Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  Travis lifted his hands, dropped them again. “Ah, Dad’s great. He never pushes, he just lets me do what I want in the summer.” He sighed. “As long as I get good grades in school and I’m willing to try for Yale, Dad’s okay with me goofing off.”

  “You’re going to Yale? Wow. I want to go to college, too, any college. If I could go, I’d never ask for another thing in my life.”

  “Well, I’m going to try getting into Yale. Dad went there. He wanted to get in by himself instead of using Legacy funding, so he went for a full scholarship and got it. That’s the way I’m going to do it, too. Like my dad,” Travis vowed. He blushed as he met Annie’s admiring gaze and jumped from the rock, his hand outstretched for hers. “Come on, let’s take off. If I’m going to get that scholarship on my own, I guess I’d better start earning it. I’ve still got ten moldy chapters of Quincy stuff to read.”

  She slid down and landed lightly on her feet next to him, looking up into his face. “You can do it. I know you can. You can do anything you want to, Travis.”

  He ducked his head in embarrassed acknowledgement, and a smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he walked over to the cooler and hefted it by its thick handle. She scooped up their rods in one hand, grasped her bucket in the other and matched his stride.

  As they walked along Boggy Creek Lane, he mumbled, “Thanks, Annie.”

  Ruth Quincy creamed the makeup from her face as she reviewed the evening’s festivities. The dinner party with the Cabots, a weekly summer tradition, had proved to be quite successful. Councilman Jeffrey Cabot and his wife, Janice, enjoyed the same level of social status as the Quincys. Ruth smiled as she thought of their daughter, Catherine. Such a darling girl, sweet-tempered and biddable.

  Born a mere three months after Travis, both families greeted Catherine’s arrival with such joy. Within a year, Ruth and Janice began to plan a wedding between their beloved children. It just seemed fated.

  A brief frown marred her smooth brow, as she recalled the many ways her son squirmed out of his social duties toward Catherine. They might be far too young at thirteen to think of an engagement, but it was important they maintain an eye toward the future. It was time to reel Travis in and impress upon him his responsibilities.

  “What are you thinking about that’s putting a frown on your pretty forehead, Ruthie, my love?” Ronald’s voice sounded right at her ear. Startled, she jumped and pressed a hand to her heart. She glared in the mirror at her husband, who had silently entered their suite, and now stood behind her chair with an unrepentant smile on his face.

  “Honestly, Ronald, must you sneak about the room?” She took a few deep breaths as she reached for her hairbrush.

  Ronald removed the brush from her hand and began working it through her hair himself. The familiar, rhythmic movement soothed her as he commented, “And where else would I sneak, hmm?” He ran his fingers over her hair. “You didn’t answer me. What were you concentrating on so fiercely?”

  “Nothing dire, I assure you. Just thinking about how lovely Catherine is, how much she’s grown up in the past few months.” She paused as she met her husband’s eyes in the mirror and noted the firm set of his lips and the narrowed eyes. “What? I can’t think about the dear child?”

  “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

  She pretended not to know what he was referring to. “Don’t what? Don’t say she’s a lovely child? Well, she is.”

  He sighed as he laid the brush on her vanity and grasped her shoulders, turning her around until she faced him. With stern inflection he said, “You know what I mean. Don’t start your matchmaking. They’re only thirteen, for heaven’s sake. You’ve been campaigning for a wedding ever since Catherine was born, and you know it.”

  Ruth shrugged, dislodging the gentle grip on her shoulders. “What if I have? Travis has to make a good marriage. He has to have an heir. He’s the only direct-line Quincy. Yes, I know,” she snapped, anticipating his next remark with sudden temper, “it was my choice not to have any more children. My choice to put the burden of future Quincy generations on his shoulders alone. You know how I feel about herds of children running about, Ronald. I had enough of dealing with children when I wasn’t much more than a child, myself,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, I know. How young you were, with all the responsibility of caring for your baby sisters. I know, Ruthie. And I’ve never given you any grief about not wanting another child, although of course I’d have enjoyed giving Travis a younger brother or sister. Perhaps it’s why he enjoys the Turner girl’s company—”

  “I don’t care what he enjoys. I don’t want that girl anywhere near Travis.” She turned from the mirror and her eyes locked onto his as she faced him. “For God’s sake, she’s a Turner. I cannot and will not bear her bad influence on our son.”

  “Ruthie, she’s just a little girl. Her parents are decent people. I knew Henry Turner when we were both boys, and he’s hardworking and honest. Mary Turner is gentle and kind. I met her a few times, right after Henry moved the family from Roanoke. None of their children, to my knowledge, have ever been in any kind of trouble. They don’t have much, but they’re good parents and worthwhile citizens of Thompkin.”

  “No Turner has ever been worthwhile. I don’t care how young they are or how removed you consider them from that vile old man who fathered Henry Turner. I will never forget.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I will never forgive.” Her fingers caught his shirt in a tight grip as she gulped in a ragged breath. “I want that girl to stay away from Travis. I want you to promise me. If I can’t do anything about them living in our town, then I can certainly do something about any of them coming around our son.”

  Saddened, Ronald stared at his wife. He ached for her, for the girl she’d been and for what had happened in her life to cause such bitterness and hatred. Lord knew, he understood. But there came a time when forgiveness had to occur. Otherwise she’d never move on.

  He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss, enclosed her in his arms and held her as he struggled to find the right words. Finally he realized the best way to handle it was the simplest. With regret, he pulled away until he could look into his wife’s eyes. “No, Ruth. I’m sorry, but I can’t. It isn’t right we do this to Travis, to Annie Turner.”

  She stiffened in protest, and he smoothed his hands over her loose hair, cupped her cheeks tenderly, slipping them over her shoulders. He entreated, “Let it be, honey. That little girl can’t hurt you. Nothing can hurt you any longer except for the memories you’re unwilling to release. Can’t you see? You’re a different person now, a stronger person. A bigger person, too.”

  But he knew his Ruth was also stubborn. He felt her withdraw, until there was a foot of space between them and the frozen blue of her eyes kept him at bay. She stood tall, her spine steel-rod straight, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and remote, icy.

  “Very well. I can see you’ve made a choice, and put a Turner before my happiness and well-being. I won’t speak of it again. You want your son to consort with scum, then so be it. I’ll look the other way.” Her soft lips tightened. “But I will remember, from this day forward, that once I asked a simple request of you, and you refused me.”

  With those words, Ruth turned and walked toward the bedroom door, opened it, and stepped through. The door swung shut behind her as tense silence filled the room.

  Weary, yet resigned, Ronald crossed to the bed. For certain, he’d sleep in it alone, and not only tonight.

  In the old mother-in-law quarters, Ruth looked out the window into the moonlit night. It was warm in the room, but her chill went to the bone. She rubbed her hands over her arms in an effort to regenerate body heat. She refused to walk back to the master wing and retrieve one of her warmer robes from her dressing room. She’d rather freeze all night than encounter her husband while she felt such fury and hurt.

  Part of her knew he was right. It happened years ago, and all of the key players—her mother, Willa, and stepfather, Greeley, amon
g them—could no longer hurt her.

  The misery of her younger years she could easily heap at her mother’s door, since Willa had used her as slave labor. Ruth grew up neglected, beleaguered, and loaded down with more responsibility than any young child should ever have to face.

  But that didn’t mean her own son should shirk his responsibility, she reminded herself. It was vital to the continuance of the Quincy Legacy for Travis to marry well and produce superlative children.

  Hadn’t she and Ronald given—and would continue to give—their son every opportunity?

  Advantages Ruth had never enjoyed. With reluctance, her mind drifted over nuances of her past.

  She’d once stood, a stranger outside this very house, and pounded on the door, desperate and afraid. Her hands curled into fists now, as she pushed the memory away. She straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine. She’d stopped being that person years ago.

  And she’d found her safe haven. As the wife of Ronald Quincy she’d gained a warm and caring family, a husband and son who loved her. When Ronald’s mother was alive, she’d treated her like a daughter, and Ruth had loved Amelia Quincy dearly. She’d mourned her mother-in-law’s death. From the first moment Ruth entered Quincy Hall that miserable, rainy night so long ago, Amelia became “Mama” to her.

  She enjoyed such security here at Quincy Hall. Still, there remained a residual kernel of the young, frightened girl with the rain-drenched hair and clothes, who’d banged hard enough on the door of Quincy Hall to carry cuts and bruises on her hands for days. She hated knowing her fears remained, causing strife and frustration between her and her family.

  Of course she wished she could get over it. Only the memory could truly hurt her.

  Restless and agitated, she circled the room. She didn’t want to spend the summer angry with the two most important men in her life. Neither did she want to become a doormat for them to trample on her feelings and aspirations.

  Perhaps a touch of reverse psychology held the key. Surely Travis’s fascination with the Turner girl would wear thin by the end of the summer. After all, he’d be back at Newport Academy, and the girl would continue on at the local elementary school with all of her common little friends. By the time he came home for the holidays, this budding acquaintance—Ruth refused to label it anything else—between them would be long gone.

  She nodded decisively, relieved. Travis would revert to his usual thoughtful and obedient self, once summer was over and he was back at the academy.

  Chapter 4

  Determined to hoard as much summer fun as he could, Travis slipped out of his room right after breakfast, eased down the back stairs, and let himself out the kitchen door. He’d left the moldy old Quincy book open on his bed. He’d propped the dumb sword—okay, rapier, according to his fencing instructor—in the corner of his room. On a sunny, hot day, prancing around holding a goofy sword wasn’t his idea of fun. Not when a bucket of worms and fishing with Annie awaited him. Anxious to escape, Travis reached the end of the driveway and took off at a sprint toward town, and the turnoff for Bogg Pond.

  As he walked down Boggy Creek Lane, Travis thought about the past month and a half, how hanging out with Annie had changed his outlook on all kinds of things. With her family, he didn’t have to be a big deal, no one special. Just a guy named Trav, another local kid with pond water on the legs of his blue jeans and traces of summertime sweat on the back of his neck.

  He liked it, a lot.

  Even better was Annie herself, who had fast become his very best friend. He could tell her anything, and she’d really listen to him. About the only thing he hadn’t told Annie was the way his mother tried to choose not only his friends, but his future wife, too. Jeez, he wasn’t stupid.

  Travis hitched the two fishing rods over his shoulder, his sneakers stirring up dust as he walked faster. As usual, thinking about his mother’s agenda irritated the crap out of him. He knew what she was up to, with her frequent invitations to Catherine Cabot and her parents. Somehow Mother had gotten it into her head—the same way she’d gotten golf lessons and riding lessons and dumb fencing lessons, for God’s sake, into her head—that someday he’d marry Catherine.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Talk about boring, she gave new meaning to the word. Several times over the summer, his mother more or less demanded he accompany Catherine on some sort of outing, and each time he’d found ways to avoid it. His freedom meant too much to him to waste it on a pale, silent kid like Catherine.

  As he rounded the far edge of Bogg Pond, he saw Annie in her old, faded jeans and muddy sneakers, her green tee shirt already damp with sweat. A big smile wreathed her face when she spotted him, and she started running. The bait bucket she carried swung in her hand and her thick braid bounced on her shoulder. Without conscious thought, Travis picked up his pace. Beneath the hot summer sun, they sprinted toward each other.

  They met in the high grass along center Bogg Pond, both breathing fast in the humidity. Travis looked at her as if he’d never seen her before, this girl-buddy of his, three years younger than him, but in many ways so much smarter, so much more alive. Rich in all the things he didn’t have. Things he never knew he missed until he’d discovered them through her eyes, her life.

  She dropped her bucket on the grass and the load of night crawlers and leaves threatened to spill out. He loosened his grip on the two fishing rods he carried, and they slipped to the ground. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

  She really was . . . cute. Big brown eyes, pretty hair, a smile that didn’t quit. Half tomboy, adventurous, nothing grossed her out or made her squeal in disgust, not even the slimiest worm or the ugliest fish. She wasn’t afraid of snakes or spiders, liked frogs, read tons of books, just like he did. They shot hoops together, and she could beat him at one-on-one if she put her mind to it. She told him some of the dopiest jokes he’d ever heard.

  His very best friend, Annie. Someday she’d grow up into the kind of girl who’d be perfect for him to love, to share a life with. It hit him with sudden certainty.

  Holy smokes.

  Less than a foot away from her, he gazed right into her wide eyes. One of his hands reached for hers. Grimy from worms and leaves, clammy with dampness, it fit into his palm like it belonged there.

  He said the first thing that popped into his head.

  “I’m going to marry you someday. When we’re out of school and I’m home for good. When we’re old enough that nobody can tell us what to do. I don’t ever want anyone else. Just you.” His defiant and passionate words might not make sense coming from a kid his age and aimed toward a girl who was still in grade school, but it seemed the right thing to say to her.

  “I think that’s a great idea.” She sounded dazed. “I don’t want any other boy, either. It was always you. The first time I saw you, it was you.”

  Maybe she was too young to make a promise like that. But he knew she meant it.

  He swallowed, hard. Emotion tightened his throat and made it difficult to speak. He cautioned, “We can’t tell anybody. They’d say we’re too young to talk about it or think about it. I don’t want to make your folks mad, Annie. And my mother would probably freak out. So, our secret. Okay?”

  She nodded, solemn. “Our secret. Until you think it’s safe to tell.”

  As they faced each other in the hot sunlight, an odd calm settled over him. Yet with that calm came the need to seal their bargain with more than words. As if she read his mind, Annie tugged on his hand, raised herself up on her toes. She brushed his cheek with her mouth. The shy, butterfly-light touch made him smile.

  He scooped up the rods and bucket with his free hand. Toward the shallow edge of the pond, they settled on their favorite spot of flat rocks, digging into the worms for the choicest bait. The humid summer breeze enveloped them and the sound of crickets and cicadas broke the silence.

  It promised to be a great day.

  Chapter 5

  August

  Annie tossed restlessly, pun
ched her damp pillow into a mangled lump, finally gave up and threw it on the floor. In the bed across the room, Susan slept like the dead, as usual.

  The sobs Annie muffled left her with a headache. She flopped back on the tangled sheets and blinked away a fresh bout of tears.

  Travis’s mama had sent him off to that academy, weeks before school was supposed to start. Annie knew it she’d done it on purpose, because she hated the friendship between them. If she only knew how they really felt about each other, his mama would pitch such a fit.

  Earlier that day, Annie waited at the flat rocks for him, hot and cranky in the humidity. He’d torn through the waist-high alfalfa that grew in the pasture near the pond shore. She frowned in bewilderment. Travis never ran unless he had to.

  “I can’t stay. I’m not supposed to be here at all.” Out of breath, he pushed damp hair off his forehead. For once, at least since she’d known him, she saw dirt smeared on his clothes.

  She pointed at him. “You’re wearing a real shirt. How come? Did you run out of tee shirts?”

  He shook his head and sank down next to her on the rock. His eyes snapped with temper. “Mother is making me leave for the academy today. I wasn’t supposed to go for another few weeks. She packed my stuff and told me last night. Damn it!” He pounded his fist on his knee and jumped up to pace around the rock cluster.

  She followed him, sudden tears in her eyes. He turned and looked down at her as he caught her hand and twined their fingers together. “I think it’s because Dad saw us the other day and must have said something to Mother. My folks never saw me hold hands with a girl before.” He glanced down at their joined hands and she gasped, remembering the other day. His daddy had driven by and waved to them as he made the turn for Thompkin Hill.