Rekindling Trust Read online

  “Give him some time.”

  “Time won’t do any good. He resents me. He resents his grandfather.”

  Barrett had represented a number of bitter people in court. Their spiral into defiant and criminal behavior usually began with some incident that scarred them as a youth. “How long has he been like this?”

  She shut the front door and turned around. “After Lamar died, we moved in with my father. It started not long after that. For some reason, the judge has always disparaged Andrew, but it became more evident after we began living under the same roof.”

  It couldn’t be easy being caught in the middle of the issues involving her father and her son. “Maybe you should take the upper hand with both of them. Try standing up for your son on occasion.”

  She stared at him in that way he remembered. The one that said she tried to think of something sharp or witty or argumentative to say to put him in his place and exhort him to mind his own business.

  But she was right. He had no place in her family’s affairs. Yet, he couldn’t stop from asking, “Why move in with your father? Why stay?”

  “When was the last time you were a widow with children, no home, and no means of support?”

  Pain seared Barrett’s clenched jaw. Westin had failed to provide for his family in the event of his death?

  He picked up a stack of books from the floor and stood them on a bookcase shelf. Unlike some penniless widows, Edythe had her well-to-do father to rely on. No need to pity her, and the sooner she left his office, the sooner he could return to his work without feeling as though she watched his every move.

  “B. J.?”

  His hand jerked at the soft voice in his ear, closer than he’d like. The end book fell over, slapping the wood of the shelf. “That’s what the sign out front says.” He held his tongue between his teeth until the pain left him wondering if he’d bite the tip of it off.

  He set the book upright. Donovan’s Tact in Court. Naturally.

  She picked up another book, turning it to the spine. “Criminal Law. You represent clients in criminal cases?”

  “Yes.” He took the book from her and added it to the shelf, not caring that none of them were in the order he’d planned. He’d fix them later. After she left and when he could think without her standing there, her height putting her nearly eye-to-eye with him.

  Her proximity dared him to raise his hand and touch the smooth curve of her cheek.

  “It makes sense.”

  He frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I remember how important it was to you to see that...that people received fairness in their trials.”

  That Wynn received a fair trial? Was that what she meant? “Everyone is entitled to justice. Sometimes it runs in short supply.”

  “So does trustworthiness.” She crossed the room toward the foyer. “I’m sorry for disturbing your afternoon. Please consider what I said about Andrew. He may act tough and independent, but he’s a sensitive little boy.”

  Having found her tongue, she walked out of the house without giving him a chance to find his.

  Barrett moseyed over to the front window and pulled the sheer curtain aside to watch her climb into the buggy at the curb. She’d aimed that cryptic remark about trustworthiness at him. How had he been untrustworthy?

  He recalled it being the other way around.

  BARRETT WALKED OUT of the post office after sending a telegram to a friend in La Porte. He’d asked him to hire someone to deliver the rest of his belongings to the train station and ship them to Riverport. Once the few possessions he’d kept from his previous home arrived, the move here would be real—for however long he stayed.

  He entered the general store, passed the scents of cinnamon and other spices, and approached the clerk stacking tins on a shelf. Newland’s Department Store would be a better, faster choice for replacing the furnishings he’d sold when moving here, but he figured the employee of a smaller mercantile would be more likely to provide the information he sought. In addition, he preferred to support the Davids over the Goliaths.

  “Good morning.”

  “Yes, sir, it is.” The man’s grin was infectious. He wiped his hands on the apron he wore. “What can I do you for?”

  “I’m new in town and looking for a housekeeper, a woman to clean and do laundry a couple of days a week. Are you aware of anyone seeking such a position?”

  “Let me think.” The man rubbed his beard and frowned. “You might try Mary Quincy. Her husband lost his job at the brewery.” As if a silent message didn’t count as spreading gossip, he covered his mouth with the side of his fist and tipped his head back, gesturing that the man imbibed too frequently. “Can’t say she’d be interested or that she’d agree to anything permanent, but I’m positive they can use the money.”

  Barrett pondered the wisdom of hiring someone who couldn’t commit to a permanent position. On the other hand, that described him. “Where might I find Mrs. Quincy?”

  The clerk gave him directions to the Quincy farm not far from town.

  “Do you have a catalog?” Barrett asked.

  He ordered a number of necessary items for his new house, thanked the clerk. and walked outside—right into the path of Judge Danby.

  For the life of him, Barrett couldn’t seem to avoid the family. They were everywhere he turned. He’d find it comical if these meetings weren’t a constant reminder of heartbreak.

  The two men sized each other up like pugilists in a boxing ring. No doubt, that would be the tenor of this meeting, because Barrett refused to walk on and let the judge believe he did so with his tail between his legs.

  The man must be in his mid-fifties now—gray-headed and showing a few wrinkles around the beard on his face. With a straight back and squared shoulders, no paunch or sags, he wore his age well for someone with his sour disposition. “I’d heard you’d returned. Is your brother with you? He must be out of prison by now.”

  Danby didn’t know about Wynn’s stay in the sanitarium? That meant Edy hadn’t said anything to her father. Barrett should be pleased she had kept her word. Instead, the realization piled more guilt on his head.

  “He’s a free man.” As free as someone living a death sentence.

  “Where is he?” The judge glanced around as though he expected to see Wynn hiding around the corner of a building or behind Barrett’s back.

  “He served his time, Judge. His location now is his business.”

  “But you came back to Riverport. Why?”

  Barrett’s neck muscles tensed. “I’m aware of no law that says a man can’t return to the town where he grew up. And be assured, sir, I know the law.”

  The judge’s nostrils flared. “Too bad you didn’t teach your brother the finer points of the subject, such as the fact that robbery sends a man to prison.”

  “Oh, you can be sure Wynn learned a lesson from his experience. For one thing, he learned that reprisal has no business in a courtroom.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “There was no reprisal involved, Mr. Seaton, only justice.”

  “Then you and I differ in our definition of justice, Judge Danby.” Barrett took a step to pass him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a law office to open.”

  The judge blocked his ability to pass. “You plan to practice in Riverport?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I’ve made it my job to see that people like Wynn receive a fair shake in a court of law.”

  The man’s arrogant smile turned cunning. “By all means, protect the downtrodden, but do not confuse guilt with injustice.”

  “No, sir, I leave that confusion to jurists like you.”

  Judge Danby said nothing, however, his gaze sharpened. He moved aside to let Barrett pass. “Mr. Seaton.”

  Barrett glanced over his shoulder.

  “If you believe you’ll burrow your way back into the lives of my daughter and grandson, you’re mistaken. You gave up that right years ago.”

  It took nerve for the judge to assume he could
manipulate Barrett in the way he’d always manipulated his daughter.

  He sauntered on without dignifying Judge Danby’s dictate with a response. If he had eyes in the back of his head, there was no question that he’d see Edy’s father staring at him. He felt it with the prickling of his scalp.

  Perhaps he had erred in riling the man. Not that Barrett cared for himself, even though the retired judge probably retained the contacts and the power to make his professional life miserable. No, against his better judgment, he liked Andy Westin and sympathized with him in the loss of a father he admired. Forcing Andy to suffer for Barrett’s imprudent provocation was the last thing he wanted. He’d dedicated much of the past decade to achieving justice for those unable to achieve it for themselves. Where was the justice in making things harder for the boy?

  Barrett’s recollection of the judge’s final comment stopped him. Contrary to the man’s claim, he had no intention of resuming a relationship with Edy, and Andy had barged into Barrett’s life, not the other way around. So why tell Barrett he’d given up the right to be part of their lives? Who said he wanted anything to do with anyone in the Danby household? Frankly, he was tired of fending off the lot of them.

  At least the judge knew nothing of Wynn’s location. Barrett found it interesting that Edy hadn’t betrayed him in the matter, but what if her father interrogated her? How long would her silence last?

  EDYTHE PACED THE DRAWING room floor, a grim weight in her chest. Every few minutes she stopped and glared at the mantel clock. Where was Andrew? She hadn’t seen her son in hours, and it was growing dark outside.

  “Stop wearing a hole in my floor, Edythe. The boy will be home when he’s hungry.”

  His floor? Oh, how she wished for her own floors again.

  “How can you sit there reading the newspaper without a care for your grandson’s welfare?” Her voice rose in a way it rarely did when she addressed him.

  “I worry more about those who might suffer the consequences of his activities.”

  “Why do you talk about your grandson that way?”

  The judge folded the newspaper and slapped it on the seat of the sofa. “The truth can be difficult to face.”

  “Andrew is only a child.”

  “And old enough to begin to grow up.”

  Edythe strode to the foyer. “There is something wrong. I can feel it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to find my son.”

  “Edythe, come back here and leave the boy alone.” Her footsteps faltered at the bark in his voice. “Return to this room and sit down.”

  Try standing up for him on occasion. Didn’t Barrett remember how hard it was for her to disobey? He of all people should understand the hold her father had on her. She’d been brought up to comply with his every order.

  But she was coming to realize that was no excuse. She was Andrew’s parent. As such, she was responsible for his care.

  Edythe gathered the strength to ignore her father and march toward the front door.

  “How long have you known Barrett Seaton was in town?”

  His question stopped her, and a ball of anxiety rolled around in her stomach. She kept her back to her father. “You know Barrett is back?”

  Did he also know of Wynn? She had promised to keep that news to herself and she wasn’t in the habit of breaking a promise...unlike some people.

  “Nothing gets by me for long, Edythe. Not in almost thirty years.” Not since her mother left. “Clearly, you also knew but failed to mention it.”

  “There was no reason to say anything.”

  “No reason? I’m sure you know your son has been seeing him. I had to find out about it from a barber. Afterward, Mr. Seaton and I had a little talk.”

  She winced. Poor Barrett, attacked from all sides by her family. “You have nothing to worry about. That’s in the past.”

  Could that be where she’d find Andrew? Was he with Barrett?

  She took a deep breath and another defiant step forward, her intent halted by a knock on the door. A policeman stood on the porch. His hand gripped Andrew’s arm and not in a pleasant way. “Andrew, I’ve been worried.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Westin. I’m afraid we need to talk, ma’am.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, then reopened them, but the policeman remained. The situation must be bad. Very bad. She’d heard it in the officer’s voice. She saw it in the way her son hung his head, and his body trembled. Gone was his normal scornful expression when caught doing wrong. “Are you all right, Andrew?”

  “He’s fine. Can’t say as much for one of our town’s residents.”

  Oh, what had her son done now?

  “Come in, Officer Brennan. We don’t need the neighbors gawking.” The judge’s cigar-smoke-laden breath passed over Edythe’s cheek. “Shut the door before you tell us what he’s done this time.”

  “Yes, sir.” The officer treated Andrew to a look of sympathy, then hauled him into the foyer and closed the door. The two of them followed Edythe’s father into the drawing room with Edythe bringing up the rear.

  Her father stood near the fireplace, his hands in his trouser pockets, as he looked down on Andrew. Edythe stood next to her son. “Go ahead, Officer Brennan. Tell us what happened.”

  “Well, sir, we got a report of a fire on the Stark property at the edge of town. We arrived to find a shed near burned down and Mr. Stark unconscious on the ground. Someone had hit him on the back of the head with a board.”

  The judge’s scowl deepened. “Is the man all right?”

  “Doctor Jamison thinks he’ll be fine, but Stark doesn’t remember much.”

  Edythe placed a hand against her throat and said a quick, silent prayer for Mr. Stark’s health. “What does that have to do with my son?”

  “We caught him hiding in the bushes close to the burned shed.”

  She gasped. “Andrew, please tell me you had nothing to do with the fire and that man’s injury.” Please, please, tell me.

  “I’m talking to no one but Mr. B. J. He’s a lawyer and he’ll believe me.” The words were defiant but the voice that of a scared little boy.

  “Mr. B. J.?” Her father straightened. His scorching glare was aimed at Andrew. “Are you talking about Barrett Seaton? Don’t even imagine you’ll see that man again.”

  Edythe knelt before her son and took his hands. “Did you have anything to do with what happened to Mr. Stark or his property?”

  Despite his previous refusal to talk, he whispered, “No, ma’am.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear, Andrew.” She rose. “My son is innocent. We’ll let an attorney speak for him. Father, I need a recommendation for a good one.”

  “But I want—”

  “Quiet, Andrew.” She understood who he wanted and it was out of the question.

  Her father shook his head. “Don’t waste your time, Edythe. Lawyers rarely get involved in juvenile cases. It’s up to a judge. Perhaps, it will do the boy good to see what happens when he breaks the law.”

  “I ain’t going to prison when I didn’t do nothing.” Andrew wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t let them take me, Mother.”

  Edythe had never heard her son so panic-stricken. Regardless of his presence at the Stark farm, she chose to believe him when he said he’d done nothing wrong.

  Her father rolled his eyes. “Will you do something about the boy’s atrocious grammar?”

  Edythe’s eyes widened. “You’re worried about Andrew’s grammar when his future is at stake?”

  Her father turned to Officer Brennan. “Please tell my daughter and grandson what happens next.”

  Officer Brennan cleared his throat, his discomfort with the family tension showing in his face. “We’ll investigate further, ma’am, but if the evidence shows he’s responsible, he’ll go before the judge. If he’s found guilty as a delinquent, he’ll be sent to Plainfield to the Indiana Reform School for Boys.”

  “A reform school? No.” They
couldn’t send her child to such a place. She wouldn’t let them.

  “I understand it’s run much like a military school, Edythe.” Her father added a dash of compassion to his voice. “Andrew can use the discipline. He’ll come out a better man.”

  A man? How long would he stay in that place? How could her father show this calm acceptance of her son’s guilt? “Officer Brennan, you haven’t the proof to charge him?”

  “Not at the moment, ma’am. We’ll wait to see if Mr. Stark recalls any details. So far, he doesn’t remember much.”

  Edythe ran a hand over her son’s head. “Go on up to bed.”

  Officer Brennan looked at her. “I’d advise you not to let him leave this house without an adult.”

  “Don’t worry, Brennan, he won’t.” Her father’s stare pierced Andrew. “Will you, boy?”

  A spark of the old defiance flamed, then petered out. “No, sir.”

  After the officer left, her father ordered Andrew to his room, announcing her son wasn’t to leave it until he’d given Andrew permission. Edythe hurried toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find an attorney.”

  “At this time of night? I told you, it won’t do any good, but if you must attempt it, wait until tomorrow. You won’t find an attorney amiable if you disturb his evening.”

  Edythe stared up at the second floor. Perhaps her father was right. Andrew hadn’t been charged with a crime...not yet.

  “Where will you get the money to pay an attorney? Or are you forgetting that your husband left you with few resources?”

  How could she forget when his death had trapped her in this house? But her father was wrong. She had one resource, and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Chapter Eight

  Edythe had tossed and turned most of the night. Images of Andrew working long hours at a reform school, being bullied and mistreated by other boys, danced across the ceiling of her bedroom.

  At dawn, she plodded down the curved staircase and into the dining room where her children already occupied their seats at the table. Breakfast was being eaten in somber silence. The twins looked up when she entered the room. Andrew stared at his oatmeal, empty spoon in hand. Evidently, a family crisis brought out the best behavior in her children, though it came at a high price.