Instinct, not reason, sent him to kneel at her side and hold her while she cried on his shoulder. Tears. He could never bear seeing a woman’s tears, especially not those shed by Edythe Danby. Not years ago, when her father ran roughshod over her. Not today, when her son did the same. The only time he’d ever felt truly helpless was when she cried.
“You won’t lose him, so don’t borrow trouble.” Barrett’s hand ran up and down her back, each stroke erasing a year until he returned to the day when he heard of Edy’s marriage to Lamar Westin, the man of her father’s choosing.
That news came too soon after Judge Danby sentenced Wynn to the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City. With an angry chip on his shoulder and a law school education waiting, Barrett abruptly left Riverport. He’d written three letters. When she never responded, he returned to find her already married, so he went back to Valparaiso, brokenhearted, and worked his way through law school.
The sobbing ebbed. She pulled back and patted the wet spot on his suit coat. “I’m sorry.”
“It needed cleaning.”
A hiccupping chuckle escaped, and she used her napkin to mop at the dampness around her eyes. “You always made me laugh.” She lifted her chin and her soft gaze snatched his breath.
Barrett swallowed, his mouth begging for moisture. With a gentle push, he moved her hand away from her face and dried the smooth skin over her cheekbones with his thumb. “Edy...”
Lord, help me. Not only am I calling her Edy again, but I’m on one knee and wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel those soft lips on mine.
SURELY, SHE WALKED along the edge of emotional disaster—one step away from falling off a too-familiar cliff.
How she had missed being called Edy. “Edythe” was too proper, too reminiscent of her father’s demand for formality. “Edy” spoke of friendship, of familiarity.
Edythe’s chest tightened, so much so, it hurt to breathe. What if she allowed Barrett to kiss her? Where would it lead? What good would come of risking her heart again?
Oh, how she wished to forget the past. She wished to start over and be swept up in renewed love for him. She wished to once again rest in the comfort and security of his arms.
Her body began a slow tilt forward, her lips almost touching his...
His expression changed, darkened, as though he’d closed the shutters on his emotions to hide any light of longing. His mouth offered, not a kiss, but the briefest trace of a reluctant smile.
Heat rushed through her. She had imagined his desire to kiss her. Now he felt sorry for her, offering her a sad smile of pity. In her distress, she had forgotten herself and let him console her. But she couldn’t fool herself into thinking it meant anything more than dealing with a woman’s tears.
Edythe turned and pressed her back into the hard spindles of the dining room chair until the bite of the decorative wood restored her to reality. In the future, she must be sure to use caution when around him. The comfort and security of his arms was no more reliable today than it proved to be a dozen years ago.
Barrett returned to his seat, placing the table between them. “According to my conversation with Officer Brennan, Andy purposely destroyed another person’s property—the boat—over an alleged insult. Tell me about the incident.”
She, too, could pretend nothing had transpired. If you care for me at all, Father God, please don’t let my voice tremble. “Andrew took the blame and accepted the punishment my father meted out.” Thank you.
“What do you mean he took the blame?”
She sealed off the memory of the previous few minutes and concentrated on the truth of what occurred last year. “A few days later, Timothy told me what really happened. My younger son enjoys science and experimentation. He’s an intelligent child...and curious. One day, he found a small rowboat pulled up onto the riverbank. Seeing its condition, Timothy assumed the boat had been discarded.” Another wrong assumption by a Westin. “He considered it something useful in his endless quest for knowledge.”
“How so?”
“The next day, he returned to the boat with a small clock, a ruler, and a drill from his grandfather’s tool shed. He pushed the boat into the river and climbed in, testing it for leaks before rowing it to one of the little islands to do his”—she shivered—“experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?”
She shook her head. “He sought to discover the size hole needed to sink a boat that size in ten minutes.”
Barrett laughed. “Timothy drilled a hole in the bottom of the boat and timed it as it sank?”
“Yes. He’d done all the mathematics in advance.” Although proud of his cleverness, she wished for her son to learn to control his urge to experiment at the drop of a hat.
“I was told Andy stole the boat and swamped it out of anger over an insult to his brother.”
“The man did insult Timothy, but that took place the week before, and he denied it. If Andrew had been there, he would have defended his brother right then. He would not have waited a week.”
“Are all your children...?”
He seemed to fumble for the right word, so Edythe helped him find it. “Extraordinary?”
“I can’t wait to hear about the idiosyncrasies of your daughter.”
“Timothy’s twin. Sarah Jane.” No doubt, her weighty sigh said a lot about the girl. “Yes, in her own way, she is also extraordinary.”
Barrett grinned, then followed it up with a frown, as though he couldn’t bear to maintain a personal conversation with her. “Let’s get back to Andy. He has a temper.”
“No more than anyone else. He would never purposely hurt someone.”
“You keep defending him.”
“He doesn’t believe I defend him enough.” The snap in her voice took her aback and she apologized.
He held her gaze from across the table. “You don’t need to apologize for expressing your feelings, Edy.”
After the mistakes she’d made—the one she nearly made this morning—he could say that with a straight face?
I suppose I should thank you, Father, for bringing me to my senses before I gave Barrett another opportunity to walk out on me, trampling my heart in the process.
AFTER COMING TO HIS senses, setting the brake on the urge to kiss Edy, Barrett sought to offer an apology for the recklessness, not with words, but with a smile. It only managed to upset her. She’d put on an unperturbed face but he saw her wince when she pushed against the chair back.
Barrett tried to steer the conversation back to business. Somehow, it deviated once more into personal territory. This visit felt too friendly, too sociable—too much like the past. “How did Andy get involved and take the blame for the boat’s destruction?”
“Evidently someone recognized the boat and told the owner. In the meantime, Andrew searched the area, looking for Timothy. Even though the river is fairly shallow in that area, he saw his brother standing on the island, too hesitant to swim back. Andrew swam out and helped Timothy to the bank. A few minutes later, the boat’s owner arrived and began to confront Andrew. He didn’t see Timothy, who had run away out of fear.”
Why would a rebellious and angry boy take unjust blame upon himself? “Andy didn’t explain the situation?”
“Timothy was only seven. He hadn’t meant any harm. Andrew wanted to protect his brother from...” Edy’s explanation stalled.
“He wanted to protect Timothy from the judge’s punishment?”
“Yes.”
It was strange to imagine Andy Westin as a hero when he worked so hard to convince people he was a pint-sized villain.
“Though my father isn’t abusive, physically, you know he is a strict authoritarian and doesn’t relate well to the children, especially the boys. They try his patience, and he comes across as harsh.”
More than harsh. As far as Barrett was concerned, the judge was his own brand of villain.
“I was told Andy couldn’t sit for a week after the boat episode.”
&
nbsp; “That isn’t true. Except for meals, my son was confined to his room. That was the extent of any physical punishment.”
“And when you found out the truth?”
“Andrew opposed my interference. The incident had been handled, and he’d accepted the consequences.”
“They’re children, Edy. You’re their mother. It should be your say.”
EDYTHE HEARD THE QUESTION behind Barrett’s statement. Have you no spine? “What good would have come from involving Timothy and seeing them both punished?”
He poured them a fresh, hot cup of coffee. “Why do you stay with the judge?”
“Your interrogation skills say much about your proficiency as a lawyer.” Edythe winced at the bitterness in her voice.
The muscles in Barrett’s jaw clenched. “I’m not asking these questions to meddle, Edy. I’m trying to understand what drives your son’s antagonism toward you and others.”
“You’ve already decided his guilt, so what does it matter?”
“Because it’s my job. What you tell me might make a difference between Andy remaining at home or residing in a reformatory.”
“Does that mean you’ll continue to help us?” She counted to ten while he remained silent.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.” If he wanted to help Andrew, she would answer anything personal he asked, no matter how humiliating. “I stay because I have nowhere else to go.”
“After your marriage, you and your husband lived with the judge?”
“No. We lived a few blocks away and didn’t move in with my father until after Lamar’s death.”
“Were you afraid to live alone?”
“Alone? With three children?” Her laughter bordered on hysteria, and she covered her mouth until she’d brought herself under control. “As a wedding gift, my father bought us a house. When Lamar died, he sold it.”
Barrett shot a perplexed glance in her direction. “Why?”
“The financial troubles of a few years ago hit my husband hard. Without telling me, Lamar borrowed money from my father to pay his debts. As guarantee for the loan, my father requested the deed to the house.” She shook her head. “Afterward, we lived there through his grace. When Lamar died, the grace period ran out. My father sold the house and offered to take us in.”
“What kind of father sells his daughter’s house out from under her? Why didn’t you find your own place?”
“With small children to feed and no skills? How could I afford it?”
“You have any number of skills.”
“I can embroider. I’m not sure that would—”
“I remember you danced exceptionally well.”
The compliment warmed her from the inside out. They had shared several dances on the riverbank as he hummed romantic ballads. Edythe shook off the images but allowed a smile to linger. “Perhaps I should apply for work in vaudeville.”
“In that case, you’ll have more than your father to contend with.”
If not for Barrett’s display of hostility earlier on and his rejection of her kiss, she might be tempted to believe he still cared...a little. “The idea of my working is inconsequential. When I suggested seeking employment, my father threw a tantrum. He said he wouldn’t have people spreading the rumor that he refused to support his own daughter and sent her out into the working world to fend for herself.”
“Yet, he stole your house. The man is a warm humanitarian.”
Though the judge was her father—her flesh and blood—Edythe didn’t blame Barrett for his attitude. How could she when she often agreed?
“Do you ever plan to tell the judge I’m assisting you with Andy’s situation?”
Edythe hoped there would be no point, that the police would drop their suspicion of Andrew. “If it becomes necessary.” She rose from her seat. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”
He saw her to the door. “How long did it take the boat to sink?”
“Twelve minutes and twenty-three seconds.”
He clucked his tongue. “So close.”
“To this day, I’m not sure if Timothy was more frightened by the boat’s owner or disgusted by his failure.”
Barrett’s laughter was a reminder of days gone by—days never to return.
EDYTHE ENTERED THE house, removed her hat and gloves, then listened for any noise from her children or her father. It was quiet. Perhaps, too quiet. In the kitchen, the housekeeper stood at the counter, kneading bread.
“Where are the children, Mrs. Cameron?”
The woman brushed a sleeve over her forehead. “Out back, Mrs. Westin.”
“Were they any trouble while I was gone?” She might as well find out now, rather than be caught by surprise later.
“No, ma’am.” Mrs. Cameron smiled as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Miss Sarah Jane held a tea party with her animals, and Mr. Timothy kept an eye on the barometer.”
“The barometer?”
“He’s certain it will rain this afternoon.”
“Well, maybe it will. He’s generally right about those things.” Edythe peeked out the kitchen window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but she’d learned not to doubt her son’s acumen. She turned back to the housekeeper. “How is Andrew?”
Mrs. Cameron’s lips drooped. It wasn’t that the housekeeper disapproved of the boy. Quite the contrary. She often showed her compassion for him and—Edythe suspected—had been adding an extra serving of whatever dessert she’d prepared in the evening to the tray she carried upstairs to his room. “Not a peep out of him.”
Not a peep? Instead of being comforting, that sounded ominous. “I’ll go up and see him.”
After a quick trip to the backyard to check on her youngest children, she walked down the hall to the foyer. She’d placed her hand on the banister and one foot on a stair tread when her father called her name.
She considered ignoring him but lowered her foot to the marble, turned, and entered the drawing room. “Yes, Father?”
He sat on the sofa, his attention on the newspaper clasped in his hands. “We’ll have a guest Saturday evening.”
“A guest?”
“His name is Ansel Treadway.”
“The banker?” Although she’d never met Mr. Treadway, her father talked about him on occasion. The first image that popped into her head was of the mousy, middle-aged man with a graying walrus mustache and thin face who sat near the window inside the First National Bank.
“Yes.” Her father muttered, “Someone capable of managing his money.”
This wasn’t the first time the judge had referred to Lamar’s financial failure. At first, he sang the praises of Edythe’s husband, which was why he’d pushed Lamar on her. Over the years, though, he grew to lament his choice in a son-in-law, no longer seeing Lamar’s promise. Edythe presumed her husband’s setbacks attacked her father’s pride. Yet, Lamar could hardly be blamed for the country’s financial depression.
“I’ve already informed Mrs. Cameron to prepare a prime roast for the meal. I’d like you to wear something special.” He grinned without looking at her. “Wear that new emerald gown. You’re lovely in it.”
Her throat constricted. The last time her father told her she looked lovely in a particular dress, she ended up with the last name of Westin. “If this is business—”
“No, it’s pleasure. Ansel is a fine man—responsible and unattached. You will like him, and I’m sure we’ll both be stimulated by the conversation.”
The reference to liking him bore too much of a resemblance to an order, not an assumption. Was she being too suspicious in thinking Mr. Treadway was being touted as the perfect man for her father to guide into marriage?
Edythe turned the crank on the phonograph without bothering to change the cylinder and let the soothing music wash over her. For once it fell short in easing her anxiety as she saw history repeating itself. “I’m sure you’ll have much to talk about together. I’ll be in the way.”
He peered at
her over the top of the paper. “You’re the hostess in this household, Edythe. Play the part well.”
She tried to squeeze further argument past the lump in her throat but failed. The music ended. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to speak with Andrew.”
This time, her galloping feet matched her racing heart. If the judge wanted a hostess, she would “play the part well” for one night. Nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
“Mother, it’s time! Come here. It’s time.”
Edythe rushed into the kitchen at Sarah Jane’s shout. Her daughter waited in the doorway to the mudroom, bouncing as if her short legs were on springs. “Where is she?”
“Under the porch.” Sarah Jane dashed out the screen door and into the evening’s dusk, eager to return to the cat that probably wanted nothing more than privacy while giving birth.
Following her daughter outside, Edythe trotted down the porch steps. It was almost past her children’s bedtime, but she couldn’t bear for them to miss this. They had anticipated it all day.
Timothy knelt in the grass, peering under the porch, a watch in his hand.
“What are you doing, son?”
“Tracking the time between the birth of each kitten.”
“It’s dark under there, how can you see anything?”
“I’m listening.”
Edythe bent over but refused to crawl on the ground like her children. “Sarah Jane, you’ll ruin your stockings.”
“Mother, I have others. This is important.”
Yes, the birth of kittens was important, at least to this child. “I’ll overlook it this time, but please don’t make it a habit.”
“No, ma’am.”
From the depths of the porch cave, a tiny mewing, little more than squeaks, resonated in the darkness.
“I hear one!” Timothy eyed his watch and crawled halfway under the porch. His voice echoed back to them. “Now, I’ll see how long it takes until I hear the next one. The experiment won’t be scientifically accurate, because even here, I can’t see too well.”
Rekindling Trust Page 9