by Janet Dailey
"Good morning." Her father was standing beside her bed, smiling down at her.
Glenna blinked and tried to refocus. Her father looked so different from the man she had seen last night. He was dressed in a bright sport shirt anti blue slacks. There was color in his freshly shaved cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.
"Come on. Get up," he coaxed. "It's a new day outside and I'm hungry for breakfast."
Confused, she pushed herself into a sitting position and stared at this cheerful replica of her father. Her expression drew a hearty chuckle from him. That only deepened her frown.
"What reason do you have to be so happy?" She shook her head in total bewilderment.
"Why are you so glum?" he grinned.
Her mouth opened, but all she was capable of doing was releasing a short incredulous breath. Her reasons were so obvious that there wasn't any need to list them. Helplessly she searched for some explanation for his attitude.
"How can you say that?" she said finally.
"Because I've just spent a night counting my blessings," he informed her.
"I know we have some, but…have you forgotten that we're losing the company, our home, everything?" It wasn't that she wanted him to become depressed again, but the change in his attitude was so drastic that Glenna was worried.
"And that's blessing number one," he stated with a brisk nod of his head.
"A blessing?" she echoed.
"Yes, because now we know it's a fact, so we can stop wondering and worrying whether we're going to find some way or someone to bail us out of our mess," Orin Reynolds explained as if his reasoning was perfectly logical.
"Dad, are you feeling all right?" Glenna eyed him warily.
"I'm fine. A good dose of optimism will cure what's ailing you, too. Hop out of bed and I'll give you your first injection over breakfast." He glanced at his watch. "I'll give you twenty minutes to get dressed and meet me downstairs at the restaurant."
As he moved toward the door Glenna protested, "But dad, I don't want to meet Jett again. He might be there—"
"That's blessing number two," he winked. "He's already checked out of the hotel and gone."
The vision of his beaming smile stayed with her after he had disappeared into the outer hallway. Driven by curiosity Glenna climbed out of bed. Her own low spirits had been overwhelmed by her father's ebullience. His sunny disposition was forcing her to venture out of the darkness whether she wanted to or not.
Exactly twenty minutes later she joined him in the restaurant. He'd already taken the liberty of ordering for her. She stared at his choices that were so indicative of his mood. First, a glass of orange juice—liquid sunshine—two eggs sunny-side up, a rasher of snapping-crisp bacon, and golden brown toast with orange marmalade.
"Dad, I'm not hungry enough to eat all this." Actually she wasn't hungry at all.
"You'd better eat it," he shrugged good-naturedly. "After all, we can't be sure where our next meal is coming from."
"And you're smiling about that," Glenna accused, quickly swallowing the sip of orange juice she'd taken. "I don't understand because last night—"
"Last night I was selfishly looking at all I was losing instead of what I was gaining," her father interrupted.
"What are you gaining?" She couldn't see where there was anything. "We are going to lose our home."
"We're going to lose a house," he corrected with gentle patience. "It's just walls, ceilings and windows. It's too big for us and costs too much to heat. What do we need all those rooms for? And look at how many things we've accumulated over the years. We can sell two-thirds of the furniture and still have enough left over to furnish a small house. What we do sell, we can call them antiques and make a handy sum."
"But—"
"I know what you're going to say," her father interrupted again with a knowing smile. "What about all the memories? Happy memories are stored in your heart, not in a house. They are something you can never lose."
"And what about the mine?" Unconsciously Glenna found herself eating the breakfast her father had ordered.
"Ah, yes, the mine. What a responsibility—what a burden has been lifted from my shoulders," Orin Reynolds sighed in contentment. "No more worrying about payrolls, insurance, unions, contracts, taxes, regulations, deliveries, and the hundred and one other things that are part of running a business."
"But what will you do?" she frowned.
"Do you know what I remembered last night?" he asked rhetorically. "Do you know I never wanted to run the mine? But it was the family business, so when it came my time I took over for my father."
Glenna never knew that. She had never even suspected it. "What did you want to do?"
He paused for a minute, considering her question. A sudden gleam sparkled in his gray eyes, dancing and mischievous. Chuckling laughter flowed, its contagious amusement making Glenna smile.
"I remember when I was a teenager I always wanted to make moonshine." He laughed louder. "Maybe that's what I should do, take what little money we get from selling the furniture and buy a patch of ground back in the hills and brew up some moonshine."
"Dad, you can't be serious!" She was amused, astonished, prepared to believe almost anything after the revelations of the last few minutes.
"Why not?" His expression continued to be split by a wide grin. "I've heard that there's still money to be made in it. If any revenuers come around, we can dress you up in a Daisy Mae outfit and you can try a little of your friendly persuasion on them. You might improve with practice."
Her cheeks burned at his teasing reference to her attempts last night to get Jett to change his mind. She hastily lowered her gaze to her place setting.
"How can you joke about that?" she murmured tautly.
"You've got to learn to laugh about it, Glenna." His voice was softly insistent, gentle in its understanding. "What else can you do? Are you going to hide your eyes every time you think about it?"
All the logic in the world didn't make it any easier for Glenna to bear the knowledge of what she'd done. It would be a long time before she could laugh about it.
"I admit," he continued, "that when you first told me, I was outraged…shocked. Then I was flattered that you cared so much for me to go to him. Flattered, and a little proud. I guess there are some people who wouldn't understand that. They would say that the best of intentions wouldn't excuse a wrong. But I don't think that is what's making you hang your head. Do you want to know what I think it is?"
He waited until Glenna asked, "What?"
"It's because you were beginning to like Jett Coulson. When he didn't accept your offer and its conditions, you felt that you had cheapened yourself in his eyes. You're afraid that if he'd look at you now he wouldn't see a lady of strong principles, but a woman who's an easy make. Am I right?"
His accuracy strangled her voice, forcing her to nod in admission. There was a fine mist of tears in her gray eyes, enhancing their greenish cast. Her father reached over to crook a finger under her chin and lift it.
"You hold your head up," he ordered with a smiling wink. "If he's so dumb that he doesn't see what you're made of, then he isn't worth your tears."
She smiled, a little tightly, but the warmth and adoration shining in her eyes wasn't forced. "How do you do it?" There was a thread of amazement in her emotionally trembling voice. "I was feeling so terrible this morning. I still hurt, but—" There was an expressive shake of her head as she paused.
"That's what fathers are for." He leaned back in his chair, a touch of smugness in his look. "To bandage up their daughters' wounded hearts and make them feel better. Clean up your plate," he admonished with paternal insistence. "We have to get packed and make the drive back. There's a lot of things that need to be done, plans to be made. Instead of sitting back waiting for things to happen it's time we started making them happen."
"You make it all sound like an adventure," Glenna murmured wryly.
"It's going to be."
It was difficult not
to believe him. Glenna hadn't seen her father this carefree and lighthearted since her mother was alive. Perhaps the mine and all its problems had been too much of a burden for him. She knew it had taken its toll on his health. Without the pressure and stress of the business, he was like a new man. His mood was infectious.
Chapter Nine
IT WAS LATE in the afternoon before they finally arrived home. The housekeeper, Hannah Burns, had evidently been watching for their return, because she was out of the front door before Glenna turned off the car motor. She came puffing down the steps to help with the luggage.
"It's about time you got here," the woman rushed the minute they were out of the car. "Don't keep me in suspense. What happened? Did you see that man Coulson?"
Her father glanced across the top of the car at Glenna. "Whatever happened to 'Welcome home?' I'd even settle for a plain 'Hello.'"
"Hello and welcome home. Now tell me what happened," the housekeeper demanded. "Was he there? Did you talk to him?"
"Yes, he was there, and yes, we talked to him." He nodded his head with each answer. "But he turned us down flat."
Hannah stared at him. Glenna could appreciate the housekeeper's confusion. How could a man look so cheerful when he had just announced—for all intents and purposes—that he was going broke?
"You're pulling my leg," she accused.
Her father assumed an expression of shocked innocence. "I haven't even laid a hand on you, Hannah. How can you say that?"
"Orin Reynolds, you know precisely what I mean," the housekeeper scolded him impatiently and turned to Glenna. She was having trouble hiding a smile as she unlocked the trunk to remove their luggage. "You tell me what happened, Glenna."
"Dad told you the truth, Hannah." There was an instant's hesitation before she added, "Mr. Coulson wasn't interested in dad's proposal."
"Would I lie about something like that, Hannah?" her father chided.
"Well, I certainly didn't expect you to be smiling about it," the woman retorted. "Don't you realize that you're going to be losing the roof over your head? Where are you going to get the money to put food on the table? Providing, of course, that you still have a table. And—"
Picking up one of the lighter suitcases, her father clamped a hand on the housekeeper's shoulder in action that indicated he was considering joining forces with her. "Hannah, you are an excellent cook. You wouldn't happen to have a recipe for a good sour mash?"
The plump woman had taken one step toward the house. She stopped abruptly at his question, her mouth opening in silent shock. Glenna wouldn't have been surprised if she had dropped one of the suitcases in her hands.
"What's the matter with this man?" She turned roundly on Glenna for an explanation. "Has he taken leave of his senses?"
"It's a long story, Hannah," Glenna laughed. "I'm sure dad will tell you all about it."
The housekeeper eyed him sternly before starting again for the house. "It'd better be good. Otherwise I'm calling a doctor. You could be having some side effects from that medicine you're taking," she grumbled.
As they reached the front door a car turned into the driveway. "It's Bruce." Glenna recognized the wagon.
She and her father waited on the stoop while the housekeeper went on inside. Bruce stopped the car beside the red Porsche and smiled a greeting as he climbed out.
"It looks like I timed it just right," he remarked noting the luggage they were carrying. "How did it go?"
"It didn't." Her father held the door open for Glenna to precede him into the house.
"I was afraid of that," Bruce replied with an I-told-you-so look and followed them into the house. "What are you going to do now?"
Setting the luggage inside the door, her father took the question seriously and didn't tease him the way he had Hannah. "Since we can no longer postpone the inevitable, we might as well start planning for it and make it as painless as possible." He led the way into the study.
"How?" Bruce raised an eyebrow and glanced at Glenna as if expecting a protest from her, but she had been over all this with her father during the drive home.
"We can begin the necessary, legal proceedings to turn the company assets over to its mortgage holders and debtors. Tomorrow I'm going to contact a real-estate company and put the house on the market." His gaze swept the room in a mental assessment of its contents. "We have a lot of furniture; household goods and miscellaneous items. We need to decide what we're going to keep so we can start selling the rest and get the best price that we can."
"But where will you go?" Bruce appeared a little dumbfounded by Orin's calmness.
"That's another thing." Her father stopped beside his desk and absently picked up a wood-carved decoy that served as a paperweight. "We need to look for a smaller place to live, maybe closer to town, although we might find a cheaper place if we stay in the country."
"What will you do without the income from the mine?" Because Bruce was well aware that a man of Orin's age with a history of heart trouble would have a difficult, if not impossible time finding work.
Glenna offered her solution to that. "Tomorrow I'm going to start making job applications. I should still be able to keep submitting freelance articles and supplement my income with writing."
"I used to be pretty good at woodworking." Her father studied the handmade decoy in his hand. "When you were younger, Glenna, I used to mess around in the workshop a lot. Remember the dollhouse I made for you and all the doll furniture?"
"There were lights in the room that you could turn on and off, operated by batteries," she recalled.
"That was enjoyable, building that." He smiled reminiscently. "It would be good therapy, too. Maybe I could set up a little shop. I have all the tools."
"Why'd you ever stop doing that?" Glenna wondered aloud.
"I don't know." He considered the question. "The business began taking more of my time, more paperwork, more problems. Then your mother died and…you know the rest."
"Personally I think the workshop is an excellent idea," she concluded. "What about you, Bruce?"
"Sure," he agreed with a trace of vagueness. "It sounds good."
"Is something bothering you?" her father questioned at the bewildered look on Bruce's face.
"No." There was a slightly dazed shake of his head. "I was just wondering how you came up with all these plans when you only talked to Coulson this weekend."
That drew a smile from her father. "Once you stop concentrating on keeping your head above water, it's easy to decide to swim to shore."
"I guess that's true," Bruce conceded.
"How were things at the mine while we've been gone? Did anything happen that I should know about?" It was an inquiry that was reluctantly made. Glenna could tell her father was asking because he was aware that it was still his responsibility for a while longer.
There was definitely relief in his face when Bruce shook his head. "No, it's just been routine."
"Good." He nodded and began turning the decoy in his hand, inspecting it absently. Coming to a decision, he set the wooden duck down. "I think I'll walk out to the garage and see what kind of shape my tools are in." He was halfway across the room before it occurred to him that he was deserting his guest. "You will be staying for dinner, won't you, Bruce?"
"I'd like that, thank you, if you think there's enough to go around," Bruce accepted.
"With Hannah cooking there always is." Her father continued to the foyer. "I won't be long."
Alone in the parlor-turned-study with Bruce, Glenna wandered to the fireplace. In the last few minutes she had caught herself making unfavorable comparisons between Bruce and the more dynamic Jett. One puzzle had been solved. At last she understood why she hadn't been inclined to let her relationship with Bruce develop into a more serious one. Despite all his good qualities, and Bruce had his share, there was a vital ingredient missing from his physical chemistry. Without it there was no volatile combustion.
The knowledge convinced Glenna that her relationshi
p with Bruce would always be a casual one, but that didn't mean she didn't care about him, or wasn't concerned about his future. She turned to look at him.
"What are you going to do, Bruce, when the mine does shut down?" He had become such a part of her life in the past three years it was difficult for Glenna to picture a time when he wouldn't be around. "Have you given any thought to it?" she asked, since he had always been convinced it was unavoidable.
"I've managed to put a little money aside. I thought I might take a couple of months off, enjoy a long vacation for a change," he smiled lazily. "I can give you and your father a hand settling into a new place, and help him set up his workshop if that's what he finally decides to do. That way I can take my time and look for a really good job instead of taking the first one that comes along.
"Will you put in your application at other mining companies?" If he accepted a position away from this immediate area, Glenna knew they would inevitably drift apart. Sooner or later, she supposed, that had to happen.
"Naturally." He moved to stand beside her and lean a hand on the fireplace mantle. "That's where my expertise and experience are."
"But is it what you want?" It had been something her father had been forced into doing. "Do you like it?"
"Like it?" Bruce repeated with a shake of his head, an ardent glow firing his eyes. "I love it."
"Doesn't it ever bother you to go down that shaft?" Glenna was curious.
"I feel at home there. In a strange way I feel safe as though I was in the womb of the earth. It's something I can't really explain," he shrugged finally. "I wouldn't want to do anything else. What made you ask that?"
"I guess because I never knew until this morning that dad never wanted to run the mine. He's been in the business all these years, but it's never been what he wanted. Yet he's struggled and fought all this time to keep it in operation." She felt it spoke highly of his dedication and sense of responsibility. "It's ironic, isn't it, that out of something bad there is good. Dad is finally free of the mine."
"It's hard to believe he's the same person I saw last week. He's a changed man," Bruce commented. "I was afraid he might take it hard. But you're right, he seems relieved and happier than I've seen him."