Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  She’d have to obtain her grandson on her own. Which meant she’d have to leave Quincy Hall.

  Her stomach instantly clutched and she broke into a sweat. She hadn’t been past those doors since she’d brought Ronald home from the hospital, two years ago.

  Ruth moved to the sideboard, feeling the need for a restorative. Ordinarily she abstained from alcohol before seven o’clock in the evening, of the opinion that daytime indulgence was a sign of weakness. But perhaps a small drink would banish her insistent headache. She poured a healthy splash of brandy into a glass and downed it in three gulps. The potent liquor surged through her body.

  Steadier, she returned to her desk to plot her next move. It did seem pointless to engage Timothy Harbawker, unless she could prove the Turner brat to be a poor mother and report those findings to him. She would need to have the girl watched and followed, her personal habits documented. As distasteful as it might be, she’d have to hire an investigator.

  Dan Marley could find one for her. Of what use were dedicated employees, if they couldn’t take on the more unpleasant tasks? She’d call Dan this evening and give him explicit instructions.

  She would speak to Travis and let him know she was going to intercede on his behalf, although he certainly didn’t deserve her courtesy. Yesterday he came home briefly to check on his father, and ran back out the front door before she could accost him. At the time, she thought little of it. But this morning, she called Janice to ask how their children’s outing had gone, only to discover Catherine hadn’t seen him since that night. Ruth puzzled over where on earth he’d spent the day and most of the evening. She’d gone to bed at eleven, her usual bedtime, uneasy because Travis was still out. And this morning, he’d been up and gone before she came downstairs.

  She reached for the telephone to call Dan, but laid the receiver back in its cradle as a disturbing thought came to her.

  What if Travis had been—God forbid—over at the Turner house? What if he knew about his son? Even worse, what if he’d run off with the wretched girl?

  He wouldn’t.

  But of course he would. She had to face reality. Even with sweet Catherine patiently awaiting his marriage proposal, Travis possessed enough contrariness to run out and marry Annie Turner, just to spite his own mother.

  Trembles overtook her at the mere thought of Travis doing something so recklessly disastrous. She groped for the nearest chair. Her headache, beginning to abate, came back twice as strong.

  She had to speak to him. He might be at the Turner’s house this very minute. She had no idea where the family lived. They probably didn’t even have a telephone.

  Two minutes later, she flipped through the phone directory on a search for Henry Turner’s name. When she found it, she reached for a pen, clenched her fingers tightly, then snatched it up and dug for a notepad. She scribbled down the address and tossed the pen aside, wondering how on earth she’d find the inner fortitude to actually step outside the doors of Quincy Hall and into her car. Which she’d never learned how to drive. Well, no matter, she’d find someone to drive her.

  Her fingers shook. She cursed her damned weakness. She had to do this. She had to get over her phobias. She had to take care of family business as befitted a Quincy. No one else could do it but her.

  Travis held Annie in one arm and nuzzled her temple, catching the fine, silky hairs that grew there. Utterly content for the first time in two years, he closed his eyes and relaxed on the old sofa. He was really here, with her. He was whole again, at last.

  They’d left a single lamp glowing in a far corner of the living room. Henry thoughtfully hustled his family out the door right after supper with a promise of banana splits at the Creamery. Susan allowed herself to be herded with a mock grumble and a wink to her sister, who blushed and tried to look nonchalant about being left alone with Travis. He just grinned.

  Mark hadn’t wanted to leave Sissy and refused to go with them. Then he’d refused to leave the living room. Mary persuaded him to keep Sissy company upstairs and with visible reluctance, he’d conceded. He’d glared at Travis, and Annie stuck her tongue out at him as he tromped upstairs.

  Once the rest of the family left, Hank awoke from his nap and made his usual babyish demands. One diaper change and a milk and fruit snack later, he entertained himself by bouncing on Travis’s knees. Every so often he fell back in a fit of giggles, when Travis gave his belly a tickle. Happy to be the center of attention, he crawled all over his parents, from one lap to the other, babbling away at both of them.

  Surely this must be heaven. After the loneliness of many months, after all his mother’s unrelenting pressure, it was so good to have Annie back in his arms. And there were no words for how wonderful Hank was. Travis couldn’t get over his luck.

  Still, he worried. His gut feeling told him his mother knew about Hank. He and Annie needed to get some plans made, fast.

  “Annie?” He turned her until she gazed up at him, a happy smile on her face. That smile faded somewhat when he said, “We have to figure out what to do, sweetheart.” He sat Hank between them on the sofa, and the baby grabbed at their hands to clap them together. Travis let him play with their fingers and enjoyed his antics, but with a serious tone he added, “I don’t mean to pressure you, but the sooner we get married, the better.”

  “We can go to Roanoke first. Then we wouldn’t have to be in a hurry. It’s a big city, and—”

  “Annie, we can’t hide somewhere. You think my mother wouldn’t come after us? If not her, then some attorney with a subpoena. She’ll get legal counsel as soon as she hears about Hank. I’d bet money she’s been told and has already pulled in some favors.”

  “Favors?”

  “Mother has a lot of influential friends all over the state. My dad would help anyone and expect nothing in return, but Mother’s not like that,” he explained.

  “It doesn’t matter what she does. We’re not minors any longer, Travis,” she reminded him.

  “No. We’re not. But we’re both still in school. I have an allowance and that’s about it. I live in a small apartment in New Haven funded by the Quincy Legacy. Dad bought my car, probably with Legacy funds. I’m not even sure whose name is on the title. I never thought to look.” He exhaled an embittered breath. “I’ve skated along, trying to outwit my mother where my private life is concerned. Only to realize I never had a private life.”

  “Look, I own my car. My job doesn’t pay a lot, but I have money in the bank. I have a room at my aunt’s house in Roanoke. Aunt Nan takes care of Hank for me when I’m in class or at work. We could live there, Travis. There’s nothing wrong with it, and I can’t see any judge saying a life like that would be bad for Hank.” Annie gripped his hands. “You could go to school there, too. Maybe it’s not Yale but you could still get a degree.”

  “I need to go to Yale, Annie. I need to graduate from there. It’s a Quincy tradition. If I’m to take over for my father, then I have to have Yale.” His words were gentle, but adamant.

  “Do you really think your mother will let you step in for your daddy, once you marry me?” She let him go and made a cutting motion with her hand. “She’ll disown you. She’ll take all of it away from you. You’re fooling yourself if you think any differently.” He shook his head in denial before Annie finished speaking.

  She got to her feet and went to the window, leaning against the glass and staring out at the quiet street. “We could have a good life in Roanoke. There are lots of jobs available for someone with a solid education. It wouldn’t take long at all, and we could have our own place, maybe a house with a yard for Hank to play in. I could plant a garden, like Mama—”

  Her voice faltered when his reflection joined hers. He’d come to stand behind her. In the glass he could see his own lack of enthusiasm at her suggestion of a life like that.

  He urged her to turn and face him, cupped her slender neck, looked down at her and saw dreams in those soft brown eyes. Dreams he couldn’t bear to ruin. Yet he had
to be honest with her.

  “Annie.” He tried to choose his words with care. “I’m the Quincy Heir. Someday, Hank will be the next Heir. I need to take over for my father, which means living at Quincy Hall. I need the board of trustees’ approval.”

  He held her in place when she tried to step back. “No, listen to me. This can work out. All we have to do is get married. There isn’t anything she can do, once we’re married. We’ll live at the Hall, she can’t stop us.”

  “Oh, Travis. Now who’s dreaming?” She pulled away and moved to the center of the room, where Hank had unraveled a skein of her mother’s yarn. She scooped up the baby and ignored his squawks of protest as his mischievous game was thwarted. “Come on, my boy, we’re getting you ready for bed.” She started up the stairs, and Travis trailed after her.

  Mindful of the presence of Mark and Sissy down the hall, he closed the bedroom door and watched as Annie wrestled Hank out of his pants and shirt. She changed his diaper and Hank chortled, wriggling in ecstasy at being naked for about thirty seconds before she slapped on a fresh one. For the first time, Travis realized she used cloth diapers instead of disposables. More than likely she couldn’t afford anything but cloth, since disposable diapers probably cost a lot of money to use every day. He’d never given it much thought, accustomed to a life of wealth and ease. He’d never given any thought to a lot of things he’d taken for granted, his entire life.

  But once they were married and living at the Hall, Annie wouldn’t have to use cloth diapers ever again. He watched her tug a pair of rubber pants up over the diaper, then slip Hank into his knit sleeper and let him bounce on the bed. She avoided Travis’s eyes.

  They had to settle this before it drove a wedge between them. He waited until she laid Hank in his crib. His son rolled onto his side and pulled his teddy bear to him, spooned the stuffed toy, and babbled to it. Annie motioned Travis toward the door, and they tiptoed out, leaving one of the bedside lamps on.

  “He’ll talk to his Pooh until he falls asleep. It’s a nightly ritual.” She left the door partially open, and they moved silently down the stairs, back to the living room.

  Once settled on the sofa again with Annie cuddled in his arms, Travis was eager to resume the discussion. “As soon as we apply for the license, we’ll go see Judge Harbawker. He has offices in Clarion. Our family has known him for years, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to marry us.”

  “Travis, I told you I want to get married in our church. I don’t want to stand in some judge’s office and have a hasty wedding.” She turned to face him, gesturing with both hands in supplication. “This is our wedding. We only get to do it once. It’s important to me, being in our church, when we exchange our vows.”

  “We don’t have time for that. We need to get it done fast. Tomorrow would be best. If I thought we could get the license and schedule the Judge’s chambers—”

  “No. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? Marrying in a hurry to thwart your mother isn’t going to do a bit of good. You think she’ll let you come home with Hank and me tied to your shirttails. You think she’ll welcome us and let us live there. She won’t. Getting married and then trying to bring us to the Hall to live won’t do anything except make her even madder at you. And give her more of a reason to keep you right under her thumb.”

  “She will have to accept the marriage.”

  “No, she won’t. Maybe if your daddy were strong enough to stand for us, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. And even then, she wouldn’t accept us. All she has to do is see one thing she thinks we’re doing wrong with Hank, and she’d have what she figures is reason enough to sue for custody. It would only be worse, living there with her.”

  “Annie—”

  The doorbell cut off whatever Travis was going to say. With a sigh, he watched Annie rise and walk to the front door.

  “I can’t imagine who it could be.” She looked through the peephole, a relatively new addition to the front door. Aunt Nan had insisted the simple addition was a good safety measure, even in Thompkin.

  In this case, Aunt Nan was right, for when Annie squinted and glanced through the tiny security device, she spun to Travis, a look of complete panic on her face.

  She whispered urgently, “Travis! Your mother is out there!”

  Ruth shivered and her entire body ached from clenching her muscles so tightly. Not from a chill, but because bone-deep panic gripped her. She’d dug her fingers into the edges of the back seat for the entire trip from Quincy Hall to the Turners’ slovenly side of town. Bette, who drove sedately, hadn’t seemed to notice Ruth’s breathing difficulties.

  All the way down the long driveway and out onto the road, Ruth told herself she could do this. It was worth the terror of being away from her sanctuary, outside of her safety zone, to save Travis from making a terrible mistake and to rescue her grandson from a life of squalor. For the opportunity to put Annie Turner and the rest of her family in their place, she’d have endured far worse.

  She curled her lip in revulsion as she gave the house the once-over. This hovel, with its peeling paint and cracked walkway, was where Travis chose to be. Even now, his car sat right out in front. She wanted to scream aloud.

  “Mrs. Quincy?” Bette turned to look at her, and Ruth made an effort to compose herself. This battle was better won with cold logic instead of hot emotion. She smoothed her hair back and nodded, then opened the door. It took every ounce of inner fortitude she possessed to step out of the car.

  “Please wait for me, Bette. I won’t be long.” Ruth slammed the door and walked up the sidewalk, her posture stiffly erect, her purse tucked under one elbow.

  She had a few seconds to take steadying breaths after she rang the doorbell and waited until the door finally opened and Annie Turner stood before her. Ruth’s eyes swept over her, from her tangled hair to her bare feet. The girl looked like a homeless person. Ruth had seen street beggars who were better-dressed. Spots of what appeared to be food stained her loose tee shirt. Her jeans had a rip on one knee.

  Ruth allowed her disgust to show, standing poker-straight. “I wish to speak to my son. Now.”

  To the girl’s credit, she showed no outward sign of distress as Ruth swept in. Annie closed the door and motioned to the living room. “Travis is in there. Would you like to sit down?”

  In answer, Ruth gave her a look of loathing.

  She moved toward a faded old sofa that couldn’t have been appealing even when new, her resentful eyes taking due note of the way her son reclined against sagging cushions. He looked so much at home, it was all Ruth could do not to reach out and throttle him. Instead, she waited until Annie joined him, pressed to his side. Ruth tightened her jaw to keep from grinding her teeth together.

  Travis nodded toward her. “Mother. What got you up and out of the house?” Without breaking eye contact with her, he stroked a hand over the girl’s tangled hair.

  Of course he only did it to irritate her. Still, Ruth followed the caress with a cold stare. Her spine stiffened even more. “I wish to speak with you, Travis. Privately.”

  He didn’t move. “Anything you need to say can be said in front of Annie, Mother.”

  Ruth drew an affronted breath through her nose in an attempt to control her temper. “Very well. It has come to my attention that you have fathered a child by this girl. Of course, tests will have to be accomplished to assure paternity, and I will arrange for the procedure to be done immediately.”

  When Annie bristled, Ruth spared her a second of frigid attention. “Miss Turner, you cannot stop me from petitioning a court for paternity testing. Protest all you like.” She turned back to Travis and took note of the fury in his eyes. “Once paternity is established, I expect the child to be brought to Quincy Hall to live.”

  She addressed Annie with sparse courtesy. “I guarantee you, Miss Turner, my grandchild will be generously provided for and given every advantage. He will be raised in the Quincy tradition as was his father and his grandfather, and will someday be
come the next Quincy Heir.”

  Annie surged to her feet. “You can’t take my son, Mrs. Quincy. You know it and I know it. If you think you can prove I’m an unfit mother, you’re sadly mistaken—”

  Ruth interrupted brusquely, “Oh, but I can. Make no mistake about it. I can easily prove your unsuitability in a court of law, and your family’s inability to assist you.”

  “I’m eighteen and legally able to raise my own child!”

  “That doesn’t matter one bit. You haven’t enough power to fight me, Miss Turner.” She stepped closer, smiling grimly when the girl retreated, fear plain to see on her face. “You thought you could involve yourself with my son in the hopes he’d marry you, bring you to Quincy Hall, beget children by you. Well, you accomplished part of it. But, marriage? Think again. Travis will never marry a person like you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mother.” Travis stood and wrapped a supporting arm around the girl, who visibly trembled. “Annie and I are getting married. I’m of age and no longer need your consent.” His chin lifted in defiance, and there was conviction in his eyes.

  There was also the insecurity of youth, and Ruth saw it for herself. Briefly she faltered as she recognized his courage.

  She wanted the world for him. But she knew what was best for her son. And this ragged, skinny white-trash girl wasn’t it.

  Ruth squashed every drop of emotionalism within her heart and issued an ultimatum. “You will not marry this girl, Travis. You will leave this house with me, now, and assist me in compiling what information is necessary to begin custody proceedings. You will contact Catherine, immediately. You have a wonderful young woman waiting for you, one who has received attention from you and expects you to honor her with your proposal of marriage.” She took his arm and, despite his struggles, maneuvered him toward the door.