Rekindling Trust Read online

  How well Barrett knew. “That’s a shame. We’re generally nice fellas.” Barrett liked to think he was nice, anyway...when he wasn’t being hostile to the boy’s mother.

  Andy snickered, made quick work of the latest catch, and added it to the frying pan. He broke off a piece of the fried bass, and popped it into his mouth.

  As they sat on the riverbank and ate, Barrett threw out a question with the same nonchalance with which he approached fishing. “Who were those boys on the other side of the river last week? Friends of yours?”

  “Sort of.” Andy concentrated on devouring the fish with no further clarification.

  Realizing he’d get nothing else and not choosing to push for it, Barrett ate his share of the fish, then doused the fire, and packed up his things. “I’m done for today.”

  “Me, too.” Andy gathered his pole and followed Barrett into town.

  They walked down Riverside Street and waited for an oncoming buggy to pass before attempting to cross Commerce. The man in the buggy yanked on the reins. He jumped to the ground and marched toward them, his glare fixed on Andy. “There you are, you hooligan!”

  On instinct, Barrett stepped in front of the boy. He recognized the man as the grocer, Mr. Ogilvie, the one whose potatoes Andy tried to swipe. “Mind telling me what’s wrong, sir?”

  Ogilvie halted and pointed to Edy’s son. “This ruffian threw a rock and broke my store window.”

  Barrett frowned at Andy, who shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

  “When did this happen?”

  The man continued to glower at Andy. “About twenty minutes ago. I was doing some bookkeeping in my office when I heard the plate glass shatter. Pieces covered the displays and the floor. It’s a mess.”

  Barrett breathed easier. “You’re accusing the wrong boy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Andy has been with me for the past two hours.” Barrett held up his fishing pole. “We’ve been at the river.”

  Andy held his pole up like a sword pointing to heaven. “Yeah. Don’t go accusing me of somethin’ I didn’t do.”

  “Quiet.” Barrett laid a hand on his shoulder. “The man was mistaken. It could happen to anyone.” And the boy’s reputation didn’t help him. “Can you describe the boy you saw?”

  “It happened so fast.” The grocer studied Andy. “Well, I didn’t actually see his face, and now that I look, the shirt color was different.”

  He’d simply assumed the culprit was Andy Westin, as the police had mistakenly assumed Wynn—who hadn’t possessed a sparkling reputation himself—had robbed the drugstore.

  “Have you reported the incident to the police?”

  “Not yet.” Ogilvie eyed Barrett this time. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “The name is Seaton.”

  The man’s brows rose. “Seaton? I remember.” He climbed back into the buggy. “I guess like travels with like.” The grocer turned his horse and drove off.

  Andy looked up. “What’d he mean by ‘like travels with like’?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  If everyone in town held Barrett in as high esteem as Judge Danby and Mr. Ogilvie, his law practice in Riverport was doomed to fail before it ever began.

  Chapter Six

  In contrast to Edythe’s more reticent personality, Claire Kingsley was no shrinking violet. She marched up the walk to each home they visited and asked boldly for a book donation for the sanitarium. Edythe hung back and smiled, holding out a box to collect whatever the homeowner had to give.

  As they approached a modest one-story home on a quiet street, Edythe shifted the weighty box in her arms. “I wish I knew how you do it.”

  Claire glanced at her. “Do what?”

  “Talk to total strangers and convince them to donate their unwanted belongings.”

  “Oh, that.” Her friend waved a hand. “It probably comes from spending two years as a sales clerk at Newland’s. I wouldn’t have had a job at the department store for long if I couldn’t talk the customers into buying from me.” Claire chuckled. “If you really want to learn how to talk to people, I’ll introduce you to Roslyn Malone. That woman can talk up a storm and teach you a few things in the process. But she has a heart of gold.”

  “She’s the one who works at the store’s perfume counter?” The one whose husband embezzled money from Newland’s—from Spence Newland, his employer and friend. “You live with Mrs. Malone, don’t you?”

  “For now. When Mark and I marry, she’ll probably look for someone else to move in with her.” Claire’s steps slowed. “I hope she does. I’m worried about her. A couple of times, she’s seen a man prowling around her backyard. The last time was a week ago.”

  “How odd. Did you see him?”

  “No. I was already in bed. By the time she woke me, he’d gone. Mark is so concerned he’s threatened to move our wedding up.” Claire grinned. “Not that I mind all that much. It’s funny. I fought against remarriage, but now, October can’t get here soon enough for me.”

  A couple of weeks ago, Claire shared with their Widow’s Might circle how God had helped her deal with her fear over an inability to have children. She spoke of Mark Gregory’s love and support, which had encouraged her to accept his proposal.

  Edythe couldn’t imagine the heartache of the miscarriages her friend had experienced. Her children were her joy. Her life.

  Claire knocked on the door. “Why don’t we make this the last stop? We’ve almost filled the box. It must be heavy. Are you sure you don’t want me to carry it?”

  Edythe’s arms did ache but she shrugged it off. “You talk. I’ll tote. I should return home to check on the children, anyway.”

  The screen door opened to reveal the woman of the house, whose haughty chin rose at seeing Edythe. “It is a mother’s job to supervise her children or they become uncivilized.”

  Edythe shrank back. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ogilvie.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Westin.” The biddy glanced at and dismissed Claire, then turned back to Edythe. “My husband says the police are still looking for the boy who broke his store window yesterday afternoon.”

  Edythe’s stomach sank. Someone had broken the grocer’s window? Please, not Andrew. According to her son, he’d gone fishing.

  “Mr. Ogilvie confronted your oldest about it.”

  What a shame Edythe and Claire hadn’t quit collecting with the last house.

  “Fortunately for young Andrew, he’d been at the river. At least, that’s what the man said who was with him.”

  “Andrew was with a man? Who?”

  “You mean he didn’t tell you?” Mrs. Ogilvie sniffed her disapproval of a mother who appeared ignorant of her son’s companions. “Mr. Ogilvie said he was with one of those Seaton boys.” She barked a laugh. “Guess we can’t call them boys anymore. If Andrew is keeping company with the one your pa sent to prison...”

  The woman left the sentence hanging for full effect, but Edythe finished it in her mind. If Andrew were keeping company with a criminal, it was no wonder he found himself in trouble.

  With Wynn in the sanitarium—something Mrs. Ogilvie didn’t know—Edythe realized beyond a shadow of doubt that Barrett had accompanied Andrew. How had her son met him? At the river? Was Sunday the first occasion in which they had spent time together? Given Barrett’s treatment of her at the sanitarium, why would he choose to be around her son?

  Barrett had fished the river many an hour as a youth. He’d told her that nothing taught a person patience better than tossing a line in the water and waiting for a fish to clamp on to the bait.

  As though a day hadn’t passed, she relived the first time they ever talked. Needing to get away after one of her father’s overbearing demands, she’d gone to the river. A short while later, Barrett arrived for an afternoon of fishing. His merry grin had coaxed a shy smile from her.

  She spent the next two hours—and the next six months—sharing that place on the riverbank with Barrett
, laughing and talking more than she had ever remembered doing. All without her father’s knowledge...until they were caught.

  Mrs. Ogilvie’s grin was less than merry. “Listen to me go on. I’m sure you ladies aren’t here to talk about hooligans of any age.” Evidently, she’d accomplished her purpose and was ready to get down to the business of their visit.

  Claire glanced at Edythe, and then explained why they had knocked on the Ogilvies’ door. They left a few minutes later with three battered books and an old seed catalog. Fortunately, Claire didn’t ask about the undercurrents in the conversation with the grocer’s wife, and Edythe didn’t volunteer any information.

  “Hand me the box, Edythe. I’ll carry it back to the carriage.”

  She handed her friend the box of books, her mind still reeling with the revelation that Barrett and Andrew had not only met but spent time together. Had Barrett sought out her son? If so, for what purpose? It didn’t make sense when he’d all but thrown her out of Wynn’s room last week.

  The two Seaton brothers had always been close. Had Barrett formed some reprisal plan for Andrew, because he laid the blame for Wynn’s conviction at the feet of her father? Despite Barrett’s claim at the time, Judge Danby was a lot of things, but he wasn’t corrupt. From all she’d heard through the gossip grapevine, the evidence against Wynn was too powerful for her father or a jury to ignore.

  Besides, that wasn’t the Barrett she had known. But then, that Barrett had gone back on his word to her.

  Another thought slowed Edythe’s steps. What would her father do if he learned that Andrew and Barrett were seen together?

  He’d been furious when he found her with him the week before Wynn was arrested, berating her for sneaking around with a boy behind his back, one who he’d claimed wasn’t fit to open a door for her. Afterward, he rarely let her out of the house except for church and outings with Lamar, the man he’d chosen for her to marry.

  It didn’t take much intellect to realize the foundation of the judge’s complaint against Barrett rested on his desire to study the law. Though her father had refused to tell her what happened when she was little, she had heard the rumors that her mother ran off with an attorney in a neighboring town. There was no reason to doubt the story, since it was well known that from that day on her father held most lawyers in contempt—out of the courtroom and whenever possible, in it.

  Edythe hurried toward the carriage. She must warn Andrew not to say anything about his fishing companion in front of his grandfather. Then, she’d plead with him to avoid any further contact with Barrett...for everyone’s sake.

  EDYTHE STOOD AT THE end of the walk to Barrett’s house and read the freshly planted sign in the yard. B. J. Seaton, Attorney-at-Law. Her heart pounded harder than Mrs. Cameron’s mallet on a slab of cut-rate beef.

  She could do this. She must do it. Andrew had left her no option.

  Her knuckles tapped the door with unintended softness, and she waited, not sure if he would hear the knock or, peering through the glass, choose not to answer.

  When confronting Andrew about the time spent with Barrett, her son had planted his feet and crossed his arms in defiance. Yes, he had fished with Mr. Seaton. Yes, they ate their catch together. No, he did not break the grocer’s window, and no, he would not promise to stay away from Barrett.

  B. J. likes me and doesn’t treat me like I’m some little kid sitting on a street corner and begging to shine his shoes.

  Edythe respected her son too much to deny the depiction of his grandfather’s attitude toward him. The judge treated Andrew poorly for no fathomable reason. Once she’d asked him why, but he merely glared at her and said, “Don’t play at being simple-minded, Edythe. It’s unbecoming.” She still didn’t understand.

  The door opened, interrupting her thoughts. Barrett stood on the other side. With the lack of surprise in his expression, he’d either seen her on the porch or expected her visit. “Come in, Mrs. Westin.”

  Edythe had passed this house numerous times and admired the charming exterior with its bay windows and scrollwork. Her first look at the inside didn’t disappoint. The room to her right appeared empty, with the exception of a small table and lamp next to an armchair, but she adored the carved fireplace mantel and floral wallpapers. “You have a lovely home.”

  “It will do.” He escorted her into the room across the hall.

  Empty crates were scattered over the floor. Every vacant surface contained stacks of books, a multitude spread across the desk, piled on the floor, and a few on a small table near the front window. Two large bookcases along the wall held even more, all legal tomes.

  He didn’t offer her a seat in the chair in front of the desk, nor did he sit in the large one behind it. Edythe remained near the entrance to the room, leaving plenty of space between them.

  “I don’t remember sending out announcements with my address.”

  “When you take out a notice in the newspaper, it ruins the secret.” He’d caught her by surprise at the sanitarium, but with several days to relive the past, her response came out sharper than normal. Years ago, he had been the one person able to draw out the brasher side of her nature. Apparently, time hadn’t changed some things.

  His lips ticked up as though she amused him. At least, they gave that impression. He propped a hip on the corner of his desk and clasped his hands in front of him. “Are you in need of an attorney, Mrs. Westin?”

  Edythe cringed each time he called her Mrs. Westin with that undisguised note of disdain. Why he thought he had right to treat her so was beyond her. “This is a personal matter, Mr. Seaton.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time in coming here. There is nothing personal between us.”

  His comment hit her like a slap to the face. Nothing personal between them? Whose fault was that? “It is personal when you keep company with my son against my wishes.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. We’ve each chosen to fish at our favorite place on the river at the same time, so we shared the spot. That’s all. It’s happened twice, and there were no premeditated arrangements for the outings. If you’ll remember, I like to fish. Evidently, it’s something your son enjoys too. There’s no harm in it.”

  If she were truthful, he might understand. “No harm? My son and his grandfather have a...a difficult relationship, Barrett. You should understand how that is, since you and my father—”

  “Butted heads?”

  Despite an attempt to restrain it, her own tiny smile slipped out. “Like two rams doing battle.”

  His expression softened. A moment later, it hardened again, as though he’d caught himself relenting in the anger he aimed her way—an unjust anger. “From what I saw the day Andy tried to steal the potatoes from the grocer, the judge isn’t the only person he has difficulty with.”

  Edythe’s skin warmed at the knowledge that he’d witnessed her failure as a mother.

  No less rigid, he said, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  Almost everything he’d said to her was uncalled for. “I’m asking you to leave my son alone.”

  His head shifted slightly, then his gaze reverted back to her. “I appreciate your concern for Andy, but I like the boy and don’t intend to shoo him off if we find ourselves at the river at the same time. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

  What right did he have to treat her with such hostility? “Barrett, I don’t understand. I see no reason why you should—”

  “What are you doing here, Ma?”

  Edythe closed her eyes. Father in heaven, why now? Why here?

  Chapter Seven

  Andy Westin stood at the door of Barrett’s office. Judging by his reddened face and heaving shoulders, his mood was dark. Barrett considered telling him to grow up. Then again, he was only eleven. How mature should he act?

  And who was Barrett to criticize Andy’s childish reactions when Barrett’s own level of maturity dwindled whenever he was around Edy? On a scale of one to ten, it fell to near
zero knowing he’d withheld the fact that her son stood behind her, listening to their conversation.

  There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health.

  The verse from Proverbs 12—the chapter he’d read that morning—had stuck with him, the wisdom convicting him. Lord, I’ve allowed a lack of forgiveness toward her to become so ingrained in me that I can’t even see her without becoming the type of man I despise, one whose words pierce like a sword.

  Such actions were no better than those of her father.

  Andy marched into the room, a malevolent expression aimed at his mother. No matter his displeasure with her actions in the past, Barrett was tempted to come to her aid. But the boy was her son not his. He was her responsibility. A small grunt left his throat. Nothing would change the fact that Andy’s father was the late Lamar Westin.

  “Andrew, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re the one whose got no right to be here, Ma. You got no right to tell me or Mr. B. J. who we can be friends with. Right, Mr. B. J.?”

  Edythe turned, her tight expression wordlessly seeking Barrett’s help. When the cavalry failed to arrive, she took her son’s arm and tried to lead him to the door. “Let’s go home, Andrew.”

  The boy planted his feet, his knees locked. “I came to see if Mr. B. J. wanted to go fishing next Sunday.”

  “I’m sure he’s busy. Aren’t you, Mr. Seaton?”

  Andy yanked his arm from Edy’s grasp. Pain flashed across her face and she rubbed her shoulder.

  That did it. No matter his feelings toward her, Barrett refused to stand by and see her injured. “You hurt your mother, Andy. Apologize.”

  “But she—”

  “I said apologize.”

  Andy’s jaw worked back and forth. His eyes shot fire—at Barrett this time, even as they pooled with a little boy’s tears. “Sorry, Ma. I’m sorry for being born into your family.” He bolted out the front door, slamming it behind him.

  Edy dashed to the door after him and threw it open. “Andy!” She stopped and hung her head, her back to Barrett.