Rekindling Trust Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Rekindling Trust (Widow's Might, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  A Word to Readers

  Acknowledgments

  Historical Romances by Sandra Ardoin

  About the Author

  ©2021 Rekindling Trust by Sandra Ardoin

  Corner Room Books, Salisbury, North Carolina, USA

  For more information on this book and the author visit: www.sandraardoin.com.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For further permissions, please contact the author through her website: www.sandraardoin.com/contact.

  Rekindling Trust is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  ISBN: 978-1-7334630-4-1 (Print); 978-1-7334630-5-8 (E-book)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021905117

  Cover design by Evelyne Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design.

  Edited by Lynne Tagawa

  Get Unwrapping Hope, the novella that kicked off the Widow’s Might series, as my thank you when you sign up to receive updates and special offers at www.sandraardoin.com/newsletter.

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  There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment.

  He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

  1 John 4:18

  Chapter One

  “Don’t do this, Barrett. It isn’t what you want. We both know it.”

  Barrett Seaton wrestled with the temptation to obey his brother’s plea and turn the carriage around. Wynn was right. He didn’t want to do this. But Barrett’s wants had nothing to do with the matter.

  The carriage horse stomped the ground, impatient for Barrett to tell him which direction to go—left, right, straight. Etched on the wooden sign planted at the crossroads an arrow pointed east to Riverport, two miles down the road. A few feet beyond it, another sign read Oakcrest Sanitarium. Its arrow pointed west.

  Wynn shifted on the seat and turned away from Barrett. Away from the possibility of infecting him? “You should have left me where you found me.”

  Never.

  “If you won’t listen, then take me and leave. Go back to your practice in La Porte. You didn’t need to uproot your life to hold my hand in my last days.”

  His last days? The words bruised like a fist to the gut.

  Barrett tried to ease both of their minds with a grin, but Wynn’s back remained turned. “Who else would I uproot it for but a brother?”

  His hold on the leather reins tightened. He stared east, at the road that ran straight as a ribbon, bordered by cornfields on each side. The stalks rose a good six feet high, with creamy silks sprouting from the ends of the ears like blonde tresses falling over a woman’s shoulders. It would be a good season for farmers. But what did the season hold for the brothers?

  “We Seatons stick together, remember?” They were supposed to, anyway.

  Wynn hunched down on the seat. “You’re bound to see her...and him.”

  “Danby no longer sits on the bench and Edythe...” Edy forgot about Barrett long ago. She’d pledged her life to Lamar Westin in front of God, her father, and the best of Riverport society. He laughed, a hollow sound that grated on his ears. “She’s probably content and herding a dozen children by now. I’m sure I will see her at some time, but for me, she’s in the past.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, little brother. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.” Wynn turned his head away and coughed into his handkerchief, a wracking, phlegm-filled cough that shook his body and the body of the carriage. He tucked the cloth in the pocket of the suit coat Barrett had bought him, but not quickly enough to hide the patch of blood.

  Judge Danby had done this to Wynn. If Barrett believed in retribution—an eye for an eye—he would soon have the opportunity to exact that retribution on Edy’s father. If he were a vengeful man.

  But he was not Danby. Unlike the judge, Barrett believed in justice, not in destroying the lives of innocent people simply because he could.

  What he failed to understand was why God allowed the innocent to be persecuted and the righteous to suffer under the actions of tyrants.

  Barrett clicked his tongue at the carriage horse and guided the animal to the west—toward Wynn’s new home. Would his brother ever leave Oakcrest alive?

  Too soon, the sanitarium came into view, set in the midst of a well-landscaped yard and surrounded by three acres. It was a cheery-looking place if not for the reason for its existence.

  Barrett stopped the carriage and set the brake. The facility was known as the best of its kind within hundreds of miles, the only sanitarium Barrett considered for his brother. How ironic that the location brought them back to an area that held unwelcome memories for both men.

  The door opened and Dr. Ellis walked out, followed by a woman in a blue-striped dress, a crisp white apron, and a starched cap.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Seaton.” Smiling at Wynn, the doctor said, “You must be Mr. Flannigan. We’ve been expecting you.” He stepped forward and helped Wynn from the carriage.

  Barrett had argued with his brother, disliking deception, but Wynn had insisted he be placed in the sanitarium under the fictitious name of Ned Flannigan. He’d said he preferred no one know of his return. As far as the staff was concerned, Barrett’s relationship to the new patient was that of attorney and friend.

  Dr. Ellis handed Wynn off to the nurse. “Nurse Hammond will get you settled in your room, and I’ll be in to examine you shortly.”

  Wynn glanced over his shoulder at Barrett, the wide eyes and childlike anxiety on his older brother’s face prompting a flashback to the day Wynn went to prison.

  Barrett held his gaze and dipped his chin in a silent reassurance that everything would be fine. He’d lied to his brother twelve years ago, and he lied to him today. There would be no “fine” for Wynn Seaton. Not in the long run. Even if he regained his strength and left the sanitarium, tuberculosis was incurable.

  “Please come in, Mr. Seaton.” Dr. Ellis started for the door. “There are papers to be sign
ed.”

  And a payment to make.

  As a private hospital, Oakcrest Sanitarium was about to cost Barrett a tidy sum each month—a sum he’d made through his work as an attorney and multiplied through conservative and well-placed investments during the time of a crippled stock market. Still, it was a far cry from the Danby fortune.

  As long as he could afford it, Barrett would not begrudge his brother a comfortable place to live. And if he pleaded long and hard enough with God, that would be for years in the future. In the meantime, he would see that his brother received the best care his money could buy.

  Barrett followed the doctor into the large two-story Georgian building. A number of ferns and other potted greenery as well as colorful carpets and cheerful paintings bolstered the home-like appearance inside. Only the smell of soap and disinfectant and the faint coughs sounding from upstairs spoiled the building’s homey appeal.

  Nevertheless, this place was quite an improvement over the stark, cold atmosphere of the shack where he’d found Wynn. Even now, Barrett didn’t understand how his brother could bear his suffering with such courage and composure.

  He ambled to a painting on the wall of a sailboat on a placid lake, its sails billowing as it cut through the water on a sunny day. Just the kind of scene to cheer a soul who likely would never experience such freedom again. “I’m impressed by the surroundings, Dr. Ellis.”

  “I’m glad it meets with your approval. We receive our main support from the generous donations of caring citizens throughout the state of Indiana.” The doctor joined him at the painting. “We have Riverport’s Judge Hayden Danby to thank for this particular piece.”

  Barrett’s stomach tumbled. Wynn would be treated in a facility supported by the man who put him in prison.

  Since when did you begin to dabble in practical jokes, God?

  HIGH-PITCHED GIGGLES drew Edythe Westin’s attention away from the pillowcase she’d spent the past hour embroidering in the drawing room. She smiled at the laughter, a rarity in her father’s house, and set aside the handwork to step into the expansive foyer. She must see for herself what provoked the carefree glee in her children.

  More merry giggles nearly overcame the clack of her heels on the marble. When her mind registered the scene before her, she froze, skeptical of her vision. Her eight-year-old son was sliding backward down the curved banister of the staircase. He flew off the end and hit the hard floor on his derriere.

  “Timothy!” She reached out to help him to his feet, his face still lit with the exuberance of his action—one he knew full well was forbidden by both her and her father.

  If only she could see that pleasure on a regular basis, though. To see it on the face of Andrew, her oldest, would bring her particular joy.

  She bent over to brush imaginary dust from Timothy’s short pants. “What were you thinking?”

  “But it was fun, Mother.”

  “Fun?” Secretly, she wished she’d had the courage to do such a thing at his age, but she couldn’t tell him that. “You know what your grandfather would say if he caught you.”

  The mild scolding had barely left Edythe’s mouth when she heard a shriek. Unable to stop, Sarah Jane plowed into Edythe’s side, nearly knocking her to the floor. At least Timothy’s twin hadn’t landed in a heap next to her brother.

  “Sarah Jane.”

  Wide-eyed, her daughter threw her leg over the banister and dismounted as if she’d ridden the wooden rail like a horse. “Sorry, Mother.”

  “Where did you two get the idea to do something so dangerous?” The twins gazed upward at the top of the stairs where the oldest of her brood stared down at her. She might have known.

  “Andrew dared us,” said Timothy.

  Of course he did. What was she to do with the eleven-year-old who persisted in rebelling against and resenting everything his elders said and did? Not that she completely blamed him. Still, she couldn’t allow him to endanger his siblings. “That was foolishness, Andrew. Dares are foolish.”

  “Sometimes, they take courage, Ma.”

  Ma? He often goaded her with the term when his grandfather wasn’t around to correct him. If her father heard him call her Ma, he’d receive a harsh lecture.

  When they were younger, her children called her Mama, but the judge had put a stop to the informal title when her family moved in with him after her husband’s death. He insisted they call her “Mother.” She hated it.

  “Please watch your tone, Andrew.” Even as she said the words, Edythe heard no bite in them.

  At times like this, she especially missed Lamar’s presence in all of their lives. Her husband had a way with their children that kept them in line without provoking anger and resentment, especially from Andrew. On her own, she was a failure at discipline.

  Her rebellious son swung a leg over the banister and pushed off, skating backwards down the slick wood as his siblings had done.

  “What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here?”

  Edythe and her two youngest children jumped at the familiar bellow. Andrew lost his balance and tumbled sideways onto the stairs, rolling down the last three steps to the marble. He lay still, eyes shut.

  With her heart in her throat, Edythe dropped to her knees beside him. “Andrew, are you hurt?” Had he broken anything? Knocked himself unconscious? She smoothed his hair—straight and a rich dark brown, like hers. She cupped the side of his face, and his breath warmed her hand. “Talk to me, son. Can you get up?”

  “Andrew got the wind knocked out of him. Serves him right for acting like a buffoon.”

  At his grandfather’s insult, Andrew’s eyes opened and his mouth stretched into a tight line.

  Edythe prayed her son wouldn’t say something they would all regret. She tugged his arm. “Can you stand up?”

  “Leave him alone. He’s fine and doesn’t need your mollycoddling. Do you?” Her father stared at Andrew, beating him with a silent challenge.

  Her son struggled to his feet and ducked his head. “No, sir.” His voice held more respect than it had when he’d spoken to her. Because the judge demanded respect.

  “You’re fortunate you didn’t break something, boy.”

  If it hadn’t been for her father’s roar, Edythe had no doubt Andrew would have landed safely. He was a nimble and athletic child, tall for his age, yet too young for his attitude.

  Her father’s glare shifted to each child in turn, with a near imperceptible softening when it rested on Sarah Jane. They all stood in meek anticipation. “Go to your rooms and do not let me see or hear you before you are called for supper.” When the children hesitated, probably too cowed to move, he pointed up the stairs and yelled, “Now!”

  All three broke into a run, unable to escape fast enough. Their little feet stomped up the stairway.

  Upstairs, doors slammed, leaving Edythe and her father alone in a space where long-ago images intruded and sounds escalated, as loud as a memory.

  The slamming of a door.

  Dirt clinging to tears that rushed down the soft cheeks of childhood, becoming streaks of mud on lips, a gritty taste on the tongue.

  Mustiness reaching out with choking hands.

  Drowning in darkness—so black and ever so lonely.

  A throat raw from screams echoing underground.

  Then light—glorious daylight and fresh air. The face of her father staring down from a place of safety, anger disfiguring his features.

  The incident belonged to and had remained in her early childhood...until her father used it to coerce her into doing his will. Barely eighteen and brokenhearted, she hadn’t had the backbone to fight the threat to send her to her grandfather. She’d only known she’d agree to almost anything to keep from seeing that ancient fiend again.

  Edythe drew in deep breaths until her heart stopped racing but clasped her hands in a tight hold. “The children meant no harm, Father.”

  He walked to the banister and ran a hand over the finish of the mahogany wood. “They could have sc
ratched it.”

  “They didn’t.” She hoped.

  He picked up a stack of envelopes from the hall table. “If you don’t gain control over them, Edythe, they’ll turn into a bunch of hooligans.”

  Like he controlled them? Like he’d always controlled her?

  Is it so difficult to grant us one day of peace in this house, God?

  As soon as the thought formed, she asked forgiveness for her disrespect. She had enough trouble with her earthly father’s judgment. She didn’t need more with the one who sat in judgment on her from His throne in heaven.

  Edythe returned to the drawing room, unclipped the top from the phonograph case, and rotated the crank. She stood at the side of the instrument while it played, letting the soothing music on the cylinder wash over her and calm her until she could think.

  Ages ago, prior to her marriage, Barrett Seaton had wheedled laughter from her on dark days. In his presence, she found the joy missing in her home and achieved a measure of self-confidence. Barrett gave her the freedom to be the best of herself. Though she never publicly disrespected her father, she’d gained the courage to defy him and meet with the teen boy with whom she’d fallen in love, whose persuasive personality was so different than hers.

  In the end, though, he turned his back on her. He abandoned her in the same way her mother had done when she was a child.

  Foolish as it seemed, she missed him. She missed both of them.

  The music ended and Edythe walked out of the drawing room. Somehow, she must leave this house, for the good of her children and her sanity. But with no income other than that which her father allowed, how was she to support herself and them? Remarriage?

  She’d been fortunate with Lamar. It didn’t mean she’d be as fortunate with someone else. Was marrying another man she didn’t love the right answer to removing her children from beneath the authority of her father?

  Chapter Two

  Edythe led the way into Ogilvie’s Grocers. She held Sarah Jane’s hand while Timothy and Andrew followed behind. Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder to be sure the boys were close and not lagging to wander off on their own. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought them with her this morning, but despite their bent for trouble at times, she enjoyed being with her children—all three of them.