Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  “Catherine? Is that somebody’s dog?”

  Immediately, an image of Catherine Cabot tied to the end of a leash flashed in his mind. He choked on his own sudden laughter. “Jesus. No! Catherine is a girl, not a dog.”

  “Oh? What kind of girl? A little girl? An older girl?”

  He heard the insecurity in her voice and quickly reassured her. “She’s the daughter of some friends of my mother’s. Her mother and mine have some half-baked idea we should get together, but Catherine knows I love you.”

  “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

  He raised Annie’s face until their eyes met, and saw a trace of doubt in hers. “Catherine’s not important, sweetheart. She’s never been worth mentioning at all.” With relief, he watched as her eyes cleared, and she nodded.

  “Okay. But tell me about her now.”

  “Catherine’s all right, I guess.” Travis leaned back in his seat as he spoke. Annie snuggled closer, her eyes never leaving his. “When we were younger, her family came over a lot. She’d just sit there and stare off into space. I swear, she’s the only kid I know with less personality than any of the fish we used to pull out of Bogg Pond.” He enjoyed her startled snigger and pressed a kiss to her temple, rested his lips against the silky curve of her cheek. “I’d rather be with you, at your house, with your family.” He eased away so he could look in her eyes. “The last time I saw Catherine, I made sure she understood who holds my heart.”

  “Me.” It was half question, half statement. But he could feel Annie sigh as she fully relaxed against him, and he drew in a thankful breath.

  “Yes. You.” He kissed her mouth lingeringly.

  “Too bad I can’t be at your dinner. I’d keep you from being bored.” Annie snuggled even closer.

  “You could come, you know. To the dinner. My dad would be happy to have you there.” Travis’s voice was casual, but his heart pounded as he thought about it, about walking into Quincy Hall with Annie’s hand firmly in his. And he tried to picture the way his parents would handle it, how his father would greet her with a smile and maybe even a hug. How his mother might stand there at Dad’s side and either freeze up or do a slow, mean burn.

  The more he thought of it, the more he convinced himself of its rightness. He was nineteen years old and in college, for Christ’s sake. He could invite anyone he liked into his home and to these silly dinner parties. His mother had shut Annie out for years. Christmas could be the best time for her to finally understand what Annie meant to him.

  With a frown, Annie shook her head. “Travis, I don’t think so. It’s not such a good idea. Your mother—”

  “My mother has been rude to you for over five years. It’s never made sense to me, other than she’s just a snob.” He took hold of her shoulders in a gentle grip. “I love you. I want to marry you. Sooner or later my mother has to accept it. I’m so tired of her obsession with what she thinks is the kind of life I should be leading. It’s my life. My decisions.” He moved closer and kissed her again, held her close.

  In the idling car, poignant holiday music gave way to the local news. Snowflakes swirled past the windows. Travis pressed his forehead to Annie’s. “I’m old enough to choose the kind of life I want and the one I want to spend it with. I choose you.” His lips brushed hers. “I chose you a long time ago.”

  “Travis, I—I’m not really dressed for a fancy party.”

  Travis thought she looked like an angel. “You’re so pretty, Annie. It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’d look beautiful.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Even when you had leaves in your hair and worm slime on your nose, you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” She pushed indignantly at his shoulder and he let her, then caught her close and hugged her, hard.

  Against her ear he vowed, “You’re perfect, so say yes. Come to the party with me.”

  Her eyes filmed with tears, Annie nodded. She refastened her seatbelt when he put the car into gear and sat back in her seat, holding on to his free hand as they drove the few miles over to Quincy Hall.

  “I can’t stay very late.”

  “I know. You can call your parents when we get to my house. Tell them I’ll have you home by eleven. Okay?”

  Annie took a deep breath and held it. “Okay.”

  Travis gave her fingers a hard squeeze. A new chapter of their lives was about to begin. He didn’t know how ready they were. But it would be all right, as long as they never let go of each other.

  As they turned into Quincy Hall’s long driveway, he told himself they’d have a great time, that for the first time ever, the holiday party would mean something special to him because Annie was at his side.

  He pushed away the mocking voice of fear, determined to shake off a sense of foreboding.

  Ronald, dressed in his best suit, stated, “No, Ruth. I will not. You should know better than to even ask it of me.” He faced his wife with the same assurance he’d always possessed. In his wheelchair he should have appeared weaker, but he had never been, and would never be, a weak man.

  Ruth regarded him as if stunned, her blue eyes icing over. Travis’s eyes, Ronald thought with sadness. The two most important people in his life shared the same coloring, the same eyes. But Travis’s were warm and guileless. Had Ruth’s eyes always worn such an edge? Had he fooled himself all these years, made her into someone he wanted her to be, only because he loved her so much?

  He wheeled himself closer. “Ruthie, listen to me. Our son is nineteen years old, a college man. All too soon he’ll begin a life of his own, and as an adult, he’s more than entitled to it. I’d like to think he’ll include us in that life, wouldn’t you?” He gestured toward her, a plea for her understanding. “He’s drawing away from you, my love. Can’t you see? You’re pushing him away with your unyielding stance. Please, Ruthie. Please think about what you’re doing.”

  Her eyes never faltered. Cold and angry, they refused to thaw. They bore into him as she retorted, “I have thought. For over five years I’ve thought of little else. And I’ve felt pain at having to admit to myself, time and again, how you put your son’s foolish impulses before me. Travis is still a child. He knows nothing, nothing of the world outside our door.” She paused to take a breath, pressing a fist to her chest. “Understand me, once and for all. I will never acknowledge a relationship between our son and that girl. I will never welcome her into this house. If Travis persists in pursuing this insanity, I will find a way to stop it. You have my assurance, trust me.”

  Her words cut Ronald to the quick and he closed his eyes briefly, dropping his outstretched hand into his lap. It hurt to admit he’d never sway her. The prejudice she felt against the Turner family ran too deep.

  And Ruth’s anguish, at what had been done to her when she was even younger than Annie, still had the power to control her, warp her. Distort her. He couldn’t let it go on. He should have dealt with it, gotten her the help she needed, years ago.

  As he tamped down his own anguish, he said the words she’d no doubt never forgive him for. “All right, Ruth. If that’s your final decision, so be it. But you understand me.” He sat ruler straight in his chair. Though it sent shooting pain along his spine, he refused to let the knifelike twinges get the better of him. “I may be in a wheelchair, but as long as I have all of my faculties, I’m telling you Travis will be allowed to see whomever he wants to see. His friends are welcome in this house.”

  He noted the fury on her face and stressed, “If you cannot behave toward those friends in a civilized manner, then I will ask you to move to another part of the Hall when our son is entertaining them here. I will not have your blind bigotry ruin our child’s happiness and his future.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Are you threatening me?”

  “If you see my decision as a threat, then yes.”

  He would have said more, but the anguished voice of his son broke in. “Stop! God, both of you just stop it!”

  The color drained out of Ronald’s fac
e at the sight of Travis framed in the drawing room door with tears in his eyes. Snow still clung to his coat, and huddled close to him, visibly distressed, was Annie Turner.

  Oh, Lord. How much had his son heard?

  Ruth released a hiss of fury and moved toward the door. Hastily Ronald maneuvered his wheelchair between her and the couple who stood like statues in the open doorway, clinging to each other’s hands as if lost.

  Ruth growled, “Move out of my way, Ronald.”

  “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He held firm between his wife and son. “I believe you have guests to attend, Ruth. I just heard the sound of a car motor, which tells me our friends are starting to arrive. Jenny will get the door, but you should be in place in the dining room, ready to receive them. I think you should go there. Now,” he stressed, when she didn’t respond. For several seconds, their eyes—and wills—clashed. Finally Ruth turned on her heel and walked out the side door. He watched her go with a heavy ache in his heart. But the face he showed to Travis was as calm and loving as always. The smile he sent Annie’s way was gentle.

  Before he could say anything, Travis pulled Annie farther into the room and shut the wide doors behind them. Still in his coat and boots, he moved to Ronald’s side and dropped to his knees next to the wheelchair. Tears slipped down Annie’s cheeks as Ronald hugged his boy, trying to ease the hurt he saw in those expressive blue eyes.

  When Ronald held out his free hand, Annie stepped closer to the wheelchair and sat on the thick carpet with her head on his knee, clutching his fingers.

  Travis moved out of Ronald’s embrace and sat back on his heels. When he looked at his son, Ronald saw such love, as well as weariness and sadness, in his young face.

  “Dad—”

  Ronald shook his head, cautioning, “Not now, Trav. I know you have questions. Lord knows I don’t have all of the answers. But shortly we’ll have a lot of company, and any discussion will have to wait until later.”

  He smiled at Annie, curled next to his chair with her cheek still pressed to his knee. “It’s good to see you, Annie. You’ve grown up on me.” When she raised a blushing face to him, he casually brushed a wayward tear from her cheek and teased, “If I were twenty-five years or so younger, I’d give my rascal son a run for his money.”

  The teasing had its desired effect. Annie giggled and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad to see you, too. I’m so sorry, we should have told you. . . I should have stayed home.”

  “Shh. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “Dry your pretty eyes, my dear, and I’ll see you both at dinner.” He patted her cheek fondly.

  “Dad, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for us to stay to dinner—”

  Annie protested, “Oh no, Travis, you have to stay. I should go—”

  “You are both staying. Period.” Ronald allowed no further argument. “It’s Christmas and a time for celebration. You two are going to eat turkey with me until you explode. Annie, do your parents know you’re here?” She shook her head. “Then why don’t you give them a call and let them know you’ve been invited for dinner? Travis, take off those boots, they’re still wet. And where are your manners? Help Annie off with her coat.”

  “Yes, sir.” Two voices spoke at once. As Ronald noted the tender regard they had for each other, he sent up a silent prayer that someday he’d see Annie walk down the aisle of a church right here in Thompkin, and marry his tall, handsome boy.

  In the meantime they had a dinner to attend, and he had some hard decisions to make.

  Chapter 8

  Festive holiday music played softly in the background, while the laughter and chatter of Quincy Hall’s dinner guests rang above the clink of crystal and silverware. Another successful party was well underway, and Ruth sat at one end of the table, smiling, gracious, lovelier than ever.

  Seated across from Travis near the head of the table, Annie toyed with a piece of roast turkey. Her nerves prevented her from eating much, and she hadn’t said more than a few words since dinner began. How easy to smile, though, when she saw for herself the way Travis and his daddy enjoyed each other’s company. If only Travis’s mama would join in, too. In her opinion, Mrs. Quincy missed out on a lot.

  She glanced around, awed by the magnificent, intimidating room. Worried about acting dumb, Annie tried to concentrate on her table manners, but only managed to move the food around on her plate, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swallow much.

  She didn’t belong here. She shouldn’t have let Travis talk her into it. Everything about her seemed less than it should be. Her appearance, her level of social graces . . . her ability to hold her own next to Travis and his elegant family.

  Then she caught the smile Travis sent her across the table. She saw his daddy wink at them both as he forked up a bite of chestnut dressing. Suddenly it was easier to breathe. Annie rescued a carrot slice she’d buried under her turkey, and nibbled on it as she returned Mr. Quincy’s wink.

  The noise level of animated, cheery dinner conversation grew, along with Ruth’s anger and frustration. She hadn’t eaten more than a taste of anything. The blame for her inability to enjoy her own party rested on the slender bit of trash seated near Ronald, smiling at her besotted son.

  It was all Ruth could do to remain calm. It wasn’t fair. She would not tolerate it. Right in the middle of the fourth course, she began to push back her chair. She had no set plan, but right now her decision to rid her dinner table of a Turner overrode her sensibility.

  Then she noticed how desperately Catherine Cabot, seated a few chairs away from her, stared at Travis. When Catherine turned back to her dinner, she looked up and for a second or two her distress was plain to see. Realizing Ruth watched her, the poor girl’s cheeks flamed and she hurriedly ducked her head.

  The thought that Catherine might be humiliated if Ruth incurred any sort of scene kept her from embarrassing the dear child. Ruth relaxed in her seat, confident no one nearby noticed she’d almost committed an inexcusable action at her own dinner table. Now wasn’t the time. She took a deep breath and nodded to Jenny when she whispered the dessert course was ready. As the maids cleared the entrée plates, Ruth chatted with several of her dinner companions seated on both sides of the table, and silently plotted the confrontation which would ensue when all her guests were gone and the family was alone.

  She deliberately caught Catherine’s attention and smiled at her, causing her face to brighten. Such a darling girl. She’d make a wonderful daughter-in-law.

  When Jenny set the raspberry and Bavarian cream mousse in front of her, Ruth decided she had an appetite after all.

  After the party, with Annie close by his side, Travis faced his father in the study. “Dad, it’s gone on long enough. Maybe we were both kids when Mother’s attitude started, but we’re not kids any longer.” The look on his face reflected his determination.

  Ronald stalled gently. “Son, your mother needs to be responsible for any explanations you demand. But I also think she’s not ready to answer those questions.” He glanced over at Annie, observed the shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived with Travis. The poor girl was exhausted.

  “Why don’t you take Annie home? We can talk later. I know I promised you an explanation right after the party, but right now I’m tired and in need of my rest. We’ll get this straightened out, Trav. You have my word.” The smile he kept pasted to his face faded as soon as they turned and walked from the study.

  He wanted nothing more than to clear the air with his wife. When he wheeled himself in the direction of the dining room and peered through the open doorway, the only occupant of the room seemed to be their day maid, Jenny, shrugging into her coat.

  “Jenny, where’s Mrs. Quincy?”

  Startled, she faced him, a hand over her heart. “Lord, Mr. Ronald, you gave me a turn. I thought you’d gone upstairs with Mrs. Quincy.” Jenny took a deep breath before buttoning
up her coat. “She’s in the master suite, sir. I’m all finished. I sent Alice home, and I think Martha went up to her room. I’ll be back early tomorrow morning to help serve the holiday luncheon.”

  Ronald nodded to her absently. He’d forgotten about Ruth’s annual luncheon for the ladies of Thompkin with whom she socialized. It made clearing the air tonight all the more important.

  “Thank you, Jenny. And thanks for the extra help tonight. You didn’t have to stay, not after the full day I know you put in.”

  “I was happy to do it, Mr. Ronald. See you tomorrow.” Jenny turned and bustled toward the back door. Ronald wanted to tell her to just use the front entrance and be done with it, but he knew she wouldn’t. Ruth trained the staff well, and not even Martha would have dared to use the front door, at least not when Ruth was around. It was just another small spot of frustration for him.

  When he was a kid, Martha would sail out the front door with familiar confidence. He recalled several times when his mother and Martha went Christmas shopping together. Employer and employee they might have been, but they’d also been friends. Another difference between Amelia Quincy and his Ruthie. His mother treated the staff like family and consequently, they’d all been loyal to her. But to Ruth they were servants, nothing more. He loved her more than his own life, but he wasn’t blind or obtuse, either.

  He wheeled over to the elevator, which he’d had installed when he finally accepted he’d be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. As the doors swished closed, Ronald rested his head against the padded chair cushion and wished he didn’t feel so exhausted. Most of the time he handled the repercussions of his stroke fairly well, considering he was confined to this damned chair. But stress always complicated things, and today had certainly held its share of negative emotion.