How fitting, Billie thought, that Seth should be confined to the same bed that had held Jessica prisoner for so long. It was almost divine justice. She walked into the room and stood near the bed, waiting for Seth to recognize her. Suddenly, Seth had become a very old, very frail man, a pathetic invalid. Agnes, who had been sitting with Seth, eyed Billie as if to agree with her daughter’s observations. Then she quickly retreated, glad to be gone from the sickroom. Agnes poised outside the door, listening to Billie speak, marveling at her cool tone. There was authority there.
“Seth? It’s Billie. I’ve just arrived home.”
“Why’d you bother to come back?” he slurred. He was difficult to understand, but there was no mistaking the resentment in those glittering hard eyes. “You should’ve been with your husband!”
Billie understood. What Seth really meant was that she should have been the one to die. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I came to tell you that Moss is alive. He’s in New York.”
Seth shook his head in disbelief, his lower lip began to tremble, and a tear formed in his eyes. “You’re lyin’ to me, gal.”
“Someday, Seth, you’re going to call me by my given name and speak to me with the respect I deserve.” She snapped up the phone from the bedstand and dialed the operator, giving her the New York number. “Your father would like to hear your voice,” she said coolly when Moss answered.
Seth clenched the receiver in his hand with surprising strength. Billie helped him position it close to his ear. The raw emotion on Seth’s face and the disbelief in his trembling voice was terrible in a man to whom emotion meant weakness.
“Son?” she heard him choke through his tears.
Billie stumbled from the room. Hearing Moss’s voice again had knocked the wind out of her sails. She nearly bumped into Agnes, who asked, “Is it true? Really?”
“It’s true. Believe it.”
“Was he with that woman? Again?” Agnes persisted.
“Yes, he was with ‘that woman.’ Don’t start on me, Mother. I don’t want to hear how if I was a better wife, Moss wouldn’t be the bastard he is. I’m not responsible for his actions, and hard as it is to believe, I am not accountable for his infidelities. Now I want to see Sawyer. Is she in the nursery?”
“Poor Seth.” Agnes wrung her hands.
“That’s right, Mother, poor Seth. All you’ve ever worried about was that I’d somehow fall out of favor and deprive you of the Coleman dynasty with all its prestige and power. Well, save your pity for yourself, Mother. Seth is not going to recover from this stroke and I know exactly who is going to take care of him from sunrise to sunset. You’ve bought yourself that honor, Mother, with all your little betrayals of me and the children and your self-serving alliance with Seth. Before long, Mother, you’ll be looking for a little pity for yourself.”
Billie turned and headed toward the nursery.
Rain drove against the Cadillac limousine windows and beat upon the roof. The distant crack of thunder reminded Moss of rifle fire. He was glad not to be driving today; it would have been impossible to keep his mind on the road. A jagged streak of lightning zipped overhead, making him shudder. A good old Texas rainstorm, bigger than life, punishing the open plains. Pap hated storms. The old man complained that they made the cattle skittish, but Moss knew storms were one of Pap’s secret vulnerabilities. The other was himself.
Pap was getting old. He used to be tough and able to take anything in his stride. Oh, Billie had told him how Seth had grieved when his plane had gone down during the war and they hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. But this time the old man had caved in. A stroke. Good God, a stroke! And it was all his fault. One lousy phone call and all this could have been averted. All of it. But he’d canceled the last of his plans because Alice had had some free time between plays and hadn’t wanted to spend it alone. He’d whipped through Amelia’s London house yelling good-bye to his sister and Susan. Susan had smiled limply and walked away as though to say she’d expected him to miss the recital she was giving at the London Conservatory of Music. Damn it, how could he have been so selfish? Alice Forbes would have waited; she always had. Just like Billie always waited. Billie. In a way, it was all Billie’s fault. Her and her selfishness. If she’d traveled with him as he’d planned, there would have been no rush to get back to the States.
It suddenly occurred to him, for the very first time, that he could have been on that plane, that he and Billie could have been killed. The thought was horrible. But then he amended it. No, they wouldn’t have been on that plane, because Billie would have insisted on staying in London for Susan’s recital. Yes, he nodded, it was all Billie’s fault. Her selfishness, her sudden attempt at independence, had driven him straight into Alice Forbes’s arms.
It seemed a lifetime since Billie had called him in New York. How had she known he was there in Alice’s apartment? Or had she just been doing a kindness by calling Alice to tell her about the plane crash in Spain? Would they have cried together? Tried to give solace to each other? The thought cheered him.
Before Moss climbed from the limousine he whispered a prayer. He didn’t know exactly what to expect or how serious Seth’s condition was. He knew in that instant he would gladly have gone down in that plane if Seth could have been spared. Pap had to know he’d give his life for him. By God, he’d make Pap know and understand. They were father and son, and that counted. By God, it counted!
“Pap!” Riley called excitedly. The boy threw his arms around Moss and smothered him with a hug. As always, Moss was amazed at how tall and muscular the boy was. Chip off the old block.
“How’s your grandfather?”
“Cranky.” Riley grinned. “He doesn’t like being kept in bed, but he can’t move his left arm or leg. Grandmam says he’s coming along. You’ll make him feel better, Pap. He’s been waiting for you ever since Mam told him you weren’t on that plane.”
Moss studied his son, looking for a judgment in his clear blue eyes. How much did he know? Would Billie be so cruel?
Riley seemed to read the questions in his father’s eyes. “I’m glad you weren’t on that plane, Pap. Real glad. Grandmam told me that was why Grandpap had his stroke, ’cause he was so worried about you. He loves you a lot, Pap, and so do I,” Riley said shyly. He was unused to professing his feelings toward his father. It was something both of them understood and accepted.
“What else did your grandmother tell you?” Moss asked casually. “How’s your mother?” If either one of them had told Riley more than was necessary, there’d be hell to pay. He would not allow them to deprecate him in his son’s eyes.
“That’s all Grandmam said, that it was all a big mistake and that I should just forget about it and try to help Mam as much as I could. Mam doesn’t need me, Pap. She’s taking care of everything. But Pap, Mam’s different. She’s not the same anymore. I can tell. I think she got real scared hearing about the plane and thinking you were on it. She’s different.”
Moss’s heart pounded. “How’s that Riley?”
“She . . . she’s keeping herself busy, answering the telephone and taking care of Grandpap. She lets the nanny take care of Sawyer all the time, and she hasn’t even been out to her studio since I came home yesterday afternoon. That’s not like her, Pap. She smiles but she isn’t really smiling. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so. Where is she now?”
“I think she’s reading the paper to Grandpap. I was up there, too, but I got hungry. Do you want something?”
“I could use a sandwich and a cold beer, if you think you can make it.”
“Pap, I’m not a little kid anymore. D’you want me to bring it up or will you eat in the kitchen with me? Grandmam gets upset if we carry food about the house. Bugs.”
“I’ll be down to join you. You go along. Don’t open the beer or it’ll go flat.”
Moss climbed the stairs slowly. Normally he took them two at a time, but today it seemed he could barely make one foot follow the o
ther. He dreaded this first meeting with his father. Billie, too. Riley had said she was reading the paper to Seth. That meant the old man wasn’t too badly off, didn’t it? Drawing a deep breath, Moss strode into his father’s bedroom.
Billie lifted her eyes from the newspaper she’d been reading Seth and turned to face Moss, her voice trailing off in mid-sentence. Sensing another presence in the room, Seth opened his eyes. A lopsided grin stretched across his face; his right arm reached to the prodigal son. In an instant, Moss had grasped his father’s hand and was huddled over the bed.
Billie turned her head so as not to witness Moss weeping in Seth’s arms. Her lip curled with disgust, as much for herself as for Seth’s blind acceptance. What right had she now to hurl accusations, when she was just as guilty as Moss in betraying their marriage and the commitment to their family? She glanced at her husband kneeling at his father’s side. For all his tears and grief she knew he would never change. He would continue living his life exactly as he wanted, as it pleased him. And if she herself were to do the same, where would that leave all of them; the children, the family?
Quietly, she laid the newspaper at the foot of the bed and walked from the room on lifeless limbs, knowing she was embarking on a lonely voyage. Her life was here at Sunbridge and she was doomed to it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Things at Sunbridge changed quickly after Seth’s stroke. With the doctor’s permission, Seth was moved downstairs and the study was converted to a hospital-workroom. File cabinets, a desk, a high bed with removable sides, and a tray of medicines were the new and prominent furnishings. All the leather furniture and heavy draperies were removed to the cavernous attic to gather dust. In the far corner of the room stood a gleaming wheelchair with a dustcover. Seth refused to use it.
Agnes reveled in her new responsibilities. While she “checked” with Seth and Moss pretended to oversee her activities and decisions, they all knew it was barely more than a courtesy. Agnes Ames was now totally in control of Sunbridge and loved every minute of it. She loved hearing the respect and admiration in people’s voices when they proclaimed that they didn’t know what Seth would ever do without her. She loved attending board meetings and issuing Seth’s orders as though they were hers alone, or altering Seth’s instructions to suit herself. Agnes loved power and for the first time in her life she held it—and guarded it closely. What she didn’t love were Seth’s demands on her and her time. When Seth demanded a cup of coffee, he wanted Agnes to bring it to him. A servant would not do. He liked having the paper read to him, and this she did resentfully. She was at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day, whenever he banged on the wall with his cane, and she hated it. But this was the price for her new position—so with a smile plastered on her face, she tended his bidding and tried to focus on the rewards her efforts brought her.
But it wasn’t enough. . . . Late at night in the privacy of her room, in total darkness, she wished for the old man’s death and for the guts to change her name to Coleman. If only she could have those two things, she would be the happiest woman on earth. Power and money. That’s what it always came down to.
Six weeks after Seth’s stroke, Agnes was sitting in his room, her well-coiffed head bent over a stack of papers. Her shoulders were tense, her writing small and cramped, not her usual flowing style. She could feel Seth’s eyes on her back and knew he was trying to figure out something for her to do—some nasty errand to take her away from the things she loved doing, like balancing the ledgers for Sunbridge Enterprises. The total at the end of the columns always brought a smile to her face. She did love totals. Her own bank books, she reflected, were so full and round that she sometimes had trouble grasping the number of zeros. Once it had actually made her dizzy—dizzy with delight. One day she would pack her bags and take off for a trip around the world. The whole world with no clocks, no time schedules.
At the sound of her name, Agnes pressed harder on the pencil she was using and broke the point. The tiny piece of lead skittered across the table. Ulcers. She could feel them beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. That cantankerous old man lying there with his damnable silver-handled cane was giving her ulcers. She turned, a pleasant smile on her face. “Yes, Seth, what can I do for you?”
“You can talk to me, is what you can do. I’m sick of looking at your back. I’m damn sick of this radio, and I’m even sicker of this bed. What’s going on? Is Riley coming home today? When was the last time you saw that son of mine and what was he doing? Where’s your daughter? Locked up in that piss-ass place she calls a studio? Why hasn’t anyone brought Sawyer in to see me? For God’s sake, Aggie, I thought you had things in hand. This is all too much for you, I can see.” Seth fixed his watery gaze on Agnes and defied her to answer him.
Too much? She hated it when he made statements like that. He could still cut her out, change things right out from under her. He still had the power. As the days wore on it was getting harder and harder to be pleasant to this cranky old man. “I could move the desk around so you wouldn’t be looking at my back. Would you like that?” Agnes asked agreeably.
“No, damn it. Why don’t you get me a drink?”
“Because you are forbidden to have alcohol. And don’t think for one minute that if a nurse is brought in she would give it to you. It’s for your own good. Blame your doctor, not me. Riley will be home this evening, to answer your question. I have not seen Moss for three days. I think he went to Arizona. At least that’s what the cook said. Your son doesn’t see fit to confide in me these days. My daughter is in the studio, as you well know. Sawyer is with her companion. If you like, I’ll have her brought down, but she’s about as cranky as you are today. Her nanny said she had an earache. She whines and cries when her ears hurt. Now, what else can we talk about? Would you like some tea or coffee?”
Seth snorted. He should have known better than to ask Agnes anything. She always had an answer. “How’re thing going? How was our profit on that last shipment of beef?”
Agnes beamed. “Splendid!” Seth believed her. Few things could make Aggie smile, but money was at the top of the list.
It took more than a year of intensive physical therapy for Seth’s speech to return almost to normal. Now, when he was tired or cross, his mouth would droop and he had difficulty swallowing his saliva. Agnes considered this distasteful and made every effort not to be in his presence when it occurred. But by the end of the second year the cranky old man had made enough progress to slide in and out of his wheelchair. “Get goin’, Aggie,” he’d demand. “I want to see my spread!”
Agnes hated it. She would push Seth around the grounds, detesting her old ally, detesting what had become of her life. The damnable chair was motorized, but the old man refused to utilize it, preferring Agnes’s “devotion” to duty.
Nine long years passed. At first, Agnes didn’t really notice Moss taking control of some bookkeeping chores, discussing certain business decisions. She was even relieved to have some of the burden lifted. Gradually, though, she realized that Moss had taken almost complete control, and that she was spending more and more time at Seth’s beck and call. She didn’t like it. Not one bit! She had given her all for the Coleman family. When was it going to be her turn to reap her reward—to travel?
It was September 2, 1966, Riley’s twenty-first birthday. Hard to believe, Agnes thought, that almost a quarter of a century had passed since she’d first come to Sunbridge. She prepared to leave early for the country club to check on the decorations and the menu. Seth had instructed her to make this evening as perfect as possible—as if she would do anything less. Riley Seth Coleman was her insurance policy against a cold, bleak, unfriendly world . . . and she never forgot it.
Moss and Riley were to take Seth and his wheelchair in the big car; Billie and Sawyer were to go alone in Billie’s car. Maggie, if she got off in time from New York, would arrive at the club straight from the airport. Agnes sniffed. If she arrived, she would no doubt spoil the party altogether. M
aggie hadn’t changed, not really. Although a woman now and working in the historical art department of some minor New York museum, she still had that bitter, childish pout about her mouth, and those same hostilities glowered from the back of her eyes. Agnes didn’t like Maggie; she never had. Maggie was a threat, stirring up old feuds and buried feelings. As far as her grandmother was concerned, she had absolutely nothing to recommend her.
It was Agnes’s responsibility to carry all of Riley’s birthday presents to the country club. The young man was certainly going to be surprised when he opened the little box from his grandfather, which contained the keys to a new Porsche sports car. Moss’s gift was the title to a Piper Cub single-engine airplane. Agnes couldn’t help wondering what Billie was giving her son. How could she possibly outdo a car and an airplane? Agnes herself hadn’t even tried; she’d gotten him a subscription to an aeronautical magazine. Then, at the last minute, she’d bought him a leather billfold and stuck a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill inside.
Another week and Billie’s last chick would leave the nest to return to college. Now only Sawyer remained. Agnes made a promise to herself, as she checked the flower arrangements on each table, to try to repair her relationship with Billie. Now that the family was dwindling, there was no reason for them to lead such separate lives.
This little shindig, as Seth called it, was setting him back close to twenty-five thousand dollars. She secretly thought it was rather cheap, considering that two bands and a cocktail hour were part of the flat package the club offered. Shrimp flown in from the Gulf of Mexico, lobsters delivered from Maine just hours ago, and Coleman beef would serve the five hundred or so guests. A real Texas shindig.
Just thinking about it made Agnes wince. What would she be able to eat? she wondered. Her ulcers were spoiling her life. She practically lived on gruel these days. And all because of that damnable, cranky, demanding old man called Seth Coleman. Once Riley went back to college, she was going to do some serious thinking. She still had a lot of years left, and it looked as though Seth did, too. She knew in her gut that ten more years of waiting on Seth would drive her into the grave. She wasn’t getting any younger, while he was the same miserable, cantankerous old man he’d always been.
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