Stay a Little Longer

by Dorothy Garlock

  “What happened to my poor arm ain’t got nothin’ to do with my havin’ too much to drink,” Otis explained with the air of a schoolteacher stating the obvious truth. “I’d of beat the tar outta that ruffian if I hadn’t slipped on a damn piece of ice, that’s all.”

  “This sounds like another of your stories,” Mason chided.

  “Uncle Otis tells good stories,” Charlotte added.

  “Darn right, my dear!” Otis exclaimed.

  “I just don’t understand why, since this is the first time that you’ve seen Mason in over eight years, you feel the need to bore him with stories of your exploits,” Rachel continued. “Especially considering what just happened to you.”

  “It’s fine, Rachel.” Mason smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  “There, you see?” Otis bellowed triumphantly. “Besides, with Mason’s bein’ gone from Carlson for so many years, he ain’t gonna know any of the true and bestest gossip. All I’m tryin’ to do is educate the fella! Everyone in town knows I’m the one with the biggest mouth!”

  Inwardly, Rachel cringed at her uncle’s words. From the moment Mason had suggested letting Otis in on their secret, she’d been reluctant; all it would take would be one slip of the man’s drunken tongue and all of Carlson would know that Mason had returned. In counterpoint, Mason had argued about the difficulty in continuing to keep it from the man, and besides, if Otis were to find himself on another bender and drunkenly talk of what he knew, no one was likely to believe him.

  “Hopefully you can keep your mouth busy with other things,” she teased Otis playfully, “because supper is ready.”

  Shooing Jasper out from underfoot, Rachel put one hand on Mason’s shoulder as she placed the plate of roast on the table. In that instant, she could clearly feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt and her heart began to beat just a little bit faster than before. Quickly stepping away from the table and back toward the stove, she wiped at her brow in embarrasment.

  Since Mason had come to her aid in the darkness of her room, chasing away the lecherous Jonathan Moseley, she had begun to feel differently in his presence. After so many years struggling to care for Charlotte, attending her many chores in the boardinghouse, and watching as life went by outside with little care whether she were a part of it or not, she had a sense of expectation. She found herself looking forward to seeing him each morning, to hearing him talk and laugh, to simply being with him. Even when they had been in the cemetery, standing before Alice’s grave under miserable skies, it had meant a great deal to her that he had asked her to stay.

  Just as Rachel was becoming lost in her confused thoughts, the door to the kitchen suddenly opened, and standing there, looking at the shocked and quite startled faces of everyone in the room, was her mother.

  Eliza Watkins stood in the doorway dressed primly in a white blouse and dark skirt, her thin arms folded over her chest. A string of pearls circled her neck, its color only a touch whiter than the paleness of her skin. She smiled a bit weakly.

  “Oh my!” Rachel gasped.

  “Grandma!” Charlotte shouted happily.

  “Well don’t that there just about beat all,” Otis declared as he and Mason got to their feet.

  Unable to control herself, Rachel rushed to her mother’s side as her own heart raced. She could scarcely believe what she was seeing with her own eyes. So many long years had passed since Eliza Watkins had ventured from her room that it was almost as if she were looking upon a dream, something that couldn’t possibly be real.

  Happiness flooded her face. In many ways, the person who had been most affected by Alice’s death had been her mother. Unable to accept that Alice had not wanted to live, even when giving birth to her own child, Eliza had placed the greatest blame upon herself. That was why she’d refused to come out of her darkened room; life had seemed too perilous for her to control.

  Until now.

  “Mother,” she said, “why… what are…”

  “You were right, Rachel,” Eliza said with a faint smile, embracing her daughter in a warm hug. “You were right. The time has come to stop living in the past.”

  Tears welled in Rachel’s eyes.

  Turning from her daughter, Eliza looked at Mason as he sat at the table, her gaze again lingering upon the scars that had disfigured his face, the markings responsible for her revulsion of the night before. “I want you to know that, while I can’t let go of all of my feelings of anger, I do feel sorry that I slapped you,” she explained. “I suppose that I’ve been every bit as unfair to you as I’ve been to myself over the years, so I finally decided, with a bit of encouragement from Rachel, that it’s time to move on, well past time, as a matter of fact.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Watkins,” Mason answered.

  “So are we gonna stand here jabberin’ away and let this here roast grow cold or are we gonna eat?” Otis asked, licking his lips in anticipation.

  “Yeah!” Charlotte echoed.

  “Am I welcome to join?” Eliza asked.

  “For today and forever more,” Rachel answered, happier than she had been in a long time.

  * * *

  Shortly after she had finally managed to put Charlotte to bed, and only after agreeing to let Jasper sleep on the bed, Rachel stepped out onto the boardinghouse’s small back porch, facing the alley and clothesline. The November night’s air was crisp and she tightened her shawl around her shoulders. Above, thousands of stars twinkled in the black sky, as dazzling as jewels. Though happy to be outside, she looked about carefully; after Otis’s assault, she was on guard against some despicable act to which Zachary Tucker might stoop.

  “The night is beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice asked from the shadows.

  Rachel recoiled in fright, her eyes searching the depths of the inky darkness at the far end of the porch. There, shrouded in the night, she found Mason as he leaned up against the rickety railing.

  “Oh! You startled me!” she explained in surprise.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he apologized.

  “It’s all right,” Rachel said. “I never thought you’d be out here. I thought I’d be alone.”

  “I occasionally like to sneak out here after everyone has settled down for the night,” Mason explained. “With everything that’s happened as of late, it’s a welcome respite to be able to stare up at the sky and count a few stars. What brings you out?”

  “I suppose for the same reason.” She sighed, momentarily imaging how much both of their lives had changed with his return. “Things have been a bit… out of sorts, but now that you’re back on your feet, and especially now that my mother has finally left her room, it seems as if life is returning to normal.”

  “Although I still believe she has every right to be mad at me for what happened. You all do,” Mason said simply. “I have no expectations that my many transgressions will be forgiven overnight.”

  “They won’t be, I can promise you that.”

  “Understandably so.”

  “But I believe that we all agree that what matters now is what you do from now on,” she explained, speaking the feelings she had been unable, maybe even unwilling, to voice for days. “As I told my mother, we need to look toward the future instead of living only in the past. Alice is gone, and the truth is that none of us can change that.”

  For a moment, both of them were silent, each giving thought to what the future might mean for them. High above, Rachel watched as a shooting star streaked across the darkness, before vanishing without a trace.

  “Charlotte said that you told her you were her father,” she finally said.

  “Yes, I did.” Mason nodded, faintly visible in the darkness. “To tell you the truth, I was pretty damn nervous, but it felt wonderful that she did not seem opposed to the idea. The more thought I gave to what you said, I knew that I had to be there in Charlotte’s life, if she’ll have me.”

  Rachel’s breath caught in her chest at the recognition of the man who she had known so many
years before; Mason Tucker had always been a truly honorable, upstanding man who accepted his responsibilities willingly, no matter how heavy his burden might be to bear. With every passing day, he did more to rehabilitate himself in her eyes.

  “She will accept you, Mason,” she said. “It’s my hope that we all will.”

  “I’d like to believe you could be right.”

  “You can start by watching her perform in the school play,” Rachel announced warmly. “It’s the day after tomorrow and it’s about the only thing half as exciting as you coming back into her life.”

  “I don’t know… I don’t think that I’m ready…” he replied haltingly.

  Without Mason giving her a full explanation, Rachel knew well the dilemma he faced. As difficult as it had been for him to go to the cemetery and look upon Alice’s grave, as hard as it had been to face Eliza’s wrath, the very idea of revealing himself to the good townspeople of Carlson was almost certainly more than he was ready to endure.

  Rachel nodded. “I understand. I’ll do what I can to smooth it over with Charlotte, although it won’t be easy.”

  “Any help you can give would be appreciated.”

  Rachel tugged at her shawl, then said, “What do you plan to do next, Mason?”

  “I need to see my father,” Mason answered simply. “He needs to know that I’m alive.”

  “You’ll have to get past your brother in order to tell him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As carefully yet as thoroughly as she could, Rachel explained to Mason all of the things that had befallen Sherman Tucker in the years his elder son had been gone. Delicately, she described his father’s decline in health, his eventual withdrawal from the Carlson Bank and Trust, and Zachary’s rise to power over the community. In no uncertain terms, she told Mason of how Zachary’s dealings had ruined people’s lives and, with anger rising in her voice, of how he had made a play for ownership of the boardinghouse. She even went as far as to surmise that Zachary had been behind the attack upon Otis, and that if he knew his brother were still alive, there would be no telling to what ends he would be willing to go.

  “He lives with your father in his home,” Rachel added. “Though some people believe that he does so in order to care for Sherman, there are others who are of the mind that he’s only protecting his own interests. With your father gone, ownership will be his.”

  “That sounds like Zachary. I’m sure he’s plotted and schemed for years.”

  “I can believe that,” Rachel said knowingly.

  “I saw him when I first came to town,” Mason said, giving thought to how Zachary had rushed down the street in such a hurry that he resembled more a fat chicken with its head cut off than a banker. “I suppose I should be thankful that I didn’t get close enough for him to recognize me.”

  “Knowing all of this, how are you going to be able to see your father?”

  “There’s a way,” he answered confidently.

  Again, the silence returned between them. Rachel wondered silently if it was really proper for her to be enjoying Mason’s company as much as she did; after all, he was once married to her sister. She was lost in her complicated ruminations when he spoke.

  “If you’re cold, you don’t need to stand out here on my account,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Rachel answered, even as the hairs on her arms stood on end from the chill. The truth was that there was nowhere she’d rather be than standing there with him. That she had so much as thought such a forward thing made her face flush with embarrassment.

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything that you’ve done for me,” Mason said, his voice as soft as the night breeze.

  “You don’t have to thank me.” Rachel smiled, relieved that his words had given pause to her conflicted thoughts. “Nursing you back to health really wasn’t that hard, other than the smell,” she joked.

  “That’s not what I mean,” he explained, ignoring her attempt at humor. Confidently, he took a couple of steps toward her, stopping only when he was at her side; though he wasn’t touching her, Rachel could feel warmth coming from his very presence. “I’m talking about what you’ve done for Charlotte and the burden you’ve had to carry here at the boardinghouse. Such a weight shouldn’t have been yours to bear.”

  “You don’t have to say a word about Charlotte. I love her as if she were my own daughter.”

  “I thank you just the same.”

  Gently, Mason reached out and placed his hand upon Rachel’s shoulder. In that instant when they touched, confusion reigned in her heart, filling her bewildered mind with as many questions as there were stars in the sky. On the one hand, she wanted to melt pleasurably into his arms, but she couldn’t help but wonder at how she could feel such things about a man who was once married to her sister. So instead Rachel remained frozen, unsure of what to do. Though she wanted to ask Mason his thoughts, to try to find answers to her endless stream of questions, in the end there was nothing for her to do but escape.

  “I… I should get some rest,” she said, the words rushing from her mouth as she stepped back away from Mason and toward the door. “I… I just…” was all she could manage before hurrying back inside.

  By the time she had reached the staircase, her eyes were already filling with tears.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  RACHEL SAT QUIETLY in the stifling heat of the school’s gymnasium, facing the impromptu stage that had been constructed for the night’s performance. Brown and orange leaves had been made from paper and paint and then strung along the front of the stage like bunting. A hand-drawn sign declaring a “Celebration of Harvest” had been placed upon an easel fronting the crowd. A makeshift tree had been set out as a prop.

  Folding chairs were arranged in neat rows for the audience, which was made up entirely of parents and other children who had been dragged along. With the performance soon to begin, most of the seats were full. Up near the stage, one of the teachers was tuning the piano, carefully plunking each key. Occasionally a head poked out from the shadows for a brief look at the crowd before its owner was shooed backstage.

  Rachel had already been to a couple of these performances to watch Charlotte and her fellow classmates struggle through their show. The theme of the play changed little; with Carlson’s lifeblood so closely connected to the land on which it had been settled, most plays were about one harvest or another. There would be plenty of polite applause, a laugh or two, often unintended, and finally a standing ovation as all of the children came back onstage for an encore.

  The room was growing warm. All around her, men and women fanned themselves with the homemade programs the students had made. Though a couple of ceiling fans had been installed in the last year, they did little to alleviate the discomfort, only managing to stir the heat. Beads of sweat began to appear on Rachel’s forehead and cheeks, but she ignored them.

  Two days had passed since her encounter with Mason on the back porch of the boardinghouse, and since that time he had constantly been in her thoughts. Over and over she had replayed the events of that night: the way he had smiled, how he’d eased over to where she stood, but particularly the words he had spoken. Ever since, whenever she was around him, she’d been so conscious of what had happened that she’d been unable to simply be herself. She wondered if he had noticed.

  Her life had been made more difficult as a result of Mason’s unwillingness to come to the play. Though she recognized his reasons for not attending, Charlotte hadn’t been as understanding as Rachel would have hoped. When informed of her father’s decision, she had burst into tears and gone running up the stairs to her room. It had taken all of the coaxing and cajoling that Rachel could muster to persuade her to come out and go to the school. She had sulked the whole way, sniffling and pouting with every step.

  Rachel had also hoped that her mother might attend, but she hadn’t been the least bit surprised when Eliza declined the offer. Though sh
e had already remained outside of her room more than Rachel had expected, going out to such a public event was still a step too far. So while Otis headed off to the tavern and Mason remained at home, Rachel had accompanied Charlotte alone.

  Suddenly, a shout of “I don’t want to!” echoed through the gymnasium. Instantly, Rachel knew just who had yelled; it had been Charlotte. The play hadn’t even begun and already there was drama.

  What more could possibly go wrong tonight?

  With her small arms crossed defiantly over her heaving chest and her lips pursed into a fierce pout, Charlotte frowned up into the eyes of her distraught teacher, Mrs. Schumacher. Even though the woman’s mouth was fixed in a permanent smile, her full cheeks pushed up in a sort of grimace, her tired eyes betrayed her mounting unease; she had the harried look of a rabbit that knew the fox was lurking nearby. All around, children dashed about wildly, most of them in various states of dress and all of them wound tighter than grandfather clocks. But even in the midst of such chaos, the teacher’s eyes remained fixed upon Charlotte and the orange-leaf costume she was trying to coax her to put on.

  “But I don’t wanna wear that stupid thing!” the girl shouted.

  “Now Charlotte, you—”

  “I said I don’t wanna do it!”

  “We just need you to put this on, sweetheart,” her teacher pleaded in a syrupy sweet voice, as sweat began to bead on her upper lip. “After all, your family has come to watch you perform and it would be a great disappointment to them if they didn’t get to see you in your lovely costume.”

  “Not all of them, and I’m just a dumb old leaf!”

  “Just wear it, dear,” Mrs. Schumacher said, finally showing some of her mounting exasperation as she handed the costume to Charlotte. For a moment, it looked increasingly likely that she would have to force the girl to put it on, but just then a pair of children dashed by, a boy chasing a girl and grabbing menacingly at her pigtails, and the teacher’s attention was drawn elsewhere. “Walter Wiggins!” she snapped. “Walter, you stop that this instant!”