Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  Who sent this? she wondered as she looked through the wrapping for a card. She found none; she couldn’t figure out why an unordered, unexpected book would show up in the mail. She opened the front cover and—

  Ah, there it is. A card.

  It was small and beige. Its typewritten message read:

  Compliments of the Author

  “What is this? I don’t know J.M. Tanner.” She turned to the back flap of the jacket, hoping for a biography of the author.

  J.M. Tanner currently lives in the Midwest. This is his first book.

  The information was useless, giving her no clue to help her make a link to the writer. She wondered then if it was a promotional gimmick on behalf of the book’s publisher. Didn’t Virginia say there was a lot of excitement dancing around this book? Perhaps copies were sent to prominent families who were patrons of libraries and literary organizations.

  Yes, that has to be it, she decided, finding that the ploy was effective indeed, a way to trigger curiosity about a book.

  Thinking about the author’s dedication, she wondered about the woman he spoke of. Was she a great love in the romantic sense, or was her strength the kind that came from a mother, or a teacher who encouraged the talents of a self-doubting student?

  Without knowing why, she suddenly hugged the book to her chest, holding it against her heart. She felt a mysterious connection she could not explain.

  I’ll read this book cover to cover, she suddenly promised herself.

  The phone rang, snapping her back to the hallway, the house, the tasks that needed her attention. She was awaiting calls from charity heads, and this was probably one of them. There was so much to do for the ball, and once she began, it would be like boarding a train that had no stops before pulling in at its final destination.

  She put the book aside as she ran to answer the phone. I’ll read it later. When there’s time.

  Julianna’s mother stood at the top of the staircase in Dreamland, her makeup and hair immaculate though she was clad in her favorite robe.

  “I’m running a tad late,” she called down as Julianna let herself in through the front door. “I’ll only be five minutes.”

  “No rush,” Julianna said as she slipped out of her coat and draped it across her arm. She headed for the drawing room to wait, coming upon Polli as she sat at her small desk outside the study. The secretary looked restless and preoccupied, staring into space while tapping her pen on a writing tablet. Seeing Julianna, she jumped like a startled deer and got to work, moving the pen rapidly across the paper.

  “Hi, Polli.”

  “Hi,” Polli grumbled, as though she had a bone to pick.

  Julianna smiled and passed by, then settled on the sofa in the drawing room to wait for her mother. They were going to meet with the general manager and banquet planner at Sweet Creek to get things underway for the FDR Birthday Ball. After that, they would stop by the hospital for the afternoon visiting hours. Julianna had already been to the morning session and seen Mari, now healthy and strong. There were other polio victims not faring as well, their sad conditions reinforcing Julianna’s desire to fight for a cure.

  The doorway to the drawing room was across the hall from the study. Sitting with her back to Polli, Julianna felt the uneasy sensation of being stared at. Glared at, actually, by a pair of eyes shooting nails at her. When she turned to look, Polli jerked her eyes away and went back to scribbling. A minute later, the same thing played out again. And once more after that. This time, Julianna stood and walked to the doorway.

  “Polli, is something wrong?”

  “No,” Polli said quickly. “Nothing’s wrong, nothing at all.” Looking nervous, she scratched the back of her neck.

  Julianna shrugged. “I get the feeling that I’m making you uncomfortable.”

  Polli said nothing and seemed to turn back to her work.

  Julianna didn’t have time to give it more thought as her mother swooped down the staircase at that moment and took her coat from the hall closet.

  “I’m ready!”

  Julianna put down the magazine she was flipping through and hurried from the drawing room, walking past Polli with a pleasant good-bye. Polli said nothing, her silence not going unnoticed by Julianna.

  Outside, Julianna said to her mother, “Polli doesn’t like me, but I don’t understand why. We’ve never had any words.”

  “I can’t understand her,” her mother said as they got into Julianna’s car. “Especially those shoes she wears. The heels are so high that she leans forward when she walks—I half expect the girl to ski right off of them.”

  Julianna drove toward Sweet Creek. The day was gray with a light drizzle, but the trees exploded with color, their red and golden leaves looking like artistic effects added to a black and white print. She was lost in thought, enjoying the scenery when her mother broke in.

  “I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” she said as she applied a rosy lipstick. “It is odd that your father came to the hospital yesterday, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s not the only unusual thing he’s done lately.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s very distracted.”

  “Father is always distracted.”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, this is different. It’s almost like a sad distraction. He paces in his study, his mind a million miles away.”

  Julianna shot her a look of surprise. “That doesn’t sound like Father at all.”

  “Do you know Fletcher Valentine from the bank?” her mother asked. “He’s that nervous man.”

  Julianna smiled fondly at the thought of him. Poor Fletcher, if there was a snag in the rug, his feet would find it. In a room filled with a thousand chairs, he would choose the one getting ready to collapse. Eating utensils went airborne from his fingers and words could not make a coherent sentence from his mouth. He was only a mess in social climates, though; when business was on the table, the man was a suave and confident creature of sheer genius. Julianna reminded her mother of Fletcher’s two sides.

  “The business side has been to visit your father,” her mother said. “Actually, he’s been summoned to the house and gone behind locked doors with your father.”

  “I wonder what they’re talking about.” Julianna was thinking out loud. “Fletcher keeps a lot of the books, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, and it’s after he leaves that your father seems the most upset.”

  “Hmm.” Touched by the thrill of hope, Julianna wondered if they were on the brink of Leyton’s reckoning. What was he up to, and had Fletcher Valentine grown suspicious and brought some kind of proof to her father? Was Leyton’s golden sheen beginning to lose its shine? Did that explain her father’s sadness?

  Turning into the gated entrance of Sweet Creek, Julianna felt optimistic. And not just about the Birthday Ball.

  Polli’s insides were green, so green that she hoped the color didn’t glow through her skin. She slumped in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, pouting like a child denied a present that belonged to someone else.

  Well, why shouldn’t that woman have Leyton? Polli thought, remembering the way Julianna had looked as she’d walked from the room. First, there was the figure, tall and slender but with the kind of curves all the fellas loved. She was a real picture in her narrow-cut red dress with its sunray brooch and matching earrings. And then there was her hair, and that’s what Polli would really give her eyeteeth for, if only it was blonde. Even though most girls were wearing their crowning glories wavy and cut close to the head, Julianna’s was nice and long, fixed up in a fancy French braid that looked real elegant. Self-conscience, Polli’s hand went to her own hair and gave it a pat. Fiddling with its dried locks, she scowled and looked at her lap, reminded of the legs beneath her dress. Bony, Lightfoot had called them. Bony ole bird legs.

  Polli retrieved her compact from her purse and snapped it open, her face desperate as she searched for something she could liken to J
ulianna’s beauty, or at least claim was as great.

  Nope. Nothing there, she thought sadly as she realized that her makeup was too heavy for daytime. Or was it? Maybe everything looked harsh in the soft light of the rich and wonderful Julianna.

  She closed her compact and dropped it back into her purse. I hate her. I do. I hate her.

  Polli couldn’t sit still. She hopped up and started pacing from her desk to the foyer. Back and forth she went, one hand smacking away the other hand as it kept traveling to her mouth for a little frustrated nail biting.

  Why would he want me when he’s got her? she fretted. But then why does he flirt so much if he isn’t interested? Men! Ain’t nothing but a truckload of trouble. Why should I care if they don’t care, why should I bother?

  The phone on her desk rang and she dove for it. “Mr. Sheffield’s office.”

  “Polli?” It was Leyton’s voice.

  “Hi!” she said, a little too loudly and with the squeak of a rubber duck.

  “Well, hi yourself.”

  “How’re you, Mr. Drakeworth?”

  “I’m good, Polli. Is Mr. Sheffield in?”

  “No, he’s—”

  “Gone skeet shooting. I just remembered,” Leyton said then laughed over what seemed to be his own forgetfulness.

  “That’s right, Mr. Drakeworth.”

  “I had hoped to come by and lunch with him today . . . Hmm, it’s too late to get reservations somewhere . . . say, Polli, what if I came by anyway? Would you be kind enough to lunch with me?”

  “Sure, uh, you bet, I . . . uh.” She mentally berated herself. She sounded like she was about to choke on her own tongue. “Yeah . . . yes, I’d like that.”

  “Marvelous,” he enthused from the other end of the line. “Tell Cassie to prepare her beef and vegetable soup. It’s such a dismal day, I’d like something warm. Does that sound good to you, Polli?”

  “I’ll tell her right now.”

  “Good,” Leyton said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Polli hung up and spent the next twenty seconds wringing her hands, she was so flustered with excitement. Then she hurried toward the kitchen, sounding like a pony as her heels pranced across the hardwood floors. Before reaching the swinging door that led into the kitchen, she slowed her pace and lifted her chin, pretending that she was Mrs. Leyton Drakeworth and the lady of this fine house.

  “Cassie, make some beef and vegetable soup,” she said, failing miserably at her attempt to sound elegantly haughty. “Mr. Drakeworth and me . . . no, Mr. Drakeworth and I will be eating lunch . . . no, we’ll be lunching in an hour.”

  Cassie met Polli’s attitude with a reared chin and arched eyebrow. “You and the crown prince won’t be lunching on anything ’less I hear a please comin’ from your jaws.”

  Polli spent the next hour in the bathroom, ignoring the telephone, while she reapplied her makeup and tried to do something with her hair. It was so dry and now it wanted to frizz, thanks to the rain. She wasn’t wearing the black sweater he claimed to like so much but hoped that this yellow dress did something for her eyes. It was short sleeved and out of season, but maybe he’d think the color was perky, something cheery on a gray day.

  He’s married, but so what? she thought as she brushed streaks of vivid pink blush across her cheeks. In some ways, that made him seem like a bigger prize, especially if she got him away from Julianna, that Goody-Goody Miss Perfect.

  Hearing him come through the front door, she sprayed a heavy cloud of perfume then stepped into the middle of it, turning around and around, making herself so dizzy that she stumbled against a towel rack. The perfume was called Jungle Jane, and Polli thought it was exotic and tropical, not to mention a real steal bought for half price at the Five and Dime.

  Leyton’s eyes widened when Polli stepped from the powder room.

  “Aren’t you the buttercup,” he coughed.

  Polli beamed at the compliment.

  They lunched in the dining room, Polli google-eyed as Leyton spoke of his well-heeled world, so unlike her own, which pretty much consisted of dropping out of high school and hanging with one crappy guy after another.

  Oh well, past is past. Things are gonna change now, I just feel it.

  Leyton finally pushed back from the table. “Polli, you’ve been the most enjoyable company, but I must get back to the bank.”

  She snapped from her starry gaze. “Yeah, yes, me too. My break’s over.”

  They stood and left the dining room, Leyton allowing her to pass through the door first.

  She jumped at the light touch of his hand at the small of her back as if to guide her through. What did that mean? She was so nervous, so locked in disbelief, that she couldn’t speak as they walked to her desk.

  “We’ll have to do this again,” he said, dousing her with a bright smile. “I enjoyed myself.”

  “Same here.”

  He looked as if he were about to leave, then snapped his fingers and turned around. “I nearly forgot,” he said. “There’s a document in Richard—excuse me, Mr. Sheffield’s—study that I was supposed to look at. “

  She said nothing as he entered the study, figuring that Leyton was an exception to Mr. Sheffield’s pickiness about people messing with his stuff. Leyton was the bank’s president, for crying out loud.

  Thank heavens that’s over, Leyton thought. He wasn’t sure how he’d made it through that lunch with the stench of Polli’s dime store perfume and having to endure her smitten gazes as he talked. But it would be worth it if he got what he came for. Out of Polli’s sight, Leyton studied Richard’s book collection for a minute then called out, “I can’t seem to locate the key to Mr. Sheffield’s safe. He used to keep it in the top drawer of his desk.”

  The truth was, he had never known where Richard kept the all-important key. No one was privy except for Richard’s attorney and the executor of his will, but maybe Polli had noticed something.

  She came to the doorway. “He’s never said anything about a key to the safe, but he keeps some stuff in the coat closet.” She shrugged her yellow-sleeved shoulders. “I can’t say the key is there, but I’ve seen him going through a little metal box he’s gotten out of there.”

  Leyton dazzled her again with another one of his best smiles. “I’ll bet that’s where it is.”

  It was, and it led him into the safe and to the information he was dying to know. It was Richard’s will, a thick and long-winded document that Leyton scoured greedily, wanting only to know how much the man intended to bequest to his beloved son-in-law.

  I’ll be written out long before this will is ever read, he laughed to himself, but that doesn’t mean I won’t collect an inheritance. He was already slipping funds from the bank, but now he had a precise amount to aim for—the same amount Richard had stated in his will. He would carefully move the same amount from the bank. Some would call this embezzlement, but Leyton found that to be such a criminal word; he preferred to look at it as taking his inheritance early, that’s all.

  It was only two years until he would collect Julianna’s entire trust fund. He’d bide his time by spreading out his secret bank transactions, wrapping them up at the same time the trust was turned over. And then he’d give Julianna the divorce she wanted and be on his way.

  This was quite a different plan from what he thought he originally wanted, but his ambitions had changed. Only death was going to make Richard fully retire and turn over complete control. Until then, Leyton would answer to him and be denied the full savoring of power. At the moment, he was getting a pretty good taste of it, but that taste told his ambition that it wasn’t enough to satisfy. It had taken him beyond answering to anyone but himself, beyond accepting anything less than complete and total control. To be his own man he would have to get out from under the Sheffield ceiling, but he certainly was not leaving without a fortune for his time and work.

  Satisfied with what he’d seen in the safe box, Leyton returned everything to its appointed place then strode to Po
lli’s desk and leaned against it, draping one leg casually across the corner. “Can I ask a tremendous favor of you?” he said, sounding a bit secretive.

  “Anything.”

  “I would never expect you to lie to Mr. Sheffield, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention that I opened the safe.” He bit his lower lip and looked at the ceiling then back at Polli. “This is difficult to say, but my wife and I don’t get along very well.”

  “Really?” It was clear from Polli’s tone that her spirits had taken flight at the words.

  “She and I keep personal papers in her father’s safe.” He leaned in closer. “I just needed to review some documents pertaining to our marriage.”

  “Oh, Mr. Drakeworth, my lips are sealed, I swear.” Polli crossed her heart as she professed her promise of silence.

  He patted her hand then let it linger a tad longer than might be considered proper. “Good then, it’s just for you and me to know about.” He rose from her desk and started for the front door, calling out, “Let’s lunch again real soon!” right before he headed into the rainy afternoon.

  “Yeah . . . yes, let’s!” she called back.

  Leyton floored the Duesenberg and screeched away from the mansion, his speed making the trees that canopied the driveway look like a blur of color.

  He grinned and congratulated himself then pushed the car to maximum power.

  If there was ever a day that would bookmark itself in Julianna’s mind, it was the early November morning that Mari came home from the hospital. The sun was exceptionally bright that day and rapidly melted frost from the grass.

  For so long, Julianna had been denied the soft bundle that was her baby, and she sometimes feared she would forget how to hold her, that her arms would be timid and stiff and feel foreign to Mari. But that was not to happen, as Julianna’s arms were the ones God intended to cuddle Mari, and it was something mother and child knew the second the nurse joined them together.

  The tasks of motherhood were smoothly resumed, but now they took on a richer meaning. No more did Julianna routinely warm a bottle or automatically change the crib sheet. Nothing was a given, nothing was taken for granted, and the baby’s day-to-day needs were undertaken with the greatest appreciation.