion would be an unsurpassable work of art.

Margaret, Weedon’s wife, had grown discontent with her lot. She no longer wanted to accompany Maxwell to dinners and engagements where the attendance of successful lawyers and their spouses was expected. She was not satisfied with her husband’s income and status. To Maxwell’s dismay, it did not appear likely he would ever bounce a child upon his knee.

Maxwell had met Olivia a few years before while on business in Europe. She was a vision, the lovely young daughter of an associate who practiced just outside London. Seated beside each other at a dinner party one evening, Maxwell and Olivia engaged in polite conversation. Maxwell was instantly smitten.

Not many days passed before the acquaintance blossomed into romance. Olivia was the woman Maxwell had dreamed of, long before he’d met Margaret. He arranged several more trips to Europe over the next year, inventing excuses and business dealings that required his attention. The more time he spent with Olivia, the more he fell in love, and each time they parted and Maxwell returned home, he became more despondent.

Olivia’s telegram arrived a few months after his latest return to the States. She had wonderful news, and she hoped Maxwell would not be angry with her.

Olivia’s father was outraged, and rumors quickly spread throughout Weedon’s own firm and the firms of his European associates. Olivia was shunned by the men and women in her former social circle, and her father’s shame was so great that he disowned her, shipping her off to live in exile with a distant aunt. Her telegrams to Maxwell pleaded for understanding and support. She did not know how she could stand the ridicule much longer.

The members of Weedon’s firm, fearing damaged reputations, handed him his walking papers. Fortunately, he had made many wise investments over the years, and his net worth had grown considerably. Maxwell Weedon was a wealthy man.

Presently, he notified Olivia that she should prepare to join him, and he began planning for their new home. He would send for her when the work was complete. She deserved to live in opulence for having suffered the babble of foolish tongues, and Maxwell was determined to provide her with all that money could buy.

Weedon strolled from room to room when the house was finished, admiring the winding staircase and the tall parlor windows with grand views of the canyon. He and Olivia would raise a family here, with plenty of room for the children to run and explore. She was expected to arrive in New York by boat this day and take a train to Denver. Maxwell would join her there, and together they’d ride the train to Grand Junction, then take a stagecoach to their new home.

When Maxwell entered the boarding house in Grand Junction, where he’d taken a room during the months of construction, he was anxious to pack his bags for Denver. He was dismayed when the proprietor called his name, as he did not wish to be detained. Brusquely, he snatched the proffered telegram from her fingers. In moments, he sank to his knees in despair, while fellow boarders stood idly and gawked. For his infant son, it was later reported, had taken his mother with him in death, and wrought the destruction of Maxwell Weedon that lawyers and gossips could not.

In the valley of an ancient canyon, so it is that crumbling walls and a sorrowful tale haunt the field where stood a proud man and his once magnificent mansion.

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