Rekindling Trust

by Sandra Ardoin

  In the early hours of this morning, Barrett became the last Seaton. Betrayed a second time by the only woman he’d ever wanted to carry his name, he would likely remain so.

  He’d failed to save Wynn. He’d failed to keep his distance from Edy. And he’d failed to save himself a second round of pain.

  Then again, maybe failure wasn’t his problem. Maybe it was naivety. He was naive to expect everyone to receive fair treatment in life. He expected wrong to be made right and the guilty to have their sins revealed. He expected the punishment to fit the crime and the innocent to be exonerated. Well, he’d learned his lesson—once with Wynn, twice with Edy.

  The doctor called Wynn’s passing a peaceful transition to eternity. Peaceful or not, it didn’t take away from the fact that Wynn died for a mere fifty dollars—money he lost in a matter of moments. At least his brother had ended the Ned Flannigan farce.

  Now that Barrett had been informed of the truth about the robbery, what was he to do with it? It only deepened his guilt over not remaining at home that night.

  And yet...

  Prison had saved Wynn’s soul. It brought him into eternity with God in a way that all the Sundays spent in church had never done. Wynn did die in peace. He had received the earthly justice due him as a criminal, but God’s grace and mercy saved him from receiving the justice due him as a sinner.

  God is just but forgiving.

  Barrett gripped the arms of his chair. Jesus paid the price that allowed Wynn to be forgiven by God. It was the ultimate injustice, because it was a debt He hadn’t owed.

  God expected Barrett to treat others in a just manner and forgive the wrongs done to him.

  Don’t continue to hold on to your anger with Judge Danby and Edy. You’re the one it hurts in the end.

  He did hold onto his anger, and it did hurt him. It hurt others.

  Since the night of the reception, Barrett had considered dismissing Edy as his client. But she wasn’t his client. Not really. His responsibility was to her son. How just was a decision like that when it came to the boy? How merciful was it to let Andy face an uncertain future without the experience of someone who might help prepare him should the worst happen?

  Barrett might never understand why good people suffered—sometimes, unfairly—but that didn’t excuse him from his responsibility to show mercy and forgiveness to others.

  ONCE THE FEW MOURNERS had walked away—mainly staff from the sanitarium—Edythe remained, unsure what to do or say.

  Clothed in fine dark wool, Barrett stood still and solid as granite in front of the precipice of the empty hole, the final resting place of Wynn’s body. He stared at the casket being lowered into the ground by the men the cemetery employed for the task.

  Edythe fought tears, not so much for Wynn but for his brother. Maybe a few were for herself, for the fact that Barrett never glanced at her during the burial service, yet she was certain he had been aware of her presence. She’d stood behind him, and when Dr. Ellis greeted her by name, Barrett’s body grew rigid.

  Would he resist her effort to provide comfort, if but for a moment?

  Stepping forward, she reached out to touch Barrett’s shoulder but pulled her hand back.

  With another delivery of books to the sanitarium, she had learned of Wynn’s death and wanted to say her goodbye. Maybe coming had been a mistake, but despite Wynn’s flaws, she wanted to honor his memory.

  Besides, she owed Barrett evidence of her love whether he accepted it or not.

  The day of Lamar’s funeral, she’d spoken to mourners gathered in her home after the service. Few people touched her. Few hugs. Little physical contact from anyone but her children. Only rote expressions of sympathy from people with whom she had nothing in common. Words she couldn’t even remember now. Despite the fact that she and her husband were little more than good friends, how she had longed for the arms of comfort.

  Lips quivering, Edythe ventured a fingertip touch. His muscles tightened, and then relaxed. The fact that he didn’t pull away emboldened her. She slid her hand over the material of his black coat until her palm rested on the top of his shoulder. It was all she dared do.

  As they stood, unmoving, her throat raged with fire, leaving words of sympathy to burn up before they reached her mouth. Honestly, what could be said at this moment that might make a difference for him?

  Nothing. Not now. Not here.

  They endured the silence side by side for what seemed an endless time but was more like a couple of minutes. Neither of them twitched a muscle as her black attire absorbed the warmth of an Indian summer sun. Dampness formed along her hairline and up and down her spine.

  With a final squeeze of his shoulder, she turned and walked away.

  When she reached her carriage, Edythe twisted to glance behind her. Barrett remained in the same spot, still unmoving...except for the hand that wiped each side of his face.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Two days after Wynn’s funeral, Barrett stood outside Judge Danby’s front door, his emotions as raw as the skin on a scraped knee. It was time to lay aside the past, to apologize to the judge for Barrett’s own failing—his resentment and anger. The thought of it was like swallowing castor oil, so maybe he had a little more internal work to do.

  The judge opened the front door and stared at Barrett. He expected the man to demand he get off his porch, off his property. If so, Barrett would obey, content to tell himself he had tried.

  Fine. That was the quitter’s way out.

  He’d speak his piece, or as much of it as Edy’s father would listen to before slamming the door in Barrett’s face.

  His expectations changed with the defeat written in the older man’s demeanor. “Come in, Barrett. We have things to discuss.”

  Barrett? Not Seaton? Not boy?

  He stepped inside and removed his hat. From his spot in the foyer, he looked around the vacant area—for Edy.

  He hadn’t known how to handle her presence at Wynn’s funeral and the soft, sympathetic touch that reminded him of all he had lost in less than two weeks. So, he’d said nothing. After she walked away, he’d battled the temptation to call her back. Grovel at her feet if necessary, or act like her father and order her to break her engagement to the banker.

  What good was it to want someone who didn’t want him enough to make her own decision about their relationship? But he was working to forgive her—he was bound and determined to do so.

  Barrett followed the judge into the drawing room. This wasn’t his first glimpse of the inside of the house. Twelve years ago, he’d walked into this very room, pleading with the man to let Wynn go free. It was the last time he’d begged for something from Hayden Danby.

  Now he’d returned to beg for forgiveness.

  “Have a seat.”

  Not much in the room had changed. It was the judge’s attitude that struck a foreign note.

  Barrett waited until the older man flopped into a chair by the fireplace as though he hadn’t the energy to sit properly. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.” He came for a purpose and when that purpose was achieved, he would leave.

  “Suit yourself. I can say what I have to say no matter where you are.” He caught Barrett’s gaze. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You owe me an apology?”

  “Yes, and you’ll get it once. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Barrett controlled the urge to grin at the growled declaration. “No, sir. I’m listening.”

  “Years ago, I let my personal experience cloud my judgment when it came to my daughter and her wishes. I told her I only wanted to protect her, but I’ve done a good deal of soul-searching lately and realized that bitterness and fear drove my actions. Learning Edythe had fallen in love with a man destined to be an attorney brought back all I’d gone through with her mother. Finding out you’d returned to town set those feelings off again, so I arranged for Ansel to court Edythe.”

  And break Edy and Barrett apart.

  “In exchange,
I promised him the presidency at the bank.” The judge eyed him. “She knew nothing of the engagement until I announced it at the reception last week. It wasn’t something she sought or welcomed.”

  “Or something she turned down. I was there, remember? You saw to that.” Barrett’s body warmed with a renewed anger and disappointment that he beat back.

  A hint of a smile appeared on Danby’s face. “Yes, I remember. At the time, it gave me great pleasure to watch you stalk off.” He grew sober. “Then Edythe’s mother died, and I mistakenly suggested to my eldest grandson that he was your child.”

  Barrett sank into the nearest chair. Andy his child? An impossibility but a fact that continued to sting. How he would have enjoyed being the father of all three of Edy’s children.

  Ignorant of the way Barrett’s mind whirled with the revelations, the judge said, “I spent my wife’s last days with her. She was buried yesterday.”

  That explained their absence when he paid a call here last evening. “I’m sorry, but let’s go back to your telling Andy I was his father.”

  “Edythe wasted no time in taking me to task for all my mistakes, including that one. Lately, my daughter has acquired more mettle than I credited her with. She also made certain Ansel knew there was no engagement between them.”

  A flutter in his gut took Barrett by surprise. Flutters weren’t something a man readily admitted to. “I didn’t know.”

  “My daughter didn’t love him any more than she loved Lamar. Her sights were set no higher than you, in the past and the present.”

  Were? That flutter turned into a hefty cannonball. If he and Edy had lost another chance at a future together, the blame rested with Barrett. Rather than give her time to deal with her father’s deception and lie, he’d assumed—a second time—that she wasn’t strong enough, setting his pride free to ruin everything between them.

  Was it too late to bow and scrape at her feet?

  First...

  “Judge, I came to tell you I was wrong. Before he died, my brother admitted to committing the robbery at the drugstore.”

  Danby nodded. “Sometimes, we choose not to see the truth about others...or ourselves. It brought me no pleasure to send anyone to prison, not even your brother.”

  Yet he’d been willing to send Edy into another marital prison.

  At a knock on the door, the judge left the room. A moment later, Barrett heard Officer Brennan’s voice and stepped into the foyer to greet the policeman.

  Upon seeing Brennan’s frown, Barrett’s heart skipped.

  MASCULINE VOICES IN the otherwise tranquil house disturbed Edythe’s embroidery of a tablecloth, her wedding gift for Claire and Mark.

  She poked the needle into the linen, set the gift on the sitting room sofa, and walked into the foyer. A policeman stood near the door, talking to her father.

  “Officer Brennan?” When his attention shifted to her, Edythe froze. Rather than the expected smile on his face—confirmation that the Larson boys had confessed—his grim expression spoke of bad news. She clasped her hands together in a tight hold. “What is it?”

  “I spoke to Tad and Hollis Larson. They denied the story your son told but admitted being at the Stark place when Andrew started the fire.”

  “They lied to you.”

  He moved a few steps closer, his expression one of pity. “I’m afraid that’s not all. Mr. Stark has regained bits of his memory. He thinks he remembers a boy with dark hair.”

  “He thinks? He isn’t positive?”

  “His mind’s still cloudy.”

  “What about the other boys? Does he remember them?”

  His cap spun in his hands. “No, ma’am.”

  “That doesn’t prove my son was to blame.”

  “The Larson boys have dark hair.”

  Edythe whirled at the statement from the oh-so-familiar voice. “Barrett.” She hadn’t noticed him standing near the staircase. Why was he here?

  Barrett stepped forward. “What’s next for Andy?”

  “I’m afraid he’ll need to report to a judge in the morning, Mr. Seaton.”

  Edythe’s gaze locked on the police officer. “Reform school?”

  “That will be up to the judge, Mrs. Westin.”

  She marched to her father. “Do something before my son is sent away for no reason. Talk to the judge.”

  “I know Judge Griffin. If I try to intervene, it could worsen Andrew’s situation.”

  “What could be worse than sending a child away from his family? To lock him up?”

  Barrett moved closer. “We’ll think of something, Edy.”

  Edythe took a step toward him with an impulse to close the gap between them and fall into his embrace, to let him comfort her. But she stopped, determined to stand on her own, to face this situation with the type of gumption none of the men here had ever credited her with possessing. “We? It’s my understanding there is no we.”

  EDY AIMED A SCORCHING glare at Barrett and brushed past all three men on the way to the staircase. “If you will excuse me, I need to see my son.”

  Barrett stood by as she ascended the stairs with quiet footsteps and a graceful motion that never failed to mesmerize him.

  He should not have left it to the police to look into Andy’s accusation against the Larsons. He shouldn’t have allowed his difficulty with Edy to get in the way of his duties as Andy’s lawyer.

  She was right on another point. Those boys lied.

  Officer Brennan cleared his throat. “Judge Danby, please have young Mr. Westin at the police station by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “He’ll be there.” The judge saw the policeman out and turned to Barrett, his lips set in a firm line. “Obviously, both of us have fences to mend.”

  Barrett’s upward gaze landed on the empty hallway at the top of the stairs. He relived the feeling of Edy’s hand on his shoulder as they stood near Wynn’s grave. After she’d left, he stayed there for more than hour, grieving and praying for wisdom.

  Today, he hadn’t the time to lament the situation. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to prove the Larson brothers lied and free Andy from the threat of reform school. And he must do so before tomorrow morning.

  “Mr. B. J.” Timmy tugged on Barrett’s coat. “Come see my experiment.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have time right now, son. I have work to do.”

  “Well, when you come back, maybe you can help me like you did with the fingerprints.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you—” An idea halted Barrett halfway to the front door. He spun. “Timmy, did you get Andy’s fingerprints?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May I see them?”

  The eight-year-old ran upstairs and returned with a sheet of paper bearing his brother’s name. He handed it to Barrett. “See that scar on his thumb? He cut himself on barbed wire one day, so his are easy to identify.”

  Barrett had seen the scar the day Andy cleaned the fish. He’d counted on it marring the thumbprint and studied the interruption in the inked swirls. “Good work, Timmy. May I borrow this?”

  “Don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t.”

  If all went well, the Trouble Brothers would soon sing to the police of their guilt.

  Chapter Thirty

  Edythe knocked on her son’s bedroom door. She’d left him an hour ago after drying his tears and drying her own. Telling him of the Larson brothers’ lies and the possible consequence for his life was the hardest thing she had ever done. His little body quaked with fear when she held him in her arms, never wanting to let go.

  “Andy, it’s time for supper. Wash up and come downstairs.”

  No doubt the whole family would waste Mrs. Cameron’s good meal. Word traveled through the house in a matter of minutes after the officer departed, and it left them all without appetites, even her father. But they might think better with at least something in their stomachs.

  With no response, she knocked a second time and turned the knob. “A
ndy?”

  Edythe scanned every empty corner, then knelt and looked under the bed. “Andy, where are you?”

  She searched every bedroom, calling his name, to no avail. Where had he gone?

  Finding her father in the drawing room, words rushed from her mouth in a panic. “Andy is gone.”

  The judge dropped the newspaper he’d been reading and looked at her. “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. He isn’t in his room or anywhere in the house.”

  “Well, he must be somewhere close. Did you look in the yard?”

  After the two of them and the twins scoured every room in the house and every foot of Danby property, including the small stable, Edythe gripped the kitchen counter, using it to hold herself up. “He’s run away.”

  “Now, you don’t know that for a fact.” Her father laid a hand on the wrist he’d once bruised and gave it a gentle squeeze, his flesh warm and comforting. “Even if he did, he can’t have gone far. I’ll search the neighborhood.”

  While he was gone, Edythe paced the kitchen floor and peered out the window. If only she would see Andy hiking through the backyard, but the encroaching darkness enabled her to see little more than shadows. Thinking of her baby wandering alone in the dark of an autumn night—upset, fearful, and probably chilled—a powerful sense of the old helplessness washed over her.

  Helpless?

  No. She couldn’t remain in this state. She must do something. Pressing her fingers to her temples, she mumbled, “Think, Edythe. Where would Andy have gone?”

  She straightened. Had he gone to Barrett for counsel or comfort?

  She called to the twins and instructed them to tell their grandfather she’d gone to Barrett’s house to look for Andy, then dashed for the door, pausing to grab a cloak and a lantern.

  Within minutes she’d hitched Jester to the gig. As she drove the horse toward the street, Mr. Peters chased the vehicle and jumped onto the seat next to her, rocking the body of the conveyance and looking entirely too joyful at the prospect of a ride.