Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four

by Vivian Vaughan

  Rubal recalled the argument he had overheard between Cleatus and Molly earlier. “Would it be worth it, cutting another man’s timber?”

  Cleatus turned to Rubal with a frown. “For someone new to the area, you sure are curious about this difficulty.”

  Rubal backed off. “Not curious, just interested. Same as everybody else from Orange clear to Apple Springs.” Before he could come up with another topic of conversation, Molly called them to supper.

  As the little boys had indicated earlier, Rubal and Cleatus were the only guests at dinner. Exactly what had driven away the Blake House’s paying guests wasn’t clear, but Molly’s earlier announcement that she didn’t board loggers could have something to do with it.

  In this part of the country, loggers were as plentiful as fleas on a hound dog, and those who worked for L&M needed places to stay. Unlike other timber companies, Lutcher & Moore didn’t force their employees to live in company towns or shop at company stores, nor did L&M pay with company tokens. Cash every Saturday night. Cash Miss Molly Durant could obviously put to good use.

  The large walnut dining table was laid with crisp white linens and had been set family style with plates along each side, bowls and platters of steaming, if simple, fare down the center—sweet potato casserole, green peas, fried onions, two platters of cornbread, and one holding the three catfish he and the boys had caught, fried to a crispy golden brown.

  Everyone except Rubal seemed to know his place, but Molly quickly remedied that, motioning him to a chair to the right of Cleatus, who already stood at the head of the table.

  Molly stood at the opposite end, near the kitchen, with Little Sam hidden behind the rails of his chair to her right and Willie Joe’s tow head just topping his chair to Molly’s left. Travis rushed in, quickly claiming the place to the banker’s left. The chair between Travis and Little Sam remained untaken.

  He heard the tiredness in Molly’s voice when she spoke. “Cleatus, if you please, grace.”

  Cleatus frowned at the vacant place. “Where’s Lindy?”

  “Late.”

  Rubal recalled the penalty for arriving late to table.

  Cleatus hesitated a moment longer, however, and they were rewarded with Lindy’s presence. A rustle of skirts preceded her down the staircase, even before she made her grand entrance.

  At sight of her Rubal’s eyebrows shot up. Only a couple of short hours ago Lindy had been a gawky girl in pigtails. Now her black hair framed her face in ringlets, one side held in place by an elaborate pearl-trimmed comb. Her gown was as blue as the sky above, out of fashion even to Rubal’s eyes, and cut down to there. Rubal swallowed. His eyes drifted down her chest, then quickly back to her brown eyes, which focused on him as though he were the only other person in the room.

  “LINDY!” Molly’s gasp echoed through the suddenly quiet room.

  “Sorry I’m late, Molly.” Without taking her eyes off Rubal, she claimed the chair between her two brothers, standing to her full height, directly across the table from him.

  “I smell catfish,” she enthused. “We haven’t had catfish in ever so long, Jubal.”

  “Mr. Jarrett, Lindy.”

  Rubal cast an awkward glance to Molly, who stood, hands on hips, glowering at her sister. Where his eyes had feared to venture, Molly’s traveled with no trouble.

  Cleatus cleared his throat. “Let us pray.”

  Rubal quickly bowed his head, hoping the eager young girl across the table had bowed hers, too. Already, he had indigestion. He was struck again by the disparity between the course he had envisioned this evening taking, and the actual events.

  Cleatus’s prayer was brief and to the point. All sat. Rubal kept his attention on the tabletop—his plate, his silverware, the platters immediately in front of him. He dared not look up for fear of the attention he was drawing from across the table.

  From the opposite end, Molly began passing food. She served Little Sam’s plate, then her own and Willie Joe’s, before passing the platters around. Inside she was smoldering. What should she do? Send Lindy to change? That’s what she wanted to do. But it would embarrass the girl. If she could just ignore her, perhaps—

  But ignoring Lindy was impossible. She wore one of the last great party dresses their mother made before their lives fell apart; Molly hadn’t even thought of that gown in years—well, in a year, anyway. Once, she had briefly planned—

  Without intending to, she cast a wistful eye to Jubal Jarrett—who resembled his twin brother in many ways, not the least of which was the effect he had on women. Especially, it seemed, the women in her family.

  He was eating silently, thankfully, and listening to Cleatus, who, as he did at every meal, repeated his own life story. For the children’s sake, she knew. But that didn’t make it less boring.

  “Adopted by Albert and Prudence Farrington when I was ten.” He inclined his head, adding for Rubal’s benefit, “Albert Farrington, President of the Apple Springs Bank.”

  “Congratulations,” Rubal commented, with a last-minute attempt to conceal his sarcasm. Cleatus Farrington, however, didn’t appear to notice.

  “My folks were dirt-poor,” he was saying, “couldn’t provide the necessary education.”

  “You must have missed your family,” Rubal offered.

  Molly knew the recitation by heart: Not one whit. No, sir. Best thing that ever happened to a youngun like me. Got me up and out, I always say. Up and out of poverty. The Farringtons are my family. Gave me their name, their prestige, made me their heir.

  When the banker paused to draw breath, Travis changed the subject. “Master Taylor received the matriculation information from San Augustine Academy.”

  A genuine smile brightened Cleatus’s banker-white face. “Aw, now that’s fine, Travis. Really fine. I take it he and Mrs. Taylor are still eager to help you get your education.”

  Travis cast a defiant eye to Molly. Straightening his shoulders, he looked boldly back at Cleatus. “Yes, sir. Master Taylor is determined to find a way for me to go to school. He engaged me to sweep the schoolhouse and keep things repaired around there. He says fall enrollment—”

  “Travis,” Molly interrupted from the opposite end of the table. “You owe Mr. Jarrett a thank-you for chopping wood and for milking Old Bertha.”

  Travis glanced at Rubal, mumbled “Thanks,” then continued to discuss the prospects of going away to school in the fall.

  Rubal ate quietly, leery of raising his eyes, lest he find the girl across the table ogling him. Willie Joe called his attention.

  “Hey, Mr. Jarrett, how’d you like our cats?”

  Molly noted the relief on Rubal’s face when he turned his attention to Willie Joe. They would run him off, she thought suddenly. They would run him off for sure. If not her own surliness, then Lindy’s brashness, or Cleatus’s tedious conversations.

  “Not bad,” Rubal was responding. “Not bad at all.” He lifted his eyes to Molly. “Your sister deserves the credit, though, for cooking ’em up like this.”

  “Not me,” Molly objected. “Sugar.”

  “Sugar?”

  For a moment their eyes held, and the people around them vanished. It didn’t take long, though, for Molly to recall that she wasn’t looking into Rubal Jarrett’s sensuous brown eyes, but his brother’s. Why, he would think her as wanton as Iola Young claimed—or as Lindy was trying to make herself out to be.

  “Oh, yes, Sugar,” Rubal acknowledged, glancing toward the kitchen.

  Flustered by the exchange, Molly turned to the sideboard behind her. She fetched the chocolate pie and cut it into wedges, explaining without looking up from her task, “Sugar has been with our family since before the war.”

  She set the first piece in front of Little Sam. “Here you go, Will—”

  “I’m Little Sam, Molly.”

  Molly stared at the child vacantly a moment, then muttered, “I know, honey.”

  Willie Joe got the second piece, after which Molly passed the pie across h
im to Rubal.

  He took it, knowing better than to try to catch her eye again.

  “Sugar made this pie, too,” Willie Joe offered.

  “She’s the bestest cook we ever had,” Little Sam added.

  “Don’t be a goonybird,” Willie Joe retorted. “Sugar’s the only cook we ever had.”

  Rubal concentrated on transferring a wedge of the chocolate pie to his plate. “From the taste of things, this is one lucky family.”

  Silence greeted that statement, and he looked up to see Cleatus and Molly exchanging silent messages, while the children stared wide-eyed at the obvious misinterpretation of the state of their affairs.

  “It could be a very lucky family,” Cleatus proclaimed with emphasis.

  “Cleatus—” Molly began.

  Little Sam broke the tension. “Can we go fishin’ again tomorrow, mister?”

  Rubal studied Molly’s flustered face. “It’s up to your sister. If sh—”

  “Hush, Little Sam,” Lindy interrupted. “Jubal isn’t interested in spending all his time at that old fishing hole. He isn’t a child anymore.”

  Rubal met her eyes directly for the first time since she sashayed into the dining room intent on seduction. “As a matter of fact, Lindy, your brothers and I had a great time today. I haven’t spent near enough time lately, fishing and the like. Way I see it, a person should try to hold onto a little bit of his childhood—leastways, he shouldn’t forget how to enjoy the simple things.”

  Lindy shrugged her creamy shoulders and smiled. “Maybe I should try it, then. If I come along, will you bait my hook, Jubal? I hate wriggly worms.”

  “LIN—,” Molly admonished.

  “I’ll bait your hook, Lindy,” Willie Joe offered in such a serious tone that Rubal let out a sigh of relief. He glanced to Molly. Her lips were pursed, her face stern. He could practically read her thoughts. She was sorry she’d allowed him to stay. If things kept up like this, he’d be sorry, too.

  Molly scraped back her chair, signaling an end to the meal. When she attempted to stand, she had to grip the edge of the table to conceal her trembling. She didn’t know what upset her most—Lindy’s flirting, Travis’s mulishness, Cleatus’s tireless ploys to run her life, or Jubal Jarrett’s presence.

  Jubal—a reminder of the best thing that had ever happened to her. And it had lasted about three hours. The ensuing hurt, however, appeared destined to last a lifetime.

  “Cleatus, take Mr. Jarrett to the porch, while Lindy and I help Sugar with the dishes.”

  Lindy, already on her feet, swished her skirts, dusting off crumbs. “I really couldn’t, Molly. Not in this—”

  “Tell you what.” Rubal clapped Willie Joe’s shoulder. He grinned at Little Sam, then looked across Lindy to Travis. “Since we’re the ones had all the fun today, why don’t we do the manly thing and help out?”

  His suggestion was greeted with wide eyes from Willie Joe, an eager smile from Little Sam, and a frown from Travis. Rubal didn’t allow himself to check Lindy’s response. He met Molly’s startled expression.

  “You and Cleatus enjoy the porch,” he told her. “We won’t be long.”

  “You’re suggesting we wash dishes?” Travis questioned as though he couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. “That’s woman’s work.”

  Rubal smiled, although he felt more like cuffing the boy’s ears or spanking his hindside. “When a man’s on his own, Travis, he finds out real quick that anything he considers strictly woman’s work doesn’t get done unless he’s willing to do it himself.” He glanced at Cleatus. “Isn’t that so, Cleatus?” The banker’s face was frozen somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

  “You bet,” he agreed halfheartedly.

  Rubal turned away, hiding a smile. Cleatus’s enthusiasm was obviously double-edged. He’d like the time with Molly, but on the other hand, Rubal could see the banker wondering whether he would be expected to take a turn in the kitchen next time.

  “The Farringtons have a maid,” Travis returned.

  “Lucky for them.” Rubal turned to Molly who stood frozen beside her chair, consternation written on her face.

  “Get out of here,” Rubal told her jovially. “Come on boys.” With an armload of dishes, he made for the kitchen door.

  “Mr. Jarrett,” Molly objected. “You’re a paying guest.”

  Rubal grinned at her over the dirty plates. “So you keep reminding me.”

  “But I insist. I can’t allow you—”

  “Cleatus,” he called, keeping his eyes on Molly. This was the closest he’d been to her since arriving. His heart thudded; he watched the vein in her neck throb and knew she felt his presence, too. With great reluctance, he called again, “Cleatus, come get this ornery woman of yours.”

  Molly moved aside and Rubal nudged Willie Joe. “Bring those platters down the center. And you, Little Sam, bring the silverware.”

  Lindy began loading up from her side of the table. “I’ll help.”

  “Not on your life,” Rubal replied lightly, knowing it would likely be his life, if he found himself alone with her. “Your sister’d kick me out for sure if I let you get dishwater on that dress. Run upstairs and change, like a good girl.”

  He hadn’t wanted to put Lindy down, but the way he saw things, it was either now or later—later, after things got out of hand. He hadn’t let Molly run him off with that shotgun, and he danged sure wasn’t going to let her little sister run him off with illicit intentions.

  Like he’d expected, Lindy didn’t take his chastisement lightly. Embarrassment blossomed in red splotches on her face and as far down her creamy throat as he dared look. She stalked from the room, turning in the doorway with a heated retort. “You’re not my father.”

  Before he could respond, she sashayed up the stairs, leaving him to feel the fool for coming back to this place.

  Sugar met them in the kitchen, standing beside the water pump, plump hands on plumper hips. Her eyes danced. She shook her head in wonderment. “I always knew the Lord’d made one good man. Jes’ never thought I’d live long enough to meet him.”

  Rubal winked at the grinning old woman. “Don’t go giving me credit for anything other’n washing a few dishes. I guarantee I don’t deserve it.”

  Eager to emulate their latest hero, the little boys pitched in, laughing, teasing, giggling when Rubal flicked them with the end of a cup towel. Travis remained solemn, resentful. Stoically drying one dish, he carried it across the room to the cupboard, then took his time drying another.

  When the last dish was put away, Sugar shooed them out of her kitchen. “You boys get ready for bed now, and you, Mr. Jarrett, run see what mischief you can cook up for us tomorrow.”

  Rubal laughed. “Maybe we’ll make this a nightly ritual. After all, if we spend our afternoons sitting on a riverbank, we ought to make up for it somehow.”

  “I won’t have to do any of this much longer,” Travis declared.

  Rubal cocked an eyebrow.

  “When I go to live with Master Taylor, his wife will do our cooking and cleaning and—”

  “And wood chopping?” Rubal inquired.

  Travis glared at the new boarder. “Master Taylor says I’m too smart not to have an education. Master Taylor says a brain is a sorry thing to waste.”

  One thing that never failed to ruffle Rubal’s feathers, was when someone thought brains worked on their own. He figured it took a man twenty-four hours of hard work day in and day out to put a good brain to use. “Tell Master Taylor I agree, son. Way I see it, the quickest place for a brain to go to waste is in an idle body.”

  Heaving an indignant huff, Travis headed upstairs by the back staircase. Unsure what to do next, Rubal hesitated to return to the front porch. Likely his presence would be unwelcome; he knew for a certainty that if he were alone with Molly he wouldn’t welcome intrusion. But neither did he like the idea of leaving her alone with Cleatus after the children went to bed, fiancé or not.

  Reaching the front
hall he heard voices raised in argument. He stood a moment to give them time to finish.

  “You’re overreacting, Molly, as usual,” Cleatus was saying.

  “Overreacting? Prudence Farrington had no right to contact my aunt about taking in the children.”

  “Mother and your Aunt Charlotte have been friends since they were children, Molly. They grew up together, for heaven’s sake. They keep in touch. It wasn’t like she wrote your aunt out of the blue—”

  “She had no right mentioning the children—or…or our personal situation.”

  “She did it for us, Molly. Can’t you understand?”

  “No.” Molly’s voice sounded strained. “I won’t tolerate her interference, Cleatus. Not any more than I’ll tolerate interference from Iola Young and her Ladies’ Aid Society. They’re determined to separate this family. Well they won’t succeed. They want to put children in foster homes! Separate foster homes.”

  “Be fair, Molly. You can’t expect one family to take in four orphans.”

  “They are not orphans.”

  “Their parents are dead.”

  “They have me. We have each other. We’re a family.”

  “You’re being unreasonable. Look around. What can you give these children? You don’t know how to run a business, Molly. No one expects you to. But you can’t bullheadedly refuse to do what’s best for the children. You heard Travis talking about going away to school. Do you want to deprive him of that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And Lindy. A disgrace. You saw how she flaunted herself in front of Jarrett. And you did nothing to control her.”

  “What could I have done?”

  “My point, exactly. You can’t do anything with them. They’re running wild. They need strong, firm guidance.”

  “When we get married—”

  “Molly, listen to me. Hear what I say. I know you can’t understand the financial side of things. I don’t expect you to. I’ll take care of your business. But I can’t support such a large family. We’d never have anything of our own. We could never have children of our own. You want children, don’t you, Molly?”