“And that big government pension?”
He grinned. “Gone with the wind.”
“And now you’re a poor but humble carpenter?” Bailey sensed there was a lot more to the story than he was telling, but she was unwilling to pry further into his personal life.
“I think I’ve already given more than my name, rank, and serial number.” He took an oversize cast-iron frying pan from a hook on the wall, added olive oil, and set it on the gas range. When the oil was hot, he began to add vegetables.
Bailey washed and chopped the Chinese cabbage. “Anything else I can do to help?”
“Finish your beer before it gets warm.” He opened the refrigerator, rustled around inside, and came out with a package of raw shrimp, a few stalks of broccoli, and two large mushrooms. “I thought there were some of these in here.” He took a drink from his bottle, retrieved some spices from another cupboard, and turned the rice down. “It should all be ready together.”
The scent of pepper filled the kitchen as Daniel sprinkled it onto the vegetables. “How hot?”
“If you can stand it, I can.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Another five minutes, and Daniel scooped the stir-fry onto a bed of rice and placed it in front of her. “Chopsticks or forks?”
She laughed. “In for a penny . . .”
He went back to the porch for another two bottles of beer and joined her at the table. When she reached for her napkin, he raised his bottle toward her.
“What are we toasting?” she asked.
“Your farmhouse. Cathy tells me I’m being blackmailed into doing your repairs.”
She touched her beer to his with a clink. “And you’re all right with that?”
“I owe Jim a big favor. You’re doing Cathy a favor by helping with summer classes at the school, so I’m trapped between a storm tide and the marsh.” He flashed a crooked grin. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ll do it, and I’ll do it cheap and right. Island justice.”
Bailey was still smiling as she walked to school in the morning. The evening before, which had started so frighteningly, ended on a much more pleasant note. After Daniel’s delicious stir-fry, topped off with some of Emma’s homemade strawberry ice cream, which they found in the freezer, they had sat on the porch swing and talked until Emma came home at midnight. Daniel hadn’t touched her, but the night air had been charged by more than the storm’s electricity.
Bailey couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed talking to someone more, or when the time had passed so quickly. With Daniel beside her, she’d felt safe in a way she could never remember experiencing. For the most part they’d chatted about silly things, movies, a used-book store in Newark, ethnic food, and bands from the eighties. They hadn’t discussed her uncle Will or the inheritance or what she intended to do with Elizabeth’s house, and Daniel had said nothing more about his travels with the CIA or why he’d quit.
Despite the casualness of the evening, Bailey couldn’t deny an intense sexual attraction to Daniel, and if Emma hadn’t returned to the house, she wondered if the evening might have ended differently. Daniel Catlin was an enigma, one who intrigued her. She definitely wanted to know more about him.
She’d intended on taking the bike to school, but the back tire was soft, so she’d changed into athletic shoes and capris and set off on foot. Forest stopped her on the street a short distance from his house.
“Good morning,” the attorney said. “I was hoping to catch you early. Could you stop by the office after class? I have some information to share with you.”
“I’ll be glad to.”
Forest McCready appeared as dapper as ever in brown leather deck shoes, khaki trousers, and a white knit three-button henley with blue piping, but the lines around his mouth seemed more pronounced, and his eyes were red-rimmed. “I just can’t get over what happened to poor Creed.”
“I understand you were friends. I’m so sorry.”
“Friends, yes, but cousins, too. In so many ways, his life was wasted, but we had some good times. Not to mention poor Ida.”
“Is it definite that hers was the other . . . the other body?”
Forest shook his head. “No, nothing official. Reports on accidents like this can take weeks, sometimes longer. You come by as soon as you can. And don’t worry about lunch. I’ll have a loaf of wheat bread hot from the oven, some delicious crab bisque, and fresh strawberries and cream.”
“Stop, you’re making me hungry, and I just finished Emma’s French toast. By the time I go home I’ll be twice my size.”
Forest chuckled. “I don’t think we need to worry about that for some time. I hear you’ve contracted Daniel to do the repairs to the house.”
“Already? Who told you that?”
“Never mind. It’s fine. There’s no question about your right to have the work done and to choose whomever you like to do it. There are no other heirs to contest the will. The house and land will be yours, once I have these bugs ironed out.”
“I don’t understand the problem,” she said.
“That’s why you have me to worry about it.” He smiled again. “Don’t let it give you a moment’s trouble. It will be fine. I can fill you in on the details later, if you like.”
“I would,” Bailey said. “Have you found out anything else about my mother’s death? That’s what I—”
“Yes, I have.” He lowered his voice. “She died of complications of her pregnancy, but this isn’t the place to discuss it. I’ll answer whatever I can this afternoon. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, and I’m so sorry to have put you through all these delays.”
“Thank you—thank you for everything.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Elliott.”
“Bailey, please.”
“Very well, Miss Bailey Elliott. Then I insist you call me Forest. Everyone else in Tawes does.”
The morning hours passed quickly. Bailey found her new pupils shy, but refreshingly uncomplicated and well behaved. For the past four years she’d been teaching in an overcrowded school with needy students. The Tawes children weren’t all working up to grade level, but they displayed a warmth and innocence that surprised her. One girl, Rebecca Somers, had Down syndrome, and another boy, Roy Love, was mentally challenged, but both seemed completely accepted and protected by their classmates. One student or another was always at Rebecca’s side, encouraging and praising her, and Roy received an equal amount of attention from his peers.
When Cathy came to tell the class that they’d worked fifteen minutes past dismissal, Bailey was as surprised as anyone else. Cathy invited her to share a picnic lunch with her and the children on the playground, but Bailey had to refuse.
“Mr. McCready asked me to stop by the office. I’m afraid that I’ve already accepted his offer for lunch,” she explained.
“Tomorrow, then,” Cathy urged. “I should have told you. Everyone brings a bag lunch, the teachers provide lemonade or iced tea, and we trade sacks. And some lucky person gets a free ‘get out of trouble’ pass to be used any day in the coming school year. Joshua has a standing offer to trade his best fishing rod for that pass, and every boy in my class and most of the girls want to win that fishing pole.”
Bailey laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I might as well tell you the rest,” Cathy confided. “We have a school garden in the back. First we water all the vegetables and gather the ripe ones, and then we eat. So come dressed to crawl in the dirt tomorrow.”
Forest’s lunch was as delicious as Bailey had imagined. After the attorney had cleared away the dishes and poured them both tall glasses of sparkling water with slices of lemon, he took the big leather chair next to her. The dogs lay sprawled at his feet.
“Now, what can I tell you?” he asked.
“My mother. I want to know everything.”
Forest took a sip of his sparkling water and set the glass on a coaster on the table between them. “I’ve obtained a c
opy of her medical records. Don’t ask me how.” He smiled as one of the dogs nuzzled his ankle. “We country lawyers have our ways,” he said, as he leaned down and stroked the animal’s head. “But I warn you, it isn’t pleasant.”
“Please tell me.” She leaned forward in the chair.
“Beth hid her pregnancy from everyone. She went through the entire eight and a half months without any medical care. Apparently her guardian, your great-uncle Will, knew nothing about her condition. On the day before her death, an accident or a scuffle with a person or persons unknown caused her to go into premature labor. You were born in Elizabeth’s house with only your great-aunt and -uncle present. Afterward, your uncle summoned medics from Crisfield. Sadly, Beth had lost so much blood that she slipped into a coma and died that day in the hospital without ever revealing how she came by her injuries or the identity of the father.”
Bailey’s eyes widened as the enormity of the truth sank in. “She never told anyone?”
“No.” Forest shook his head. “Will was in a rage. He felt—and perhaps rightly so—that whoever fathered Beth’s child had contributed to her death. He doted on her. The shame of her pregnancy and the loss of her life were almost too much for him to bear. But what came next was even worse.”
“Worse?” Bailey felt light-headed. “How could it be worse? And everyone knows everything on Tawes. How could she have had a boyfriend without anyone being aware of it? Surely somebody must have known.”
Forest leaned forward and patted her hand. “Your mother was just sixteen when she died. You would have been conceived when she was barely fifteen. Will would never have allowed her to have a boyfriend at that age. And if he’d found out who had seduced her and gotten her pregnant, the chances are he would have shot him.”
“He’s that violent?” Bailey thought back to the meeting on the wooded trail between his house and Elizabeth’s, and the shock of seeing that ax in her uncle’s hand. “Surely . . .”
Forest scoffed. “It’s not a question of being violent or not. Tawes may seem old-fashioned to you now, but thirty-five years ago it might as well have been the seventeenth century. Beth was a Tawes, strictly off-limits. The Tawes women were always good women and good wives, honorable women.”
“That sounds so archaic.”
“Island justice.”
“Daniel Catlin used that same phrase last night.”
The attorney nodded. “It’s true. It’s been true for three hundred years, and that kind of habit doesn’t die out easily. Will Tawes was a man whom few wanted to tangle with—still is, for all his years. I wouldn’t want to. There are rules that islanders live by, and that Tawes women are off-limits is one of them.”
“Somebody didn’t follow those rules, because somebody got a fifteen-year-old girl pregnant and left her to bear the trauma and shame of her coming baby alone.”
“It’s the truth,” Forest admitted. “And that truth has eaten at Will every day and night since.”
“Do you know why I was placed for adoption?”
“You remained in Will’s care for three months, until Elizabeth asked me to make arrangements for a private adoption. As I mentioned before, your parents—your adoptive parents—were distant cousins of hers with ties to the island. I’m not comfortable saying anything more. I was Will’s friend and still am. I don’t feel that I can give you any more details. If you want to know why you were put up for adoption, I think it’s best that you ask Will.”
Bailey rose. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? My uncle doesn’t want to tell me anything. He doesn’t even want to talk to me. How do I get around that?”
Forest stood up, his eyes full of compassion. “That, my dear, is the nut of our dilemma. Because if there is anyone on earth who could help that man become part of the human race again, I think it’s you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As she entered Emma’s front door, Bailey was still far more upset than she’d expected to be. A few words from Forest McCready had washed away the resentment she’d held all her life toward her birth mother. Instead, Bailey felt a deep sympathy for the girl, and now she wanted to question Emma, to learn anything more she could about Beth and her friends. Now, more than ever, leaving things as they were and accepting that she’d never know the identity of her biological father were unacceptable.
Bailey knew she needed to consider all the possibilities. Beth’s lover might have been as young as she was—terrified to face the consequences of a few hours of reckless teenage passion—or she could have been seduced by an older boy. Without proof, Bailey couldn’t assume the worst. Whatever the scenario, Bailey couldn’t help wondering how the two had managed to evade both her uncle and the community long enough to conceive a child. Of course, Beth could have been assaulted, unwilling afterward to disclose her shame, a possibility Bailey didn’t want to consider. Not yet, at least.
The sleigh bell hanging over the door jingled as Bailey stepped into the entranceway. “Emma! Are you—” She stopped midsentence when she heard Matthew’s raised voice from the back of the house.
“Grace is worried,” he said. “I—”
“Sorry,” Bailey called. “I didn’t know that you had company.”
“Is that you, honey?” Emma shouted. “We’re in the kitchen. I’m making strawberry jam.”
Matthew said something, too low for Bailey to make out, but when she reached the kitchen doorway she guessed that she’d interrupted a heated discussion, because the pastor was as red-faced as Emma. Embarrassed, Bailey turned away, thinking to make a beeline for the staircase. “I was just headed upstairs to—”
“Nonsense,” Emma interrupted, her joviality seeming forced. Her hair was pinned up in its customary knot on the back of her head, and she wore an oversize red-and-white-checked apron over a T-shirt and jeans. Her workworn hands were stained red to the wrists from the strawberry juice.
The steamy kitchen was thick with the sweet smell of boiling jam, but Bailey got the impression that it was more than the temperature of the berries that had put color in their cheeks.
“I hope your first full day with the children went well,” Matthew said.
“It did, but—”
“You’re a godsend to those kids,” Emma said. “I can’t tell you how much people here appreciate your help.”
“Yes,” the pastor agreed, glancing from Bailey to Emma and back to Bailey again. “The children are the heart of Tawes. Without them, there’s no future for the island.”
“The summer program can’t be that vital to your entire school system,” Bailey said.
“It is.” Emma wiped her hands on a clean hand towel. “Believe me, it is. Are you hungry?”
“Stuffed.” Bailey crossed to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. “I had a meeting with Forest McCready, and he insisted that I have lunch with him.”
“Well, I must run,” Matthew said, backing out of the kitchen. “The Lord’s work is never done.”
Emma followed him to the side door, and Bailey heard them murmuring. Then Emma came back into the kitchen. “Grab an apron, girl, and give me some help with this jam. It’s only fair. You owe me. I fixed your bike tire this morning after you left.”
“I know it was soft. I thought that putting air in it—”
“It had a leak, but it’s right as rain now. I pumped up both tires.”
“Thanks. I didn’t mind walking to school, but I’d hoped to ride out into the country later this afternoon. It’s such a beautiful day.” It wasn’t a lie. It was a pretty day, but she wasn’t prepared to explain to Emma that she wanted to approach her uncle again. “I didn’t mean to intrude on you and Matthew,” she said as she unscrewed the cap on her bottle of water.
“Don’t be silly. I want you to consider this your home while you’re on Tawes. Matthew’s just upset about Creed’s death. We all are. Matthew’s always taken things to heart. It’s not easy losing a good friend.” She rested her fists on her ample hips. “Maybe you’d better go
upstairs and change into something you won’t mind getting stained.”
“It’s all right.” Bailey slipped the Mother Hubbard apron over her head. She washed and dried her hands and turned back to Emma. “Now, what can I do?”
“You can start by capping those berries in that bowl. Aren’t they lovely? Not Sure Crop. Those are Honey Eyes, the sweetest berry you’ll ever taste. They don’t keep worth a darn, so you won’t find them at the supermarket, but they sure do taste good, and they make the best jam.”
Bailey began washing the strawberries. There were a lot of questions she wanted to put to Emma, but she sensed that this wasn’t the right time. Instead, she let the older woman chatter on about varieties of strawberries and tomatoes that her mother had grown a generation ago. Emma, thank the Lord, was never at a loss for words.
It was nearly five o’clock when Will returned to the house to find Bailey Elliott waiting on his porch. The dogs caught her scent before he even set foot on the dock. They leaped out of the boat and would have charged her, but he commanded them to stay.
The girl had courage; he’d give her that. When he’d come upon her on the path between his place and his sister’s she’d gone white as a ghost. It was clear as new ice to him that she was terrified of dogs, yet she kept coming back.
He’d pondered half the night over the sketch she’d left for him to find. Her talent was raw and untrained, but it was strong. No denying whose child she was or that she possessed the grit of the Tawes women who’d come before her. Elizabeth had painted flowers in oil, filling her canvases with blooms and buds and every shape of leaf and stem. Beth had been proficient in her own medium. Now here was Beth’s daughter, another artist, forcing herself into his life, not taking no for an answer, and threatening what little peace he’d carved out for himself these last few years.
Short of drowning her, he wasn’t sure how to be rid of Bailey Elliott.
Scowling, Will stalked down the dock and up the bank toward the house. He motioned and the dogs followed. “What will it take to get you to mind your own business?”
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