Rekindling Trust Page 3

  Edythe blew on the paper and grinned as it spun. “So, the closer one is to the windmill, the easier it turns?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But don’t get too close. You can use it to study wind speed and direction. Did you see how the shapes blend the faster it turns?”

  “That’s a silly gift for a mother.”

  Timothy glared at his sister. “It is not, Sarah Jane.”

  “Is too.”

  “Enough.” The judge’s growl quieted the twins.

  Edythe blew once again and considered the windmill with more intent, so much so, her eyes almost crossed. “That’s very clever, Timothy. You’ll make a fine inventor.”

  A smile covered his face. “Like Thomas Edison.”

  “Better.”

  One more package rested on the table in front of Edythe—thin, flat, and bendable. She guessed it to be a sheet of drawing paper. Andrew was a fine artist, and she couldn’t wait to see what he’d drawn for her. Sliding it closer, she untied the green ribbon and pushed aside the wrapping paper. The smile on her face wilted. She recognized their old home, barely. Rather than an artistic endeavor of quality, something she knew him to be capable of, this looked like something a five-year-old would draw.

  When she looked at him, he sat with his shoulders slumped, eyes on the edge of the table in front of him.

  “Let’s see it.” Her father motioned with his hand for her to hold it up.

  Please, don’t say anything.

  Edythe held the drawing for him to see. He snorted. “Is that what you call an appropriate gift for your mother?”

  Her lips sealed in the words she wanted to say, she should say. But she had never learned how to win an argument with the judge. “It’s very nice, Andrew.”

  “Here is my gift.” Her father pulled a small jeweler’s box from inside his coat pocket and gave it to Sarah Jane to pass to her.

  Edythe startled. When was the last time he had given her an actual gift rather than a handful of bills and the order to buy herself something worthy of a Danby? She took the box from her daughter and stared at it.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Yes.” She opened the lid. On a bed of red satin sat a ring of white gold. Her breath caught. She picked it up and examined the large ruby in the center, surrounded by tiny seed pearls. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It was your mother’s. I assume you’ve reached an age to wear it without losing it.”

  Edythe restrained a soft snort. She was twenty-nine...no, thirty today, and he only now believed her mature enough to be given her mother’s ring?

  Sarah Jane’s eyes widened, revealing that her daughter did possess a bit of young lady hidden inside that tomboy personality.

  “It’s beautiful. I don’t remember seeing it before.” Then again, after Edythe’s mother left, he had locked away everything she hadn’t taken with her—including her daughter.

  He stood up and tossed his napkin on his plate. “Your mother had excellent taste...in most things. Excuse me.”

  Once he left, Edythe smiled at her children. “Thank you. All of you. This has been a wonderful birthday celebration.”

  Later, in her bedroom, Edythe laid all her presents out on the bed. Her gaze locked onto the box with the ring, a valuable ring.

  If only she could remember her mother wearing it. She remembered so little of the woman who abandoned her husband and daughter. A woman who ran off with another man and left behind her small child to be raised by someone who was not physically abusive, but whose thirst for control over her had much the same effect.

  Edythe might not be so careless as to lose the ring, but what if she sold it? What if it brought enough money to move herself and her children into a place of their own?

  The idea of selling it left a sour taste in her mouth. Besides, what would she do afterward? She’d need some type of work to continue living in freedom.

  Carrying the box to her dresser, she dropped it in a drawer. She’d decide what to do with the ring another day.

  FISHING POLE IN HAND and a creel hanging off his shoulder, Barrett tromped through the grass and brush to the bank of the river. He and Wynn had fished from this spot dozens of times while growing up in Riverport. If he was going back in time by being here, he might as well go back to the location of some of his better memories.

  He sat in the grass at the edge of the bank where it sloped into the river, ready for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Nearby, a fallen hickory tree, its skeletal branches dallying with the low water level of summer, created an ideal place for fish to gather.

  Barrett prepared his hook and tossed the line into the water, close to the limbs but not so close as to risk getting it tangled. After half an hour of a few bites and one bass in the creel, he leaned back and tipped his slouch hat over his closed eyes, feeling more relaxed than since his arrival in town.

  While the sun beat down on his body, his mind slipped back to days of coming to the river with his brother—whom he admired more than anyone other than his grandfather—and skimming stones across the surface. The two brothers talked of plans and dreams. Some came true for Barrett, like his wish to be an attorney. Wynn’s desire to open a furniture store never had a chance to come to fruition.

  Before he could stop it, Barrett’s memories transformed into a full-blown scene of the first day he talked to Edy. He eyed the spot mere yards from where he now sat and let the past take over the present.

  He saw himself as he approached the river, prepared to catch supper to take back to the farm. Edythe Danby sat on the riverbank, arms wrapped around the knees drawn to her chin. He’d known her from school but had paid little attention to her beyond noticing that glossy hair as dark as her eyes. Though one of the prettiest girls in school, she’d lacked the gregarious spirit of the females who normally attracted his notice. But that day, something forlorn in the way in which she stared across the river drew him toward her.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  Seemingly lost in thought, she jumped at his voice. She studied him for a few seconds, and then, like a queen permitting the advancement of a subject to her throne, gestured to the ground near her.

  He left a couple of feet of grass between them. “I come here often to fish.”

  Those velvet eyes enlarged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your spot.”

  “If anyone is intruding, it’s me. You were here first.” He prepared his line and tossed it in the water. “I don’t remember seeing you outside of school.”

  “I don’t get out much.” She had the quietest voice.

  “Why not?”

  “I prefer being home.” Edythe frowned, then her chin quivered. “That’s a lie. I hate being at home.”

  With a little encouragement from him, words poured out of her. Words that made Barrett uncomfortable. Words that left him angry. Words that touched his heart—his soul—in a way he’d never experienced.

  Over the next months, they met here whenever they could get away. He’d begun to call her Edy, giving her a nickname that didn’t remind her of what her father called her. At first, he considered it a challenge to make Edy laugh and laughed himself when he succeeded.

  Soon, the desire to be together drove them to meet almost daily. He wanted to call on her at her home, but she’d refused, afraid her father would object. Sometimes, he took her to the farm, but they avoided town where the judge had too many friends that would happily report that his daughter was seen in the company of a male—and a farm boy, at that.

  Was that why he returned here today? To relive those days?

  The swish of the grass behind him ended his reminiscences.

  “Catch anything, mister?”

  Barrett raised his head. Two boys stood by his side—Edy’s boys, the troublemaker and the younger one. It was all he could do not to run them off. He wanted to. He should. Call it curiosity or a simple matter of being a glutton for punishment, he propped himself on his elbows. “Got one bass.”

  The bo
ys dropped down on the grassy patch next to him and readied their fishing poles. Had they never been taught the etiquette of waiting to be asked to join someone?

  “You come here a lot, mister?”

  The younger one dug into a can of dirt and pulled out a worm. “I don’t think he does, Andy. I haven’t seen him.”

  “It’s been several years.”

  “Years? How come?” The little one frowned. “Don’t you like fishing?”

  “I like it, but I just moved back to town.” Barrett sat up and added a worm to his own hook.

  “I’m Andy Westin. This is my brother, Timmy. What’s your name?”

  If he hadn’t already, their grandfather would discover Barrett’s return to town soon enough. Unlike Wynn, he’d never intended to keep his presence a secret. But knowing the judge’s attitude and his temper, it might be best for the boys that they not mention him by name. “You can call me B. J.” A number of people he’d dealt with in his business referred to him by his initials, because that was how the sign on his previous office door read.

  “Well, Mr. B. J., this time of year the river’s low around here. But we still catch bass, some carp, and blue gill.”

  “Sounds like you two are experienced fishermen.”

  “Andy says our papa brought us fishing.” The boy hung his head. “I don’t remember it.”

  “You weren’t even six when he died, so of course, you don’t remember.” Andy’s expression turned wistful. “But I do.”

  Already knowing the man was dead, Barrett made up his mind not to ask about Edy’s husband.

  “Anyway, it’s up to me to teach Timmy how to fish.”

  “You don’t have an uncle or...” Barrett couldn’t help it. He dug for clues with the same determination that Timmy dug in the can for worms.

  “Nah. We live with our grandfather and he wouldn’t recognize a fish unless it was gutted and cooked in butter.”

  Although the comment was comical, the angry tone kept Barrett from laughing. He was getting quite a picture of the Danby household. Over decade had passed, and not much had changed.

  “He stole our house.”

  “Stole your house?”

  “Andy, if he stole the house, he would be in jail.”

  The warning from the younger boy made no impression on the older one. “He did. He stole it and Ma did nothing about it.”

  The words were too similar to the boy’s indictment against Edy the day he was caught stealing the potatoes. Often, Barrett had been called upon to defend adults with the same bitter attitude. Some committed crimes as retribution against others. Some as a way to make themselves feel powerful. It was unusual for him to see such defiance in one so young.

  If he continued in his present direction, Barrett feared the boy trod a dangerous path—a path that led to ruin. Edy might have betrayed their relationship—their future—years ago, but that didn’t mean he’d rejoice to see her son end up like Wynn.

  “It wasn’t Mother’s fault.” Timmy pushed his brother with little result.

  Andy pushed back, knocking the younger boy to the ground.

  Fishing poles fell, and the two brothers began wrestling, rolling on the ground and grunting.

  “That’s enough, boys.”

  Andy sat up and yanked Timmy up with him.

  In a softer voice, Barrett said, “Brothers shouldn’t fight, and children should respect their parents, even if they don’t agree with all they do.”

  Andy stiffened, staring across the river. He slapped Timmy’s arm and hopped to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  Timmy frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I said we gotta go.”

  The boys gathered their fishing poles and creel and trudged back through the grass. Every few seconds, Andy peered over his shoulder.

  Barrett’s gaze skimmed the area across the river. Two boys, one who looked to be thirteen or so and the other nearer Andy’s age, stood on the bank, watching. Once Andy and Timmy disappeared from view, the boys moved on, vanishing among the trees.

  What about seeing those boys made Edy’s son so jumpy?

  Chapter Four

  Sanctuary.

  The word best described Verbenia Jensen’s home. A quiet, peace-instilling sanctuary from the turmoil that often defined Edythe’s life.

  Even with a parlor full of ladies talking at the same time—a constant clamor—she sank back in the upholstered armchair and took in the scene with a contented smile. These seven women had become her closest friends over the last couple of years.

  Edythe looked forward to these Sunday afternoon Widow’s Might meetings. Women from various walks of life accepted her without expectation, without demand, and without criticism. It was exhilarating and uplifting.

  “Ladies, shall we discuss our next endeavor?” Verbenia stood in front of the fireplace, her back as straight and expression as firm as a schoolmarm. The older widow had taken Edythe and her young friends—fellow widows—under her wing to support their struggles with spiritual guidance and her own experiences. “Would anyone like to suggest a project that is dear to your heart?”

  Ruby Kelly raised her hand. “I’ve prayed about this already.”

  Claire Kingsley turned to the woman. “And?”

  Only moments ago, Claire had announced that she would marry the architect with whom she worked and leave their group. Phoebe Crain recently left them when she became engaged to her beau, Spence Newland, and they replaced her with Louisa Gruhn, a sweet young woman with a four-year-old daughter. Both Claire and Phoebe planned October weddings.

  Edythe didn’t begrudge any of the women in the room an opportunity for happiness with another man, though she saw herself as a Widow’s Might member for life.

  Ruby said, “I don’t believe we’ve done anything lately to provide some respite for the patients at the Oakcrest Sanitarium. Perhaps there’s something they need to ease their suffering.”

  “I will take part in whatever is decided, but don’t ask me to go to that place.” Mavis Lipp’s husband had succumbed to consumption five years ago. Edythe didn’t blame her for her decision.

  Louisa, still feeling her way in the group, ventured a question. “What did you have in mind, Ruby?”

  “I’m not sure.” Ruby glanced around the room. “Has anyone a different idea?”

  Edythe normally remained silent, happy to go along with whatever the other ladies chose to do. Still, a suggestion came to her that refused to be suppressed. “My father considers Dr. Ellis a friend and has supported the sanitarium over the years. Not long ago, he mentioned that the patients often lack interesting things to keep them busy and their minds off their illnesses. They could use some forms of entertainment. What if we collected used books from the community and provided the residents with a small library?” The more she’d talked, the faster the words poured out. Now, she shut her mouth, satisfied to revert to silence once more.

  The others stared, lips parted. Evidently, she participated verbally even less than she’d imagined.

  “I think that’s a splendid idea, Edythe.” Verbenia winked at her. “What do the rest of you think?”

  Slowly, they each recovered from their surprise and voiced their agreement.

  “Then it’s settled.” Verbenia turned to her, and every hair on Edythe’s neck rose to attention, wary of the glow on the woman’s face—the glow of victory. “Why don’t you take charge of this one, dear, since you’re familiar with the place and, I presume, the staff?”

  “I...” Edythe found her tongue tied, her thinking also in knots.

  Hiding behind a refusal is weakness.

  “I’ll visit Oakcrest tomorrow and talk to Dr. Ellis about it.”

  “Good. Now, our refreshments await, ladies. Please help yourselves.” As Edythe rose to follow the others, Verbenia stepped in front of her. “How is Andrew?”

  “Andrew?”

  “Yes, I understand there was some trouble at Ogilvie’s last week. I don’t mean to i
nterfere, and I’m no gossip, but if you ever need an ear to listen, I’m here.”

  “Thank you, Verbenia.” Based on the birthday gift from her son, Edythe’s family was anything but fine, and she was tempted to seek out this wise woman’s counsel. But not today. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

  EDYTHE REINED IN HER horse, Jester, near the entrance to the Oakcrest Sanitarium, stopping her two-wheeled gig behind a larger carriage. The main wing of the large white building resembled a Southern plantation house more than a hospital to treat persistent illnesses—mostly consumption, or what doctors called tuberculosis.

  Her father’s sister had perished from the disease over two decades ago, which was one reason he dedicated his charitable dollars to Oakcrest. She marveled at the thought that he once cared for someone enough to honor her memory with his money.

  These places based their treatments on healthy diets and fresh air. It wasn’t the first time she had entered the sanitarium, but each time it left her both hopeful for the patients who occupied the rooms and saddened by their plight.

  Inside, she caught herself before wrinkling her nose at the strong scent of disinfectants. Dr. Ellis once told her he took pride in the spotlessness of the sanitarium and had established a strict schedule of scrubbing every corner, as dust was a prime contributor to the spread of the disease. With that cleanliness in mind, she wasn’t afraid of contracting tuberculosis through a simple visit.

  “May I help you?”

  She turned to see the matron standing beside her, a woman of authority and control, as intimidating as her father. “Good afternoon, Matron McGill. I’m Edythe Westin.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first, Mrs. Westin. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.” Her fingers curled into a tight ball around the handle of her purse. “May I speak with Dr. Ellis?”

  “He’s with a patient at the moment. If you’d like, I’ll take you to his office where you’ll be comfortable waiting.”

  Being her father’s daughter did have its advantages at times.