Stay a Little Longer

by Dorothy Garlock

  Mason watched as Zachary made his way up the short walk and let himself in through the front door, leaving behind him the audible click of the lock being turned, the noise carrying out into the cold night.

  Hurrying toward the rear of the house, Mason saw more lights being turned on as his brother proceeded deeper through the darkened rooms. Ever darker shadows enveloped him as he headed closer to the trees at the back of the property, their tall branches stretching into the night sky, blocking out the brilliant moon and stars above. Crunching sticks and pine needles, his approach startled a pair of rabbits, who scampered away.

  As a child, Mason had spent hours playing on his father’s property, learning each and every secret it might hold. In order to escape from Sherman’s overly protective eye, he’d needed a way to get in and out of the house undetected; it was this avenue he would use to gain entry.

  Mason jumped up and grabbed the low-hanging branch of a maple tree that grew beside the big house, pulling himself up from the ground with little effort. Scaling a series of branches, he easily found the familiar handholds. Quickly rising in the leafless tree, he shimmied out onto a branch that overhung the roof. After listening for any signs of movement, he took a deep breath and dropped onto the house, fearful that the sound of his heavy landing would echo throughout the house.

  Don’t hear a thing, Zachary…

  His breath caught in his chest, Mason waited for some sign that he had been detected, but the only answer was continued silence.

  The pitch of the roof was steeper than Mason remembered, but he managed to pull himself upward by holding on to the outside edge. He maintained his precarious balance carefully. Close above him, two windows looked out onto the lake and the southern horizon; he knew that his father’s room was the one on the right.

  Inch by inch, Mason made his way, wary of losing his footing. Finally, he reached out and held fast to the pitched edge of the window’s roofed overhang.

  Mason’s heart beat furiously in his chest, but he knew it wasn’t from the exertion of climbing the roof; on the other side of the window, he was sure to find his father. While he had rushed to the house so that he could look upon Sherman Tucker, now he hesitated.

  “C’mon now,” he chided himself. “It’s too late to turn back.”

  Peeking out in front of the glass, Mason tried to see inside the room, but only darkness was reflected back at him. As usual, the window wasn’t latched; for as long as he could remember, his father enjoyed having a breeze while he slept, something that Zachary clearly hadn’t paid much attention to, and thus the window remained unlocked. Mindful of any squeaks that might inadvertently announce him, Mason lifted the sash and stepped into his father’s room.

  For a long moment, Mason stood frozen, fearful even to breathe. The inside of the room seemed darker than outdoors, but his eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness. Eventually, he saw clearly enough to recognize that his father’s bedroom had changed little in eight years; though the house was representative of the wealth Sherman Tucker had accumulated, the room in which his son stood was much simpler. Only sparse furnishings were visible: an ordinary dresser, a well-worn table, and a plain lamp complemented the bed.

  Still crouched by the window, Mason followed a faint sliver of moonlight to where it illuminated a patch of the bed. There, with a wool blanket covering him, lay his father.

  As he moved closer to the bed, Mason’s breath was torn from his lungs when his eyes fell upon Sherman Tucker as he slept soundly, so great was the change that had fallen upon the man. Deep lines and wrinkles creased his forehead, his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes. Age spots haphazardly dotted his skin. His hair, once black with tinges of white, was now snowy wisps. But worst of all was the way his mouth sagged, turned down in a permanent frown, unwilling or unable to right itself. Tears welled in Mason’s eyes as he saw what his father had become in his absence.

  “Oh, Papa,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

  Regret clutched at Mason’s heart. For all the long years he had been gone, he’d never once imagined that a man as vibrant, as full of life as Sherman Tucker would be struck so low.

  Mason cursed the day he had decided to remain away from Carlson and those he loved. In all of those years, he’d never truly grasped the many consequences of his actions. With Zachary more than willing to snatch the reins of power at the bank, his father had been forced aside, not just from the institution he’d built from his own sweat and will, but from life itself.

  Just as Mason was about to offer whatever futile apologies he could muster for all that he had caused, he was startled by the sight of his father sputtering to consciousness, his eyes fluttering as he began to stir.

  “Who… who’s there?” he asked feebly, his gaze searching.

  Mason was stuck in place, uncertain as to what, if anything, he should do. Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t make a break for it, rush back to the window and escape out into the night, fearful that looking upon his disfigured and scarred face would only cause his father more hurt. But he had no more than possessed the thought when he dismissed it; the time for running away from life’s difficulties had ended. With unsteady fingers, he gently took his father’s feeble hand into his own.

  “It’s Mason, Papa,” he said softly. “I’ve come home.”

  Even in the meager light of the moon, Mason could see the outright shock and disbelief that raced across Sherman Tucker’s disheveled features, his eyes growing wide and his lower lip trembling. When he had finally composed himself enough to speak, his voice, while frail, still carried with it the unmistakable sound of hope.

  “How… how can it be… ?” he asked. “My son… is long gone from me…”

  “I’m here with you now.”

  “No… no, I can’t…” Sherman faltered.

  “I know how hard this must be for you to hear, Papa, how impossible it must be for you to believe,” Mason explained; with each and every word he spoke, he felt the older man’s grip tighten. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I’ve been gone so long.”

  Sherman’s eyes narrowed in the gloom, straining for a better look at the man who had entered his room, suddenly opening wide as he saw enough to dispel whatever suspicions he harbored. His breathing grew and tears soon streaked down his cheeks.

  “My… my boy…” he sobbed.

  “Please, Papa,” Mason soothed, barely able to contain the emotion that rose in his own heart.

  “Your face,” Sherman said as he raised one gnarled hand up to press it against Mason’s scars, his eyes brimming with both concern and surprise. “What… what happened… ?”

  “There will be time for us to talk soon, Papa, but… but, I… I…”

  Mason faltered, unable to say more. So much of him wanted to stay and make the amends that were needed, but he knew what was risked at Zachary’s hands. If he were to do what was right, if he were to protect Rachel, her family, and the future of his own daughter, he had to be patient.

  “But why… why must you go?” his father questioned.

  Before Mason could answer, the sound of footsteps, undoubtedly those of his brother as he made his way up the stairs, rose outside his father’s door.

  In that moment, Mason knew that he had a difficult choice to make; he could either stay and confront Zachary, bring the real story of his absence out into the open, or he could go quickly and choose another moment for the confrontation he knew was inevitable.

  Releasing his hand from his father’s grip, Mason said, “I have to go now, Papa, but I’ll be back. I promise.” He bent and kissed his father on the forehead, then swiftly crossed the room and threw open the window. He had just managed to get outside when the door behind him opened, framing Zachary in silhouette.

  Panic gripped Zachary’s chest at the sight of a stranger standing outside the window to his father’s room. He recoiled in fright, but soon calmed whatever thundering remained in his chest and rushed over to engage the window’s lock.


  By the time Zachary reached the glass, whoever had been there had slid down the roof’s incline and leapt into the limbs of the maple tree that overhung the house; all that remained to be seen of the intruder was the irregular swaying of several large branches.

  Who in the hell was that?

  “Come… come back, Mason…” his father croaked behind him.

  Zachary turned quickly, unable to believe what he thought he had heard. He was at his father’s side in an instant, his hands clenched tightly into fists. “What… what did you just say? Who was that?” he demanded.

  “Mason… it was Mason…” Sherman smiled, showing the first real emotion that his younger son could remember seeing in his face in years. Joyful tears rushed freely down his wrinkled cheeks. “Mason… was here…”

  Stunned, Zachary turned back to the window half expecting the shadowy figure to have returned. His first instinct was to believe that his father was delusional, that his illness had progressed to the point where he was imaging his long dead son coming to visit. But that ignored the fact that he had seen someone as well.

  Questions exploded in Zachary’s thoughts. He wanted to press his father to tell him exactly what had happened in the room, to shake the cobwebs from the old fool’s head and learn who the visitor had been, but looking down, he saw that his father had returned to his slumber, his eyes closed and his face somehow pleasant.

  “It’s not possible,” he said to himself. “It cannot be.”

  But somewhere in Zachary Tucker’s stomach, concern gnawed at him. There had been a man, a man who looked vaguely as Mason once had, but such a resemblance was no great stretch. The very idea that he was Mason was ridiculous even to entertain! But why had his father believed the man was Mason, why had he seemed so full of life when he otherwise looked close to death?

  A sudden rush of wind rattled the glass panes of the window, and Zachary shivered.

  Someone has been here! Who?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  WITH CHARLOTTE FINALLY put to bed and the dishes from dinner washed and set out to dry, Rachel looked curiously out the window of the boardinghouse’s kitchen, watching Mason stand solemnly on the back porch. The old hat he had worn to the performance at the school the night before was pulled down low over his face, but she could see enough of what remained visible to notice his wistful expression.

  Around him, the night hung heavily. Earlier in the day, the first flakes of snow had begun to cascade lazily from the steel-gray clouds above, covering Carlson in a soft blanket of ivory. Teasing winds pushed it about in billowing sheets. Though it was only a precursor to what would eventually come, the snow had been accompanied by a deep chill; Rachel could see Mason’s breath being exhaled in puffy clouds.

  Throughout the day, Mason had remained largely silent and distant, responding only when spoken to and giving only a weak smile when Charlotte tried to joke with him at the dinner table. Even now, his arms were folded across his broad chest, more a sign that he wanted to be left alone than to ward off the cold. Clearly, the decisions he must make were weighing on him.

  The absence of Mason’s attention bothered Rachel more than she would have ever thought possible. Though he had been missing from her life for years, she now had come to truly enjoy his company, the deep sound of his voice, and surprisingly to her, the way he looked at her. Even his scars, the reason he had remained away for so many years, did not repulse her. She still remembered the night, much like this one, only days before, when he had spoken words that had both thrilled and unsettled her, feelings she still felt. To have him so clearly upset bothered her.

  Watching Mason brood, Rachel knew that she could no longer ignore what remained unspoken between them. Hanging her apron on a hook beside the stove, she grabbed her shawl, wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, opened the door, and stepped outside.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she offered.

  “That’s about all that they’re worth these days,” he answered, smiling easily as he turned toward her.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet today, not that any of us would have been capable of getting a word in edgewise at supper with the way Charlotte carried on.”

  For almost the whole meal, Charlotte had chattered away, recounting her surprise and excitement at seeing her father watching from the rear of the gymnasium. Though her teacher had been irate at having to go out on the stage and drag her kicking and fussing back behind the curtain, the young girl cared little, and recounted her story as if it were another of her and Jasper’s exploits in the woods. She was so intent on talking that Rachel had to remind her to finish her supper.

  “It meant a lot to her that you went to the play,” Rachel added.

  “Almost as much as it meant to me, I reckon.”

  “What changed your mind? You said you wouldn’t go.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I realized that missing her performance and having to see the disappointment in her eyes was more than I could bear,” he explained. “I already have hundreds of regrets for what I’ve done, regardless of my intentions, but now I want to make it up, if I can. Charlotte is the one person I’ll not let down again.”

  His promise warmed Rachel’s heart. Gone was the man who had purposefully stayed absent from Carlson, never willing to let those who loved him know that he hadn’t perished on some foreign battlefield. In his place stood a man who understood the priority of family and was willing to make whatever sacrifices were necessary in order to uphold that bond.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” Rachel told him.

  “I didn’t know what I had waiting for me here.”

  “I cannot imagine how it must have felt to learn you had a daughter.”

  “But she’s not the only reason that—” Mason started to answer, turning to face Rachel for only an instant before falling silent and returning his gaze to the star-filled sky.

  Rachel desperately wanted him to speak to her, to say the words she knew he was choosing to leave unspoken, but understood that she couldn’t force him. Regardless of how badly she wished it were otherwise, Mason would only tell her when he was ready. For that matter, she found it nearly impossible to speak of the feelings buffeting her own heart.

  Don’t let things remain unsaid, Rachel chided herself.

  “What is… what’s bothering you, Mason?” she finally asked.

  Rachel watched as Mason took a deep breath, wondering if her wish that he would confide in her was about to come true, but when he eventually spoke, his words surprised her. “Yesterday, I… I went to see my father.”

  “But… but when?”

  “Last night,” he explained. “After I left the school, I’d meant to come back here to the boardinghouse, but then I nearly ran into Zachary on his way home from the bank.”

  Rachel gasped. “Did he see you?” she asked nervously.

  “No,” he answered. “At least not right then.”

  Mason explained that ever since the day he had gone to the cemetery and had made his peace with Eliza, he’d been doing a lot of thinking about his father. Undeniably, Sherman Tucker had played an essential role in Mason’s life, as a mentor as well as a parent. That he hadn’t told his father he was still alive, especially considering Sherman’s failing health, was something he needed to rectify. When he had encountered his brother, the desire to see his father simply became too great to ignore.

  “So you followed Zachary?” Rachel asked.

  Mason nodded. “You had mentioned that Zachary still lived with my father, so I kept pace with him until he arrived. Once we came in sight of the house, absolutely nothing was going to stop me from seeing Papa.”

  “But with Zachary there, how did you manage?”

  With his face touched by a hint of mischief, Mason told her of how he had accomplished his goal; Rachel listened breathlessly as he recounted climbing the tree, scaling the roof, and making his way into his father’s darkened room.

  “When I looked down at him, when I saw
how much he had changed, maybe because he thought I’d died in the war, I felt devastated. I couldn’t believe my absence had caused that much pain. Even after learning that Alice had died in childbirth and seeing the burden that was placed upon you and the void that it made in Charlotte’s life, it wasn’t until that moment, seeing my father in that state, that I truly realized how much anger and suffering I caused for everyone.”

  Though there had undeniably been a time when Rachel would have been a willing voice in the raging chorus of hatred for Mason Tucker, blaming him for the misfortune that had befallen Alice and her family, her feelings had unquestionably changed. Listening to him speak with such heartfelt anguish filled her with compassion.

  “When my father spoke to me, my heart nearly broke,” Mason added.

  “Did… did he know that it was you?”

  “He looked at me and said my name, reached out and put his hand on my scars and appeared to have recognized that it was me, but with his health so clearly deteriorating, I wonder if he’ll even remember I was there the next time he wakes. Hell, even if he does recall my visit, he’ll probably think it was nothing but an unwelcome dream.”

  “But you fulfilled your wish,” Rachel argued. “You got to see him.”

  “I did,” Mason acknowledged with a frown. “Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it.”

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice panicked.

  “I think that Zachary might have seen me as I was leaving.”

  “Oh, dear!” Dread filled Rachel’s chest at the thought of Zachary once again becoming involved in their lives. Having already stated his intense and seemingly insatiable desire to own the boardinghouse, demonstrating it through his willingness to have Otis attacked as Rachel believed, she knew that there was no telling what Mason’s brother was capable of. “Are you sure?”