Rekindling Trust

by Sandra Ardoin

  Andy hung his head.

  “He realizes it, Edy.” Barrett pulled her to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Officer Brennan. We’ll look forward to hearing the result of your inquiry.”

  Edythe thanked the officer, rested a hand on Andy’s shoulder, and guided him from the room. Once they stepped onto the sidewalk, she tugged on Barrett’s sleeve, stopping him. “What do you think?”

  “I think we should wait until Brennan investigates. He took good notes and didn’t reject Andy’s story. I believe he’ll be fair.” He glanced at Andy, who walked several feet ahead of them, before he slipped her arm through his. He edged closer and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “What did your father say?”

  “I...” She really must speak with the judge—if necessary, tie him down when he returned.

  “He still doesn’t know.” Barrett’s tone confirmed his disappointment.

  “He’s been gone for days, and I don’t know when he’ll return.”

  A grunt, better described as a growl, emanated from Barrett’s throat.

  “We were about to discuss it on Friday when we heard Sarah Jane’s screams over what happened to Snowman. Afterward, he disappeared again. I haven’t seen him since.” Edythe paused to let the reminder of the incident with the goose sink in, hoping he would understand. “I’ll speak to him as soon as he returns.” If not before the reception to announce the promotion of Ansel to the presidency of the bank, then immediately afterward.

  Her father had sprung Tuesday night’s event on her in a scribbled note he’d slipped under her bedroom door before disappearing. It meant another night in Ansel’s company.

  He was an additional problem demanding her attention.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Tuesday afternoon, Barrett entered Newland’s Department Store and stopped near the door to look around. Mark had told him Roslyn Malone worked behind the perfume counter on the first floor.

  A young man with the air of importance looked up and smiled. “Welcome to Newland’s, sir. My name is Mr. Pittman. What may I help you with today?”

  The young man’s grin infected Barrett and wiped away the frown he’d worn since learning the judge still knew nothing of Edy’s relationship with him.

  Barrett glanced around. “Nice store.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s the best outside of Chicago.” The smile broadened.

  “I’m sure it is.” Barrett got down to business. “I was told Mrs. Roslyn Malone worked here.”

  Pittman pointed toward the front corner of the building. “Yes, sir. You’ll find her in the perfume department.”

  Barrett had no idea what Mrs. Malone looked like. “Is she the only employee selling perfume today?”

  “Yes, sir. She’ll be happy to help you with a purchase.”

  “Thank you.” Barrett hadn’t come to make a purchase, but he kept that to himself. He found the woman he sought rearranging ornate bottles inside a glass case. “Mrs. Malone?”

  She looked up from her task. Not much older than Mr. Pittman, her smile shone as bright. If all the salespeople who worked here were as congenial as the ones he’d met so far, it was no wonder the store did such brisk business. “May I help you, sir?”

  He introduced himself as an attorney. “I’m aware this isn’t a proper place for a conversation, but I’d like to ask you some questions about your husband.”

  Her smile fell. “Gil? Have the police found him?”

  “No, ma’am.” Barrett looked around. “Would it be possible to meet with you after your shift?”

  Mrs. Malone stretched her neck as though looking for someone, then gestured to a woman a few yards away. “Muriel, would you mind watching my counter for a few minutes? It’s important.”

  Muriel sauntered toward them, gave Barrett the once over, and moved behind the counter. “Take your time.”

  Fortitude and, perhaps, the wrath of a deserted wife fueled Mrs. Malone’s footsteps as she marched to his side. “I could use a cup of coffee, Mr. Seaton.”

  After being seated in a restaurant in the next block, Barrett ordered two coffees and waited until the waitress brought them before stating his business. “I’m a friend of Mark Gregory’s and am representing Jeremiah Quincy.”

  “Yes, Claire mentioned you and Mark traveled to Peru looking for Mr. Olesky.” Mrs. Malone rushed to say, “I don’t want you to think Claire spreads tales, and I don’t know anything else.”

  He grinned to put her at ease. “Don’t worry. Actually, I’m hoping you can provide a little more information about the man.”

  She stopped in the midst of raising her cup to her lips. “Me? I never met him.”

  “Are you sure?” He stirred a little cream into his coffee. “To be more accurate, Mrs. Malone, I’m hoping to be able to tie him to your husband and his crime.”

  Barrett had expected to see her jaw drop, her face to lose color—anything but the sparkle of elation in her deep blue eyes. “You think he was Gil’s partner.”

  Perceptive, though he wished she’d have kept her voice down. Only a few people occupied tables in the café at this hour, granting those who sat within earshot better ability to hear a conversation he wasn’t ready to make public. “Not exactly a partner, though at this point, I’m not sure. It’s why I’ve come to you.”

  “The night Gil ran off, he argued with a man at our house.”

  “Who?”

  “I wish I’d seen him. I heard the voices but couldn’t make out the words. Then the man left. I asked Gil about it, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. We quarreled and I went to my parents’ farm for the night. The next morning, he was gone.” Her nails tapped the side of her coffee cup. “What makes you think Mr. Olesky—”

  “I believe his real name is Asa Osbourne.”

  “What makes you think Osbourne is the same man?” She lowered her voice this time, giving Barrett the notion she’d hoped others in the café heard the story of her quarrel with her husband. Perhaps it was her way of assuring them she hadn’t agreed with or supported Gil Malone’s crime.

  “Your husband was an accountant with Newland’s, correct?”

  “Yes. He managed the department, which gave him access to the books and accounts. That’s how he was able to steal the money without others knowing.”

  Barrett wondered about her ease in believing the worst of the man she’d married. “You’re certain he’s guilty of the embezzlement?”

  “Yes.”

  The force of the statement left no doubt in Barrett’s mind as to her anger toward Gil Malone. “Are you aware of anything else in your husband’s past that might have left him susceptible to blackmail?”

  This time, her jaw slipped. “Blackmail?”

  “I’m simply trying to establish or rule out possibilities. Was he ever accused of a crime or had he spent time in prison?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. It wasn’t my intention to marry a former convict.”

  He clenched his jaw to keep from mentioning that innocent men went to prison and, upon release, were worthy of happiness. But he wasn’t here to defend Wynn. “You know of nothing in his past that someone might have used to force him into the theft?”

  Her mouth twisted as she considered the question, and Barrett gave her time to present him with a well-thought-out answer. “Gil avoided talking about the past and became angry when I pushed for information. I suppose that was my first hint that he wasn’t the man I’d imagined him to be.” She swirled a spoon through her coffee cup, though she’d added nothing to the drink. It rattled against the sides, her only sign of emotion. “After the first few months, Mr. Seaton, our marriage was little more than a notation written in a Bible.”

  “I’m sorry.” He hated to ask but it might prove the reason for blackmail. “Was your husband seeing someone else?”

  “If so, he kept me in the dark about it.” A droll chuckle escaped. “Then again, he kept me in the dark about the embezzlement.”

  The rest of their discussion provided no ne
w helpful details. After walking Roslyn Malone back to Newland’s, Barrett let her talk him into purchasing a lily of the valley perfume that reminded him of Edy—gentle, yet with more resilience than she believed. The sale hadn’t taken much persuasion, since one whiff had him imagining her wearing it on their wedding day.

  A day only in his imagination if she didn’t use that resilience to tell her father about them.

  DURING THE RECEPTION, Edythe stood at one end of her father’s drawing room and sipped Mrs. Cameron’s punch, her stomach still in knots over Andy’s visit to the police on Sunday. They hadn’t heard anything from Officer Brennan, but she had prayed without ceasing, as she’d read in her Bible. Would it help?

  Since speaking with Verbenia, Edythe had devoted time each day to reading scripture. She prayed for a closer relationship with God and proof of his loving care. In the gospels, Jesus performed miracle upon miracle, showing His love and drawing people closer to the Father.

  Jesus wept. Reading those two words had produced an ache inside her. Then He had brought Lazarus back to life. Another miracle.

  Was having Barrett back in her life her own special miracle, proof of God’s favor?

  Her attention had strayed from the conversation between Ansel and the two couples who stood alongside them, laughing at something one of their group had said. She should join the others in their laughter but had no idea what they found funny. Instead, the smile she had planted on her face an hour ago—fake and frozen—caused her cheeks to ache.

  How she despised these gatherings. Men who did little more than drink and talk business until the alcohol wrested crass words and actions from them.

  Women who had nothing better to do than congregate in small groups and gossip about the latest poor soul unworthy of an invitation to whatever event they deemed important. She would be one of those poor souls talked about if not for her father’s standing in the community. On the other hand, they probably talked about her anyway.

  The only bright spot in the evening was the presence of Phoebe Crain and Spence Newland. However, she hadn’t had much time to converse with them.

  Ansel stuck to her side as if they had just finished a three-legged race and forgot to untie the rope lashing them together. She must take him aside after the party and make it clear she had no interest in him beyond friendship.

  How could she when every time she looked at him, she thought of Barrett leaning in to kiss her? Every time he smiled at her, she heard Barrett’s laughter. His every touch to her hand made her long for Barrett’s arms around her.

  Barrett Seaton was the only man she wished to have at her side for a lifetime, but could she really trust that he felt the same for her? What would she do if he abandoned her a second time?

  Edythe glanced at her father standing across the room and shook off the old, unwarranted thoughts. The judge had remained missing from the house until this afternoon. She had enjoyed the peace his absence provided. Unfortunately, his late arrival hadn’t afforded her an opportunity to sit him down to talk about Barrett.

  He crooked his finger and gestured for her to come to him. His mood blazed a bit too cheerful this evening for her comfort, but she did as he bid with Ansel acting as her shadow.

  Her father clasped her arm and drew her alongside him. He cast a smile, first at her, then Ansel. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make.” The room quieted, allowing him to announce his big news. “Many of you know that Mr. Sinclair, president of the First National Bank of the Wabash, has tendered his resignation due to poor health. Of course, that came as a shock to all of us on First National’s Board of Directors. However, we have voted and are of one mind.” He turned toward Ansel. “We have offered the position to Mr. Ansel Treadway, and he has accepted.”

  Edythe followed the lead of her father and others in the room in applauding Ansel’s good fortune. She leaned closer to Ansel. “Congratulations. I know this is something you sought.”

  Ansel’s features twisted. She had expected him to be grinning from ear to ear, not looking as though he’d lost the position.

  When the applause died down, she turned back to her father. His attention had snagged on something—or someone—at the entrance to the room. A few others noticed and turned to see.

  She followed their glances and her gaze lit on Barrett. He smiled at her from the drawing room doorway, but it was overshadowed by the distrust in his eyes when his gaze shifted to her father.

  The judge never mentioned inviting Barrett. How long had he been here? She took a step forward to greet him, but her father grasped her arm and pulled her back to his side.

  “As happy as that news is for Mr. Treadway, I have even greater news. It’s been several years since my dear daughter Edythe suffered the loss of her beloved husband, Lamar.”

  Edythe’s stomach churned. What was he up to?

  “Until recently, she has dedicated her life to raising her three children.”

  “Father—”

  “I have gathered you here tonight to announce that she has found a man to share that duty, that privilege.”

  Her gaze darted to Barrett, who remained across the room, his mouth tight and body rigid.

  “Please congratulate my daughter on her engagement”—the judge sneered in Barrett’s direction—“to Mr. Ansel Treadway.”

  Edythe almost choked on the sudden intake of air. Had she truly heard her father proclaim her engagement? To Ansel? She wanted nothing more than to shout a denial, but it was as though her father had snatched her voice as well as her right to decide her future. Again.

  Her glance shot toward the place where Barrett stood. He stared at her. All she could do was stare back. Ordering her feet to move and her mouth to open ended in disappointment.

  A few moments later, Barrett spun on his heel, and even over the noise of their guests, she heard the front door slam.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The slam of the door propelled Edythe’s feet into motion. She pushed through the crowd in her father’s house to get to the foyer.

  While those around her offered their congratulations, her gaze dropped to the two pieces of paper on the floor where Barrett had stood. She picked them up and pressed the halves together. An invitation to the reception. She read the handwritten note on the back.

  How could her father have done this to Barrett? How could he lie to her, then publicly announce a forthcoming marriage without even asking if it was what she wanted?

  Oh, Barrett.

  Edythe glanced at Ansel, her so-called fiancé. He’d shown no surprise at the time of her father’s announcement. Now she understood the guilt she thought she’d imagined on his face earlier. His chin sank with his inability to withstand the glare she sent him.

  The crowd parted as Edythe stalked back to him and whispered, “You were promised the presidency in exchange for this?”

  “It wasn’t like that, not really.”

  But it was. She could see it in the red creeping up Ansel’s face from under his collar. It advanced like an army to capture his ears and seize the skin running all the way to his hairline. His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. “May we discuss this later? We don’t want to embarrass your father.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that would we? We will discuss this sooner than later.” The words cracked like a whip, but she couldn’t dredge up an apology for their sting. Right now, she had something more urgent to do.

  Without looking at either man, she rushed out of the room before they could stop her. Let the two of them come up with an excuse for her absence.

  Upstairs, Edythe blocked out the sounds of laughter from below. She was a fool! A fool to let down her guard against the judge. A fool to have kept her mouth shut after his announcement. She should have shouted the truth from the rooftops, despite the impropriety of humiliating her father and Ansel in public. Was that what Barrett had waited for while his stare bore into hers—a denial?

  This would not happen. She would not be f
orced into another marriage to a man she didn’t love. Unlike last time, she’d grown strong enough to defy her father’s plan. No matter what he did—castigate her, bruise her, toss her and her children to the street—his heavy-handed days of ruling over her life were finished.

  Yes, she could confront the judge and Ansel, but it was Barrett who worried her most. Her father knew full well how his adversary would react to his announcement and had timed it for the moment Barrett arrived.

  Please, Father God, if you don’t care for me, at least show compassion for Barrett.

  She couldn’t help it. Her recent yearning for a closer relationship—a desire for a Fatherly love—prompted her to add another plea. Please don’t doom us to repeat the past.

  Was she also a fool to believe God warranted her trust when He seemed to turn away whenever she needed Him most?

  Edythe grabbed a cloak to ward off the night air, knowing nothing would ease the chill of apprehension over what she must do. After wrapping it around her and raising the hood, she tiptoed down the back stairs into the kitchen, startling Mrs. Cameron. “Do you need something, Mrs. Westin?”

  “Shh.” Edythe pressed a finger to her lips, trotted past the woman and out the back door into the darkness. Yes, she needed something. She needed Barrett’s understanding.

  She ran down the quiet streets of Riverport, nothing but the barking of dogs trailing her. At one point, the dark figure of a cat shot across her path, but she hadn’t the breath to scream.

  Once she reached Barrett’s street, her pace slowed until she stood at the end of his walkway. Her chest heaved as she stared at the house she’d always admired, a house she had begun to hope might one day be her residence. Now it stood before her, huge and menacing, a shadowy symbol of the ire she was sure to face from its owner.

  Second thoughts nudged her to turn around and wait to talk to Barrett until he’d had time to calm down. That was the logical thing to do.

  That was the weak thing to do, and she was so very tired of weakness.