Secret Tides

by Gary E. Parker

  “I’m here,” she soothed. “Right here.”

  “After all I’ve been through,” he continued, “after all it’s cost me, cost us, we may still have to sell The Oak.”

  Camellia’s blood rose. Was the plantation all he cared about? Was that why he seemed so empty? The notion that he and his family would lose it? But surely not! What kind of heartless man would worry more about his finances than the fact that he’d just lost his wife-to-be? Not Trenton. His faults didn’t include such coarse meanness.

  “Nobody knows what will happen now,” he said. “Mother is coming here soon; hard decisions have to be made.”

  Camellia’s heart thumped heavily. Would Trenton look for another woman of means? Her face blushed with hurt again.

  “I need you,” Trenton whispered, his head still on her shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll never forget that again.”

  Although she knew she was a fool, his words melted all her anger. In spite of everything he’d done to her, she still cared for Trenton Tessier. Whether she loved him or not, she didn’t know right now. But, no matter what the future held, her concern for him would never change.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The day after Trenton Tessier returned, Josh decided the time had come to face York—not only to tell him he was leaving but also to warn him about Hillard. He found York talking to Leather Joe by the barn, the sun bright on his shoulders.

  “Got a minute?” asked Josh.

  York looked up. “Sure.”

  Leather Joe walked away. York moved to a wagon by the barn, propped a boot on a wheel. He wore the same pleased expression he’d carried ever since he came home from Charleston. Although he figured he knew why, Josh had never asked him about it. Now he decided he would. “How much did you win?”

  “A bunch,” York stated.

  “How much money you got now?” Josh asked.

  “More than you would expect, I can tell you that.”

  “Got your stake with a dead man’s money,” Josh said plainly. “I ought to have made you take it back.”

  “Don’t let your mouth overload your back,” York chuckled. “Can’t make a hound give back a rabbit once he put his teeth into it.”

  “I could’ve made you,” argued Josh, “if I’d been stronger. But I wasn’t. I was weak—I know that now.”

  “You got a busy conscience. That’s your biggest failin’ so far as I can see.”

  Josh kicked the side of the wagon wheel. “I’ve done a bit of thinking the last few weeks. That’s why I came to talk to you.”

  York spit tobacco juice into the hay by the wagon.

  Josh kept talking. “I’ve always let you take the lead. Even when I knew you were wrong. When you drank too much and got in fights. When you took the money on Mossy Bank. When you worked the servants too hard. When you … well, when you pressed Camellia to marry Master Trenton, even though you knew he wasn’t good for her.”

  “Is that what this is about?” growled York, his face gradually turning red. “Your hankerin’ for my daughter?”

  Josh kicked the wagon wheel. “No. Not all of it at least. Yes, I want to tell her she’s not my niece. But you say you don’t want her to know what kind of woman her mama was, so I’ve kept my peace about it. I don’t agree with that anymore, though. Camellia’s a grown woman; she can take a hard truth. I know she can.”

  “You think you know her better than me?”

  Josh studied York for a second. “Yes, better than you.”

  “If you were any kind of man, you wouldn’t wait for me to tell her,” he challenged. “You’d tell her yourself.”

  “I would, but I prefer you do it. It’s your right.”

  “It’s not time,” York said, laughing. “Least not yet. Until I know what Trenton will do now that his woman got hit by that carriage.”

  Josh sighed. “Beats all, don’t you think?”

  “Life is sure fragile.”

  “You figure Trenton will come back to Camellia, don’t you?”

  “No way to know. But it’s possible.” York grinned. “Strange how things take turns, ain’t it? Almost makes you believe there’s a Lord and he’s on my side.”

  Josh’s temper took over. “I can’t stand by anymore,” he said heatedly. “Let you run over people, over me.”

  York squinted hard at him. “You sound angry. Not like you.”

  “Guess I am. Not all at you either. You’ve just acted like you’ve always done, and I should expect that. I’m blaming myself, my failures. If I’d put my foot down a few times, maybe I could have turned you around, kept you from falling into bad things.”

  “I could take offense at your meanin’, little brother. Yes, I’ve stepped off the beam every now and again, I admit it. But I never claimed to be no example of virtue. Never saw no callin’ to holiness or nothin’. Didn’t get the Jesus streak that your mama put in you. I’m just a regular fella tryin’ to make a livin’. To scrape a couple of dollars together as he goes along.”

  Josh waved him off. “I’m sorry. I know I sound high and mighty when I shouldn’t. I have plenty of logs in my own eyes I need to clean out before I go after the splinter in yours. But I just can’t do it any longer. So long as I’m with you I’m trapped. I can’t turn you over to the law; no good brother would do that. But I can’t just stand by anymore either and watch you take advantage of every situation, every person. It’s too hard on me, and on my ‘busy conscience,’ as you call it.”

  York removed his hat and eyed Josh curiously. “What you plan on doin’?”

  “I’ve spent the months since Lucy’s death in deep sadness,” Josh continued. “I got two loved ones in Oak soil now. That’s changed me, caused something to shake loose.” He gazed out over the plantation. “This doesn’t mean much anymore. It’s a way to make a living but not much else. I’m not happy these days. Find my mood low and sour.”

  “If you’d take a drink every now and again, it’d ease you out some.” York grinned.

  Josh didn’t smile. “Without realizing it, I’ve come to blame myself for Lucy’s death; Anna’s too.”

  “That’s a crazy notion.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve done something wrong to cause her passing, displeased the Lord. I know better in my head, but my heart says otherwise, and it’s hard to make your heart stop talking, even when what it says is untrue. I feel like I have to make some changes, some amends, or I’m going to lose somebody else.”

  “You really believe the Lord punishes one person because of the failin’s of another?”

  “I’m not a preacher,” Josh said intently. “All I know is that sometimes it seems that way. It’s a ripple, I think. Like throwing a rock in a pond. The rock one person throws sets off a splash he can’t pull back. It washes out from there and touches people a long way off, people who don’t deserve to get touched. The bigger the rock the worse the splash, the ripple that follows. It’s not exactly the Lord hurting one because of the sins of another, but the effect turns out the same.”

  “If the Lord hurts your loved ones because of your sin, what does that mean for my loved ones?” asked York, sincere now.

  Josh grinned this time. “You saying you’ve got a few sins on you?”

  “A whole sackful,” York admitted.

  “I expect you’re better than some men, not as good as others,” said Josh. “All of us are sinners.”

  “So my loved ones might suffer for my failin’s?”

  “Maybe they already have.”

  York spat into the hay. “Don’t like that notion.”

  “None of us do,” said Josh. A bee buzzed near his head, and he brushed it off.

  “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I don’t think the Lord has taken your Anna or Lucy because of nothin’ you’ve done.”

  “I’ve got plenty of sin staining my soul.”

  “You’re as white as snow compared to most men,” argued York.

  “Not comparing myself to other men. Compa
ring myself to the Lord.”

  “You thinkin’ of that matter back in the war?”

  “That, plus not doing the right thing after Mossy Bank.”

  “You’ve tried. I know it; so do you.”

  “I didn’t try hard enough. I never made you give back the money.”

  “That’s my sin, not yours.”

  Josh kicked the wagon wheel again. “A man named Hillard came through while you were at the races.”

  York straightened. “He say what he wanted?”

  “He wanted a lot.”

  York spat at the wagon wheel. “I figured he’d show back up someday. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him about finding the man at Mossy Bank.”

  “I would have preferred you hadn’t done that.”

  “Not yours to say,” Josh said quietly.

  York spat again. “He mention the money?”

  “He asked about it, but I didn’t tell him you had it.”

  York eyed him. “You surprise me.”

  “I wanted to warn you first. Thought that fair. Give you a chance to give it back of your own accord.”

  “I’m obliged you didn’t tell him.”

  “You’ve kept secrets for me.”

  York nodded knowingly.

  “It’s the last time I do it, though,” claimed Josh. “I figure we’re square now.”

  “I reckon we are.”

  Josh stared out past the barn. “Hillard told me about a man named Tarleton. You know anything about him?”

  York clenched his fists. “Not your worry.”

  “You kill him?”

  York’s jaw tensed, so Josh knew his brother wouldn’t say anything else.

  “Hillard asked me if I knew a ‘Ruth Swanson,’” Josh said.

  York’s eyes widened. “I reckon you told him no.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You figure that’s the ‘Ruth’ you been lookin’ for, though?”

  “Yes. Who do you think she is?”

  “No way to tell.”

  “You don’t know anyone by that name either?”

  York fidgeted. Josh could see his brother struggling, almost as if he had one arm tied to two horses pulling in different directions. When York finally spoke, his face showed a seriousness Josh hadn’t seen in his whole life.

  “I don’t know for certain,” York began, “but the man my Lynette run off with back before the war … his name was Wallace Swanson.”

  Josh grunted. “You figure Ruth is connected to him?”

  “Don’t know. But there’s a picture.”

  “A what?”

  “A picture was in the bottom of the money box. It’s Wallace Swanson. Older than I remember him but still him. I’d know that face anywhere. I’m sure he took Lynette and run off with her. I’ve hated him for a long time.”

  “So Ruth might be Swanson’s wife? So what? What’s that got to do with us?”

  York shrugged.

  Josh took off his hat and tried to slow his thoughts. “Let me get this straight. We find a dead man—his name is Quincy, by the way. He’s carrying five thousand dollars and a picture of Wallace Swanson, the man who fathered Camellia and Chester. As Quincy dies, he speaks of a woman named Ruth. Then Hillard asks me if I know a Ruth Swanson? What’s all this telling us?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Wallace Swanson is Camellia’s true father,” Josh stated. “She needs to know about this.”

  York stared defiantly at him. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “It’ll do her no good,” said York.

  “But if he’s alive, she needs to know.”

  “I see no good to come of it. He’s shown he don’t love her, running away with her mama, leaving her behind. If he cared about her, why don’t he come back and get her years ago? I know I’ve got lots of faults, but I’ve stayed true to Camellia and Chester, treated them as my own all these years. I don’t want to give her up to a man she’s never known. No reason to do that.”

  Josh nodded with understanding. York made sense. But still this added another secret to keep. He hated to think of it and felt glad that he’d set his heart on leaving. Another thought came to him. Maybe York wanted to keep this secret because he hoped Trenton would come back to Camellia now that Eva Rouchard was dead. Maybe he wanted to keep her believing he was her father so he could claim his place on The Oak if Trenton and Camellia ended up marrying.

  Could York be that callous—even with Camellia? Josh didn’t know, and he had no right to ask. Besides, he was planning to leave soon. “She’s your daughter,” he finally told York. “Not my place to interfere and I won’t.” But Josh had also decided the time had come to tell York one last thing. He faced his brother straight on. “I want you to know I’m leaving.”

  “What?”

  “It’s simple enough. I’m leaving The Oak, soon as I can.”

  York didn’t blink. “What will you do for work?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I can find something, I guess.”

  For the first time, York seemed confused. “Where are you goin’?”

  “I don’t know that either. West, I expect. With war almost certain, I want to get away from it if I can. Figure there’s plenty of work there, Texas maybe.”

  “But you’re an ocean man.”

  “They have an ocean, the Gulf; or perhaps I’ll go all the way to California.”

  York scratched his beard. “What if I said I don’t want you to go?”

  “Don’t know that it would matter. My mind is set.”

  “What if I said I’d tell Camellia about Wallace Swanson? She’d know you and she weren’t kin. That’d give you a clear path to her.”

  Josh studied him. “You won’t do that. I think you’re counting on her and Trenton coming back together. Besides, I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do right now. She seems to set no store by me.”

  “You think Trenton will want her?”

  “If he’s got any head at all on his shoulders, he will.”

  “I expect he’ll need to find another woman of means.”

  “That’s no reason to marry,” Josh said, fire in his eyes.

  “A man does what he has to do,” York shot back. “I can understand his choice real well.”

  “Then you don’t know anything about love.”

  “I reckon I don’t.”

  Josh straightened, stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll help you get the crop in the field. But you’ll need to find another man after that. Keep this news to yourself for now, if you would.”

  “I prefer you stay.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Suit yourself, then.”

  “After the crop is in.”

  “I’ll miss you, Brother.”

  Josh nodded but didn’t respond. Right now, with so many secrets pounding around in his head, he wasn’t sure he’d miss anything about The Oak except Camellia and the sound of the ocean on Sunday afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mrs. Tessier’s carriage rolled back up the drive to The Oak about midmorning a week later, her horses muddy from the rainy day she had chosen for travel. Leather Joe and the house servants met and unpacked her bags as she arrived, their shoulders hunched against the chilly spring rain. Hampton York watched her from his workroom, his body tense. Since Josh had told him that Hillard had shown up again, he knew he needed to ask fast. No more time to wait on Trenton to make up his mind about Camellia.

  After Mrs. Tessier disappeared inside the manse, York moved back to his desk, sat down, and tried to stay calm. But he found it hard; he had so much to consider. Would Master Trenton ask Camellia to marry him? If so, maybe he could hold back on his desperate plan. How could he know? How long should he wait to see? And what about Hillard? He’d return soon. York knew he had to act quickly or he’d lose his chance forever.

  He put in a chaw of tobacco. No matter what happened, he’d keep the money. If Hillard tu
rned up, he’d take Johnny and Camellia, go straight to Charleston, get the cash out of the bank where he’d left it, and leave the area to start all over somewhere else. It wasn’t his first choice, but he could do it if necessary.

  The morning passed, the afternoon began.

  A couple of hours later he heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called.

  To his surprise Stella walked in, her bandanna wet from rain. “Mrs. Tessier wants to talk. Come as soon as you can.”

  York sat up straighten Mrs. Tessier usually came and went without any contact between them. If she wanted him to know something, she sent the message through Master Trenton. Yet, based on what she wanted, this might actually make his decision easier.

  “She say what she wanted?” he asked Stella.

  “No, she not tell me nothin’.”

  “Do you know the last time Camellia and Trenton talked?”

  “Reckon you ought to ask your own daughter about that. Not my bid-ness to go mixin’ there.”

  York eyed the old woman sharply, sensing she knew more than she let on, but he’d learned a long time ago that what Stella didn’t want to say always went unsaid. If he wanted to know why Mrs. Tessier had beckoned him, he’d just have to go and find out.

  “Go on then,” he said, waving her off. “Leave me be.”

  Stella left without another word, and he sat for a few minutes trying to figure this latest turn. Did Mrs. Tessier want information? Then why not ask Trenton? If not that, then what? He couldn’t think of anything good. Most likely she planned to blame him for The Oak’s troubles, then tell him she didn’t need him any longer. So what if she did? That would just force him to act, one way or the other.

  Ready to get on with it, York brushed off his pants, left the room, and slopped through the mud to the manse. There he wiped his feet on the porch mat, walked inside, and headed upstairs to Mrs. Tessier’s bedroom. Once there, he took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.