Matthew and Jordan - Return of the Not-Quite-Prodigal Son

"I've kept her in condition for you. I hope you don't mind."

Matthew turns to face the soft, high feminine voice. "Jordan," he says, smiling slightly. "No, of course, I don't mind. She needed the excercise, and you're an excellent rider." Two years away from her means he can afford to be kind.

Jordan Hilton, daughter of New Hampshire judge in the federal court and a psychologist, is mounted on her own horse, a gelding named Jefferson; she had bought the horse shortly after Christmas when she was sixteen, the year Matthew had sent her a biography of Thomas Jefferson that she had actually enjoyed, much to her own surprise. She'd only started reading it to please Matthew, with his undying political streak. Unfortunately, Jefferson, a rather stately, dignified sort of horse, has found this dignity repeatedly hurt, being forced to answer to Jeffy. Actually, Matthew is amazed that Jefferson isn't being made to respond to Hamlet.

Jordan is a dark blonde where Matthew is golden, with eyes as bright, summer sky blue as Matthew's are dark, a match and an opposite. She's prettily dressed in a burgundy, black, and sable riding habit. She dismounts, walks quickly over to Matthew, and throws her arms around him. "I've missed you!" she says brightly.

Matthew stifles a sigh. Jordan's a wonderful girl, very sweet, but he can tell already that his week at home will be made even more tiresome by Jordan's persistent stalking. "I've missed you, too," he replies softly, barely lying. She's good company when she isn't making eyes at him. He pulls away, and Jordan pouts slightly.

"Ride with me?" she asks, recovering quickly. She gestures to Jefferson. "You're saddling Ophelia," she points out.

Matthew is caught. "Sure," he says, though he'd hoped to be able to ride alone, to have some time to think. Living on base doesn't afford a man much privacy, and he knows he'll have just little solitude at home.

Jordan climbs back onto Jeffy and waits patiently as Matthew finishes with Ophelia's tack. "It's so wonderful to have you home again," she bubbles to him as Ophelia walks up beside Jefferson. The two set off at a walk -- the better for painful conversation-making, my dear.

Matthew stifles a scowl. "Uh huh. How's Vassar?"

"Oh, not too bad," she says, coolling considerably. She's majoring in Education, since she adores children, though she has no actual expectation of becoming any kind of teacher, fortunately for all grade school children in both New Hampshire and Hawaii. Jordan is not the best of students, being somewhat of a child herself, if only perpetually at heart. She perks up again. "I did very well on my finals," she adds.

"I'm glad to hear it," Matthew says. What do I talk about? He racks his brain for topics. Leading forty men comes much easier to him than conversation with Jordan. That girl is one of the few creatures or situations that brings him close to panic.

"How's life on base?" she queries, though, saving him from having to think of things to say. He thanks God that, if she must follow him about, at least she seems able to make conversation almost entirely with herself.

"Quite well," he says.

"Do you enjoy it?" A conversation learned by rote.

"It's well enough," he says -- walk the line between the truth and hurting her feelings. Don't tell her that you enjoy being in command, or that it's nice not having her around all the time. "Of course, there aren't many people I can talk to."

"You don't have me," she says brightly, smiling and feeling useful. Poor Jordan. She likes feeling useful; it's not a feeling she'll get much out of the life she lives now.

"Precisely," he replies.

"You can talk with me."

"That's right."

Jordan falls silent a moment. "You're a second lieutenant, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Is that important?" she asks, and Matthew tries not to laugh at the hint of pride and hope in her voice. On second thought, it's not so funny; hers is the pride of a possessive child bragging about her pretty, shiny, new toy.

"I like to think so," he says, somewhat modestly. "But I don't know if I can honestly say that it's important."

"Well, I don't care," she says. "I just hope you don't have to actually fight." Matthew can't help but note her eyes. She has rather large eyes. Like a blue-eyed deer, and he's caught in the headlights.

He nudges Ophelia into a trot. If he could only gallop away . . . but that would be looked on as rude. Would Jordan really know, though? he wonders. He could always say he felt like it. Which would be the truth. Despite the acres of countryside around him, he suddenly feels trapped.

"I'd hate it," she continues. "If you fought, I mean. You could get so badly hurt."

Matthew frowns. "Other men are fighting, Jordan. They're getting hurt all the time. If we went to war, I wouldn't be the only one in danger. It would be selfish to think only of me."

"So?" she asks, a bit fiercely. "I don't mind being selfish." Something in her tells her that now would be a good time to stop; maybe it's Matthew's expression, cool and disapproving. "I don't mind at all," she adds, rather loudly. "I don't care at all what happens to the others, just you. You're the one I love," she finishes petulantly.

He sighs heavily. "That doesn't matter, Jordan, we aren't at war. And if we were, it would be my duty to fight, regardless of whether or not I could get hurt. Because we all could, easily. But I am a second lieutenant, as you pointed out, which means I have men to command. War isn't about who you love, Jordan. All the men out there would have someone who cares about them, no less than I do." A little voice in his mind asks him if he really means all this, but he shrugs it away as Jordan speaks.

"But none of their girls are me," she points, as if this meant anything at all. "If you got hurt --"

He smiles. "You'd probably win the war alone, wouldn't you?" He has to admit that it's flattering. The girl genuinely loves him, though he honestly can't imagine why. It's not about his money, like it is for the other girls who fawn on him. Jordan has enough money on her own, and she's never been a golddigger.

She giggles. "Maybe," she says. "You're mine, after all, aren't you, Matthew?" She'd tried to call him Matt during the first few months after the D.A.R. coming-out ball where she made her début with Matthew at her side, because she'd begged him to, claiming she could find no one else to accompany her. He'd finally convinced her to stick to his given name, and she's obliged ever since. What was it, five years now?

He tried to hide a shudder. "I am my own," he tells her honestly.

"But you love me, right?" she asks, unperturbed.

"Yes," he says, and it's another half-lie. Of course he loves her. Jordan's been his friend and stalker for years now, his girlfriend for five. He can't help but feel a sort of fondness for her, a love that one might feel for a sister. That's one reason he dislikes being around her: she makes him feel guilty. He knows he should tell her he just doesn't love her, but he keeps hoping that maybe he will fall in love with her, because she tags after him so hopefully. . . .

Jordan merely beams. "I'm so happy you're home," she says again. "I only wish you could stay. Do you really have to leave in a week?" He nods. "I wish you weren't in the army," she says with a sigh. "I want you to stay home with me always."

"I can't stay with you always," he protests quietly. "Even when I leave the army someday, I'll be busy, Jordan. Don't you understand that?"

She smiles. "Of course, I do. That doesn't mean I can't wish otherwise. You're going to be in office, like your father, aren't you, Matthew?" She ignores his frown and takes his silence for agreement. "I'll stand by you, even if I am selfish," she says. "Even if I do wish I could have you to myself." She smiles sweetly. "I'll be very proud of you," she tells him softly. "You'll do a lot of good. I know it."

This is the closest they ever get to discussing the heretofore unspoken belief that they'll marry one day. And why not? Matthew thinks. Her family is important, distinguished, wealthy -- a match for his own. And even if she isn't the smartest girl -- and is it really that she isn't smart? Maybe it's only that she's never left childhood; it agreed with her too well -- she is pretty and good, sweet and everlastingly loyal, as she herself points out. Besides, she's the only girl he's ever actually felt anything like love towards, other than, of course, his mother, and she's so absent-minded and busy, she might as well not be there. If he's thoroughly honest with himself, he's sometimes thankful for what he laughingly calls Jordan's stalking. At least she cares.

posted at 8:27 p.m. on 07-23-02