“I wasn’t aware we were entertaining.” His beard filled out his lean face. Her father was a handsome man when he chose to charm others. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Hayden Danby, Edythe’s father.”
Edythe introduced Verbenia and Claire. “They missed me at the meeting this afternoon and came to see that I was well.”
Verbenia stood. “We were about to leave and let your daughter get some rest. It was nice to meet you, Judge Danby.”
“Must you go so soon? It’s a pleasure to finally meet my daughter’s friends. She speaks of you often.”
A pleasure to meet her friends?
“It’s clear that Edythe isn’t feeling well.”
“Is that true, Edythe?” The judge’s performance could earn him a role on the stage.
“Merely a headache, Father.” One that had almost vanished with the visit by her friends. Now, it raged once more.
His eyes narrowed. “Then I agree. It is better if she rests. I’ll see you ladies to the door.” Her father led them from the room.
Verbenia glanced over her shoulder. “If you need anything, my dear, I’m always available.”
Edythe’s eyes stung. Had God given her friend special insight into the needs of all the women she mentored?
As soon as her father shut the door, she crossed the foyer to the staircase, intent on spending some time with Andrew.
“I’d like to speak with you before you return to your room.”
She sighed and followed the judge into the drawing room. He prompted her to sit in the armchair by the fireplace. For a moment, she considered rebelling by sitting on the sofa. But what good did it do to fight the petty skirmishes of a war when there were larger battles to wage?
He stood beside her. “Let me see your arm.”
He needn’t indicate which one. Before she could push back her sleeve, he lifted her wrist and did it for her. Grimacing at the bruise, he ran a finger over it, his touch light and tender. “I’m sorry for having been rough with you. It won’t happen again.”
Edythe stared at her father, not sure what to say. How long had it been since he’d shown her the type of regret and thoughtfulness she heard in his quiet words? How long would the contrite attitude last?
More to the point, what did he want in return for it?
GOOD SENSE AND BARRETT’S emotions had parted ways Saturday evening. He’d suffered for it ever since, unable to free his mind of the image of Edy on the porch, calm and comfortable as she entertained a visitor—a male visitor whose laughter had scraped Barrett’s eardrums. He imagined the clod salivating over the opportunity to keep company with such a beautiful woman as Edythe Westin.
Maybe he had erred in turning around without saying a word but the memories, the past anguish, took control of his actions...and his feet.
He entered the police department and approached the front desk. “I’d like to speak with my client, Jeremiah Quincy.”
“Wait here, sir.”
Once the sergeant left, Barrett tripped on a chair along the wall and nearly fell onto the seat. Clumsy oaf. He almost kicked the chair, then wanted to kick himself for being preoccupied with Edy’s love life when she meant nothing to him.
She should mean nothing to him.
Barrett rested his elbow on the chair’s arm and propped his chin on his hand. He needed to pull himself together before something dire happened—to him or someone in his path.
His thoughts had been scattered this morning. He burned his breakfast, lost his temper with Mrs. Quincy for no good reason, and misplaced the book with his notes on her husband’s case. The latter could have proved disastrous for Jeremiah. Fortunately, Barrett had found it in—of all places—the icebox.
Being out of sorts because another man courted Edy made no sense. He’d survived this situation before. He’d survive this time.
And why shouldn’t she enjoy someone else’s interest? What business was it of Barrett’s? He’d lost her favor years ago. At least, at the time, he’d thought she favored him. He’d learned the truth the hard way. No wonder she’d never answered his letters back then.
Barrett looked up to find the sergeant waiting for him. “Your client is ready for you, Mr. Seaton.”
After being escorted to a private room, Barrett found Jeremiah inside, wearing clean coveralls, iron cuffs on his wrists, and a befuddled look on his face.
“Did they decide I ain’t guilty?”
“No, Jeremiah.” Barrett shut the door. “I want to talk about your time at McMullin’s livery. You left your horse there.”
“In the corral.”
“Since McMullin closed the livery for the day on Saturday, you placed the fee in a box in the tack room.” Barrett eyed the man as he fidgeted in the chair.
Jeremiah jerked his hands apart, pulling taut the chain holding the handcuffs together. “I reckon that’s something I wasn’t truthful about. I guess I didn’t want to admit to not having paid and give them something else to charge me with.”
Barrett drew in a breath and released it, which helped him control his tone. “Don’t ever lie to the police, Jeremiah, and don’t ever lie to me.”
“No, sir.” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about that man I bumped into and remembered something about him.”
“What?”
“I knocked the fella down and his hat flew off. He had a crooked gray streak running through his hair.” Jeremiah pointed to his head, indicating the area with the discoloration. “Reminded me of a lightning bolt.”
A gray lightning bolt? Considering Jeremiah had lied about the livery fee and suddenly recalled the mystery man’s prominent feature, Barrett wasn’t sure he could trust what his client told him. “Is there anything else you remember about the man you knocked down or your actions that day?”
“No, sir. I reckon not.”
“This is important, Jeremiah. Anything might help.”
The man sat straight. “I’ll think on it some more, but I told you everything I remember.”
Barrett left, less convinced of his client’s innocence, but he’d pay a visit to the scene where the crime took place and to the livery.
Despite the discovery of Jeremiah’s lie, working had eased some of the tension in Barrett’s gut.
EDYTHE STRUGGLED TO lift the crate of books from the carriage seat. It had taken two of them to put it in the vehicle, and even with her height, she needed leverage to raise the heavy box. She should have brought two smaller crates instead of packing this one so full at Verbenia’s.
What if she pulled it across the seat until it reached the edge and fell into her hands? No. She might mar the leather, which would only antagonize her father. He still hadn’t let her forget the incident with the banister.
She turned to ask for assistance inside and ran into a human wall. Each of them stepped back. “Wynn. I mean Ned.” She glanced behind him to be sure no one heard her call him by his real name.
He stepped back. “It’s all right. My guess is I’ll be found out sooner or later. I hoped to protect Barrett until he got a good start with his law office.” A half-grin brightened his wan face. “I was sitting in one of those chairs on the porch when you drove up. It looked like you were having some trouble. Thought I’d help you out.”
She feared overtaxing him. “Are you sure? It’s heavy.”
He picked up the crate and grimaced. “You’re right about that, but I’ll manage.” Back slumped, he appeared fragile, looking as though he should do nothing more strenuous than rest in bed, but he didn’t buckle under the weight of the books.
She remained at Wynn’s side in case she was needed. He carried the crate into the sanitarium. The muscles in his thin arms shook from bearing the weight. There was a time when his muscular build outshone his younger brother’s slim frame. Now, the opposite was true.
“Where to, Edy?”
“In the parlor, please. Dr. Ellis agreed to let us set up a library of sorts in there.” Fortunately, it was the first doorway o
n the right, so he hadn’t far to go.
With a grunt, he set the crate on a table in the center of the room. His breathing strained harder and faster than it should for a man in his early thirties. “I heard about your husband. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She pulled several books from the crate. Wynn stepped back once more, as though protecting her from his illness. His concern clutched at her heart.
The years and consumption had changed the Wynn Seaton she remembered. He was subdued, the opposite of the young man who’d always had something to do, somewhere to go, or something to say. He’d been a bit too wild for her taste, but Barrett never seemed to see that side of his brother. He had admired Wynn in much the same way Timothy revered Andrew.
“Were you happy with him?”
She hugged the books to her body, searching for a proper response to a question she’d rather not answer. “Our marriage blessed each of us.”
Unnerved by what he might see through his steadfast gaze, Edythe carried the books a few at a time to one of the built-in shelves the staff had cleaned off and arranged them in alphabetical order. Once the Widow’s Might ladies had accumulated a better-sized collection, she would organize everything by type of reading material.
Wynn’s footsteps shuffled across the bare floor, but he kept his distance. “I apologize, Edy.”
She turned. Whatever was on his mind dragged down the corners of his mouth and crinkled his brow. “For what?”
He glanced around the room, then behind him. Making sure they were alone? “What happened back then...I came between you and Barrett and ruined your happiness.”
Her relationship with Barrett changed when the police arrested Wynn. Yes, she’d been bitter toward Wynn for a while, but Barrett left her of his own volition. Even if he hadn’t, her father’s hostility and her inability to stand up to him might have torn them apart eventually anyway. “The problem between Barrett and me wasn’t your fault, Wynn.”
“If it weren’t for me, the two of you would have married...had children...been happy together. You both deserved that.”
Barrett had condemned her father—continued to condemn him—for the influence he believed the judge exerted in Wynn’s arrest and conviction. That condemnation had trickled down to include her. “It’s in the past. Let’s not dredge it up again.”
“That’s just it.” He hung his head. “I need to tell you something before it’s too late. When I do, you’ll probably hate me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Edythe looked up from the stack of books awaiting placement on the shelf, her spine stiff with dread. Wynn continued to avoid looking at her, and the seconds ticked by without him saying what was on his mind, why he thought she would hate him. “What’s bothering you?”
His toe scuffed the floor, reminding her of a child expecting chastisement. “I’ve been looking for a way to tell Barrett. So far, I’ve been too big a coward.” He shrugged. “He’s had such faith in me, you know.”
“He always looked up to you.”
“Which makes the truth even harder to say.” He turned away from her, dragged a handkerchief from his trousers pocket, and covered his mouth as he coughed. His shoulders shook emphasizing the thinness of his body.
Poor man.
When he’d finished, looking pale and even more frail, he dropped into the nearest chair.
“What’s this about, Wynn?”
He peered up at her. “How do I tell my little brother that he’s been wrong about me all these years, Edy? He still believes I was innocent of the robbery.”
She placed a hand against the commotion in her stomach. His confession wasn’t a surprise. She’d always thought him guilty, but he’d refused to admit it.
“My brother thinks your father railroaded me into prison because of him.”
“He believed what you told him.”
“It wasn’t all a lie. I didn’t hurt that man, but I was there. I took the money.”
“If you didn’t hurt him are you saying there was someone else with you?” The police only accused Wynn, who had denied the involvement of anyone else.
He nodded. “Don’t ask me for a name.”
“Why not speak up at the time?”
“What good would it have done?”
“You might have received a lesser sentence.”
He turned away and coughed again, the wracking sound distressing. “Maybe I didn’t hit that druggist, but I was guilty of theft. The jury would have said so, and your father would have sentenced me to those years anyway.”
“And your partner? You’re content to let him get away with no punishment?”
“What happened is long past done, and she’s dead. There’s no point in upsetting her family.”
“A woman?”
His rueful grin reminded Edythe of the old Wynn. “Another of my sins.”
And one she’d be happy for him to refrain from confessing. “They found no money on you.”
The grin faded. “She took it from me.”
“Why, Wynn? You had plans for your life. Good plans. You had the possibility of a successful future. Why throw it all away?”
“I was drunk, Edy. As you know, I liked my liquor in those days.” He spat the words out.
From the way his hands slid up and down his thighs, she understood he aimed the explosive words at himself, not her. His reckless actions of yesterday drew his self-condemnation today.
He hung his head. “But I trusted her. I loved her.”
And love often led to foolhardy behavior.
“After my arrest, I couldn’t bear to disappoint my brother, so when he accused your father of influencing the police and prosecuting attorney, I went along with it.”
“Oh, Wynn. Why tell me this? Barrett is the one who needs to hear it.”
“I’ve tried a hundred times to tell him. Each time I lose my nerve. Your pa isn’t the only one to convict me of my sins. God got His hold on me in prison. The only difference is I know God has forgiven me.” He blew out a breath. “I’m telling you all this, because I’m humbly asking for your forgiveness.”
“Mine?”
“If I’d told the truth back then, Barrett would have accepted my guilt. He’d have stayed here and fought the judge for you.”
Edythe stared out the window at the view of the rear yard and its colorful flower garden, its cheery blooms a contradiction to the purpose of this building...to her state of mind. The only man she had ever wished to speak vows with was Barrett Seaton. If only he had loved her as she had loved him. “Your brother had other plans—plans to become a lawyer. He was going to leave one way or another.”
“But not without you...not for so long.”
Could she grant Wynn her forgiveness? Years ago, she would have said no. It no longer mattered, and she would help him find peace. “I do forgive you, but your brother deserves to hear the truth.”
“I know.” He rose from the chair. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep what I said to yourself and let me tell him in my own time.”
She nodded. “This is a family matter. It isn’t up to me to say anything.” Not that Barrett would listen to her, in any case.
“There was a time when I thought you’d be family. You two have a second chance. Don’t let what I did in the past keep you apart now.” Again, he flashed that rueful smile. “I found the courage easier to come by when it came to confessing to God. I’ll have to work myself up to being truthful with Barrett.”
She couldn’t help the slight smile on her own face. “Telling me was a rehearsal?”
“Not intentional. Well, maybe.” Wynn lumbered across the room. Pausing in the doorway, he turned, shoulders hunched so that he appeared twice his age. “You’ve always had a sweet spirit, Edy. I’m truly sorry to have caused you trouble.”
Once he’d left the room, she finished placing all the books on the shelf without worrying about alphabetizing them. Detailed focus eluded her. Wynn’s apology was unnecessary, but his news would break Barre
tt’s heart.
Before leaving the sanitarium, Edythe told the matron to expect another book delivery in the next couple of weeks. She stepped onto the porch and peered at the groups of chairs set up on each end. Several patients lounged in them, taking advantage of the fresh air that doctors said was key to recovering their strength or maintaining their health. None of the patients was Wynn Seaton.
She settled on the seat of her father’s carriage and gave the reins a gentle slap against Jester’s gray hindquarters. As the horse headed toward town, she prayed for guidance in dealing with Andrew. She prayed that her belief in her son’s innocence was not as misplaced as Barrett’s faith in Wynn’s.
And she prayed for the faith to believe those prayers mattered to God.
BARRETT SCOURED THE alley near Swain’s, looking for anything that might pertain to his case, anything to help him identify the man Jeremiah said he bumped into. He peered in and behind crates, kicked empty liquor bottles, examined smudged shoeprints in the dirt. Nothing useful.
Moving into the grassy lot, he headed toward the small shack where Dulong met his death—a tumble-down structure he recalled from his days growing up. One of the earliest buildings in town, it hadn’t seen a resident since the ’70s and attracted all manner of visitors, mostly those who stumbled into it after a few hours at Swain’s.
He pushed open the door. The police had already searched the building, but it didn’t hurt for another set of eyes to go over it.
The stench inside the one-room shack nearly knocked him over. Pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he pressed it to his face. Clearly, people had abused the place over the years—using it for sleeping, as a shelter against the cold or rain, to empty their stomachs after too much alcohol, even as a latrine. What the shack lacked in comfort and cleanliness, it made up for in broken furniture, boxes, and more liquor bottles.
Barrett caught a whiff of the iron scent of blood. Or maybe he imagined that last smell based on the dark stains splattered across the floor.
Rekindling Trust Page 12