He made reservations for dinner at an upscale restaurant in Boise. When they were newlyweds, he had promised Helen he would take her to the Ballentine. He’d expected to do so within a few weeks. A couple of months at most. He’d never imagined it would take him six years to keep his promise.
“You look nice, Dad.”
Andrew met Ben’s gaze in the mirror. “Thanks.” He adjusted his tie, then tugged at the hem of his suit coat’s sleeves, pretending not to see the frayed edges.
“Louisa says Mom’s about ready.”
Nerves turned in his stomach. Like they had before his first date with Helen. At thirty, he’d thought he was too old to feel that way. Apparently not. Apparently love was no respecter of age.
“Did you tell her where you’re takin’ her?” Ben asked.
“No. Just that we’re going out for dinner.”
“Hope it’s as good as you think it’s gonna be.”
Andrew laughed softly. “So do I, son. So do I.”
He left their bedroom, his eyes going to the closed door of the girls’ bedroom. That’s where Helen had chosen to get dressed tonight. He supposed she had a surprise for him as well.
He was right about that. When she opened the door and walked down the hall, it was like the moment when he’d seen her walking toward him as a bride. Only she was more beautiful to him now than she’d been then. She wore a dress of midnight blue with a touch of white lace at the neck and the wrists. She must have made it when he was in the fields in the daytime, for he couldn’t recall seeing her working on it.
“Ready, my love?” he asked.
She smiled at him, the look both tender and tentative. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”
“To Boise. But where exactly, I’m not saying.” He checked his watch. “We’d better get started so we don’t lose our reservation.” He took hold of her arm at the elbow and escorted her out of the house.
The children and Mother Greyson all came to stand on the porch to wave them off. Ben had sprouted into a beanpole. At twelve, he was already taller than Andrew’s mother-in-law but about half her width. Louisa, at nine, was the levelheaded one, and she loved mothering Frani. Right now she held her little sister’s hand firmly within her own. Eight-year-old Oscar . . . Well, he was the outlaw in the family. If there was mischief to be found, he would find it, usually on his own. As if to prove the point, he stood slightly away from the others, his face scrunched in thought.
After helping Helen into the automobile and turning the crank, Andrew hurried around to get behind the wheel, pausing long enough to wave to his family. Love welled inside of him. Thank You, God. It was a lesson he’d learned. Or at least had started to learn. The beauty of a grateful heart. The satisfaction of learning to be content, whether in plenty or in want.
They talked of many things on the drive into Boise. About the children, their schooling, the need for new clothes for everybody, Louisa’s crooked front tooth. About Mother Greyson’s failing eyesight. About the barn cat’s new litter of kittens.
Southwest Idaho was enjoying a prolonged Indian summer, and just before the sun set, a golden haze blanketed the land. It lasted only a short while. Evening moved in quickly, and the first twinkle of stars appeared in the sky before they arrived at the restaurant.
Helen gasped when she saw where they were. “Andrew, is the Ballentine your surprise?”
“A man should keep a promise to the woman he loves. Even if it takes six years to do it.”
“But we can’t possibly afford to—”
“Don’t say it, Helen. Don’t mention money tonight.”
“But, Andrew—”
He held up an index finger, stopping whatever else she might have said. Then she smiled, and he knew she wouldn’t argue further. He also knew she was more pleased than she could say. He was rather pleased himself.
Chapter 26
Ridley and Jessica left her house at ten the next morning. They drove with the windows down, enjoying the cool air whirling around them. It whipped Jessica’s ponytail against her neck and cheeks and made her feel young and carefree. They’d driven for ten minutes or so before Ridley turned the car off the main road and onto a dirt one, very similar to the one that ran in front of her home. Another ten minutes brought them to a gate across the road. A white-and-red sign announced the property was for sale and gave some particulars in smaller type. Ridley hopped out of the car and walked to the gate, slipping the chain over the post. It swung open with a loud creak.
“Is someone meeting you to show you around?” Jessica asked him when he got back in the car.
“No. I was given a key.”
She turned her eyes up the long drive. Only in a place like Hope Springs would it be all right for them to look at a property without a Realtor or owner present. She wondered whom it belonged to. She wasn’t familiar with this area.
As if hearing her thoughts, Ridley said, “It belongs to a family named Pearson, but I was told no one has lived in the house since Aaron Pearson died in 2007 at the age of ninety-two. I understand he was a small boy when his father built this house. Around 1925. The rest of the family—his kids and grandkids—are scattered around several states in the West. None of them in Idaho. Apparently the house has been on the market ever since Pearson’s death. A couple of nibbles, but no offers. Which could be very good for me price-wise. Assuming the place isn’t falling apart.”
A bend in the drive parted a copse of aspens, and a red-brick house came into view. Perhaps mansion was more apt than house. Jessica was reminded of one of the stately homes on Warm Springs Avenue or Harrison Boulevard in Boise. But it seemed very out of place here, stuck in the middle of nowhere.
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that,” Ridley said.
“You didn’t see any photos?”
“Yeah, I did. But they weren’t recent. I was afraid they wouldn’t be accurate.”
They parked in front of the house and made their way up the steps. Ridley tested some boards on the sweeping front porch with the toe of his shoe before pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door. Jessica’s first impression was of openness, spaciousness. The second impression was of light. There seemed to be windows everywhere. Ridley exchanged a look with her before moving deeper into the entry hall, the soles of his shoes making soft sounds on the black-and-white tiled floor.
Jessica stepped to the right and looked into what appeared to be the living room. Sheet-draped furniture sat clustered before a large fireplace, and an enormous portrait of a man standing beside a white horse hung above the mantel. “Do you suppose that’s Aaron Pearson or his father?”
“Probably the father. Whoever it was, he wanted to look like the lord of the manor. Wouldn’t you say?”
She laughed softly. “A little.”
They moved together toward the room on the opposite side of the entry. It turned out to be the dining room. The long table and chairs were also covered with sheets, but she guessed there had to be room for at least fifteen chairs on each side of the table. A party for thirty-two.
“Who on earth did they entertain?” She stepped to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. “Can you imagine this place at Christmas?”
“I’m starting to.”
They went into the kitchen next. Whatever it was like when the home was built, it had been completely modernized since then. Most likely in this century, judging by the supersized side-by-side refrigerator that hummed softly against the opposite wall and the state-of-the-art stove top and double ovens to its left. Jessica couldn’t imagine that a man in his eighties or nineties would have cared about any of this. Who had made the decision for him? Or had it been done after his death in hopes that it would make for a quick sale? Obviously that hadn’t happened.
She opened a door. An automatic light turned on, revealing a pantry as large as the baby’s room at home. “Nobody’s lived here in years, but they’ve kept the power on?”
“I guess the estate doesn’t have to worr
y about money. Besides, it wouldn’t show well if it was all dark and gloomy.”
They finished touring the rooms on the lower level—den, office, library, master bedroom, two baths, and a maid’s quarters—then they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“There’s a laundry room and a game room in the basement,” Ridley said when they reached the top, “plus eight bedrooms and six bathrooms up here.”
“Eight? Did the original Pearsons have a huge family?”
“I don’t know that either. But it makes me think so. Why else build a mansion?”
“I’m going to do some research on the Pearson family when I get home. I can’t believe I’ve never heard anyone talk about them or this place.”
They took their time moving down the hallway, looking into each bedroom as they went. Even the smallest room was twice the size of Jessica’s bedroom at home.
In the room at the end of the hall, Ridley pointed to a corner in the ceiling. “Looks like there’s a leak in the roof. There’s some water damage.” He turned in a slow circle. “But overall, the whole place looks to be in great condition. Especially considering its age.”
“Modern plumbing and electricity. Forced-air heating and cooling. Remodeling and updates and additions.” She walked to one of the windows. The grounds swept slowly up to the pine-covered mountains. “And a beautiful view from every window. Perfect.”
“Peaceful.”
She fingered the drapes. “You’ll have to replace these. They’re very worn.” She sneezed. “Not to mention dusty.”
Ridley laughed. “Agreed.”
They returned to the hallway and looked over the banister at the entry hall.
“This would be perfect for a retreat center,” he said after a lengthy silence. “It’s beyond anything I’d hoped for.”
“Will your clients all be wealthy?”
He turned to look at her. “No. That wasn’t my plan. I plan to have a sliding scale, depending on the client’s income and ability to pay. And if I get the right kind of licensed staff members—a counselor and a psychiatrist for sure—then insurance would pick up a part for those who have it. I’ll want someone who can do career planning as well, for those who need it.”
She admired him more than she could put into words. He wanted to make a difference. How few people thought beyond their own desires and needs. But Ridley wanted to take his hard experience of the past few months and use it to help others. “It’s an ambitious undertaking,” she said.
He leaned toward her. “But an important one.” Then he brushed her lips with his, ever so briefly, before adding, “And I’m glad I can share it with you.”
Did Jessica have a clue how much she’d come to mean to him over the past weeks? He hoped she knew, at least a little. Enough to encourage her but not so much it might frighten her.
He straightened. “I’d better have a look at the basement too. Want to join me?”
“Of course. This place has my imagination working overtime. I want to see every corner.”
He gave her a smile, then took hold of her hand and held it all the way down the staircase, through the entry hall to the back of the house, and down the narrow steps to the basement. He flicked on a light switch at the base of the stairs.
A pool table stood in the center of the room to his right. A fireplace took up a good portion of the far wall. To its left was a door with a window in it. He crossed the room to look through the glass. Concrete steps led up to the backyard.
“An exit,” he said as he turned around.
“Brr.” Jessica hugged herself. “It’s cold down here.”
“No air conditioning required for this floor.”
He pictured the room filled with dark leather furniture. A man cave. He smiled at the thought. Aloud he said, “It’s like God made sure the house was here for the retreat center.” He felt a sudden kinship with Esther from the Bible and added, “Like it was built for such a time as this.”
She shivered and began rubbing her upper arms.
“Come on. Let’s go up where it’s warmer.” He motioned for her to precede him, then followed her up the stairs.
At the top, Jessica moved to the center of the entry hall, stopped, and turned in a slow circle. “It does seem ideal for your intentions.”
It was easy for Ridley to imagine not only the house working for a retreat center but also to see Jessica as part of it. Would she want to be? Even as certain as he was that this idea was God’s will, risk remained. Would she want to take the risk with him? He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. Jessica was facing single motherhood in a matter of weeks. This wasn’t the time to ask her to be part of a risky undertaking. But maybe he could ask her to cheer him on from the sidelines while they awaited the right time.
“Jessica.” He cleared his throat. “If I get the place, maybe I can hire you to take care of some of the blank wall space with your inspirational artwork.”
She smiled at him. “I’d be honored, Ridley.”
BOISE, IDAHO
Thursday, October 24, 1935
The Ballentine restaurant showed no signs that this city and the entire nation had been gripped by an economic depression for six long years. The tablecloths were still a bright white. The china was still gold trimmed. The wine goblets still shimmered in the light of the chandeliers and wall sconces.
A waiter in a black suit led Helen and Andrew to their table. He placed menus before them, then retreated to let them consider their choices. They both decided to have the boneless squab chicken stuffed with wild rice, new potatoes rissole, and asparagus tips in butter sauce. After ordering, they turned their attention to the man at the grand piano in a far corner.
“I always wished I could learn to play the piano.” Helen’s voice sounded wistful.
“Maybe someday you can. We could put a piano against that west wall of the living room.” He pictured the spot in his mind’s eye. It would be crowded, but it could work. “I’ll bet Louisa and Frani would like to learn to play too.”
“Maybe Oscar as well.”
Andrew felt his eyes widen. “Oscar. He’d never sit still long enough to play a scale.”
Helen laughed, but the sound died abruptly. Surprise, almost fear, swept over her face.
Andrew followed her gaze to a table not too far from the piano. There sat Henry Victor with a beautiful young woman. It had been nearly four and a half years since Andrew had seen the man in his Meridian office, but Andrew wasn’t likely to forget his face. He looked back at his wife. “Are you all right?” He tried to sound normal but wasn’t sure he pulled it off.
“Yes.” She lowered her eyes. “I thought for a moment I saw someone I knew.”
“At the Ballentine?”
She laughed again, but this time it was a humorless sound. “I was mistaken.”
He’d never told Helen he’d met Henry Victor, that he’d gone to the man’s office and confronted him. If he didn’t tell her back then, how could he tell her now? He frowned, wondering if staying silent was the same as a lie or if it was a kindness.
“I need to powder my nose,” she said, rising from her chair.
He got up too.
“I won’t be long.” She hurried away.
Andrew sat down while his gaze went straight to Henry Victor. If the man had seen Helen or Andrew, he didn’t let on. His attention was fixed completely on the young woman with him. Andrew couldn’t help but wonder if she had a husband at home.
Anger and jealousy swirled inside of him, catching him by surprise. After all this time, after the healing and the forgiveness, after one baby and another one on the way, after adopting three children with his wife, he wouldn’t have expected to still feel that way. Their marriage was good, strong, better than ever. He knew in his bones that Helen loved him, that any feelings she’d once had for Henry Victor were over. And yet, the anger and jealousy twisted Andrew’s insides into knots.
He looked toward the ladies’ room, and a few moments later Hele
n came out. Although pale, she held her head up, her shoulders straight, as she walked toward him. She even managed a small smile when their gazes met.
He stood again and returned her smile. “Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?”
“No, I don’t think you did.” When he pulled out her chair, she sat down.
“I must’ve been tongue-tied when I saw you walking down the hall at home.”
“I love you, Andrew.”
He heard far more than those four words. He heard, I’m sorry. He heard, I never meant to hurt you. He heard, How can you forgive me?
“I love you, too, Helen. More than you know.” Silently, he added, You are not only beautiful, you are brave. I’m proud to be your husband.
Chapter 27
Late morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the studio and onto the large canvas on the easel. Jessica stepped back and stared at the painting. She’d been working on it for over a week, ever since the day Ridley took her to see the Pearson house. The painting was to be a gift to Ridley on the day his retreat center opened. There wasn’t any great hurry since she expected that would be months in the future, but still she worked on the painting every chance she got.
Her phone rang, and she stepped to the counter to look at the display. When she saw it was her mom’s cell phone, she answered on the next ring.
“Hey, Mom. How was the play?”
“Hi, honey. Trish was amazing. The best Peter Pan ever.”
Jessica smiled as she settled onto a stool. “Couldn’t be you’re prejudiced. Just a little bit?”
“Of course I am. I’m her grandmother.”
“Tell me more about it.”
Her mom promptly obeyed, detailing the entire evening, from the early family dinner before the play to the celebration that followed after the last curtain call. “Now what about you, Jessica? How are you?”
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