Chapter 12
Long after she’d slipped into bed, Audrey attempted to push aside her fears, but her father’s words continued to haunt her. For hours, she wrestled the covers as sleep eluded her. Turning on her side, she yanked the quilt beneath her chin and recalled her father’s comment regarding false accusations against others. There was little doubt he’d been referring to the remarks she’d made to Marshall. Little wonder Marshall continued to shy away from her. He knew the truth about her father’s illness yet hadn’t divulged the secret to her. Audrey didn’t know whether to admire his behavior or find it offensive. On the one hand, she thought Marshall commendable for maintaining a confidence, but on the other hand, she believed he should have told her. In the midst of planning how to approach Marshall the following morning, she drifted into a restless sleep.
When morning arrived, Audrey trudged to the kitchen, still exhausted. She would have to rely on Irene to help her with breakfast. Otherwise, the men would likely be served underbaked biscuits and overcooked eggs. Thankfully, Irene had already made a pot of coffee and set the water to boil for tea.
“From the look of those dark circles under your eyes, I’m going to guess that you didn’t sleep well.” Irene lifted a cup from the shelf and filled it to the brim with dark stout coffee. “Try this. It should help keep you awake until midmorning.”
Audrey took a sip and sputtered. The coffee would need at least half a cup of cream before she could down any more. “It’s a wonder the boarders don’t all have a good case of indigestion.” She touched her fingers to her neckline. Already, she could feel the strong brew working its way back up her throat. “I believe I’ll have tea instead.” Audrey didn’t miss the wounded look in Irene’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Irene. I’ve never learned to drink strong coffee, but I’m sure the men enjoy it. I’ve not had any complaints since you began making it.”
The girl offered a timid smile as she retrieved a clean cup and set it on the table. “For your tea. Shall I start the biscuits?”
“That would be a great help. Has Aunt Thora already gone to the henhouse?” The old woman usually arose early and made a daily trek to collect the eggs. For some reason, the hens didn’t peck Aunt Thora—probably because they feared the consequences. If one of them dared peck her, it would likely end up in the stewpot.
“She left a little while ago. I expect she’ll be back any minute.” Irene peered out the window. “She’s coming down the path right now.”
Audrey lifted a large pottery bowl to the table. “Good. I can begin the scrambled eggs once the biscuits are in the oven.”
Muffled sounds of the men moving overhead helped to keep her on task. Otherwise, she might have settled in one of the chairs and fallen asleep. Moments later, Thora burst through the door with her basket. “Either the hens have quit laying or a poacher was in the henhouse.” She removed four eggs and placed them on the table. “Better plan to fix something other than scrambled eggs this morning.”
“Irene has the biscuits ready for the oven. I can make sausage gravy, and with those four eggs, I can make enough pancakes to help fill their plates.”
“Maybe some fried potatoes?” Irene continued to dip the rim of a drinking glass in flour and cut the biscuits.
“I say give ’em grits. If they’re gonna work in Georgia, they need to eat grits and drink tea.”
The pan of biscuits slipped from Irene’s hand and landed on the top of the stove with a clang. “Oh, I do hope that isn’t a rule, because I’m fond of coffee and I can’t abide grits. They have no flavor.”
Aunt Thora shook her head. “The way you’re throwing that pan of biscuits around, they’re gonna be flatter than Audrey’s pancakes. If that happens, those men will have no choice but to fill up on grits.” She grinned as if she hoped that’s exactly what would happen.
“Why don’t you finish frying the sausage while I mix the pancake batter, Aunt Thora.” Audrey handed the old woman a wooden spoon. “And you may as well give up on forcing the men to eat grits. No matter how little food I put on the table, they won’t touch them.”
“Hmph! If a man gets hungry enough, he’ll eat the bark off a tree. I remember during the War of Northern Aggression how our men were starving and—”
Audrey rapped a metal spoon on the worktable. “Not now, Aunt Thora. There’s work to be done, and I’m too weary to cook and argue at the same time.”
“Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Thora’s lips tightened into a frown as she turned her back to Audrey.
Audrey sighed. She’d apologize to Aunt Thora later. If she attempted to do so now, it would only lead to further talk of grits or Union soldiers, and neither was a topic she cared to prolong. Besides, she needed to decide how and when she should approach Marshall. The sooner the better. She didn’t want to spend the entire day worrying over how he would react to her apology. He’d been careful to avoid her since their last conversation, so gaining his attention would likely prove difficult.
“You want me to make the gravy, or you think you can do better?”
Audrey ignored the challenge in her aunt’s question. “You go ahead, Aunt Thora. I’m certain the men would prefer yours over mine.” Although Audrey didn’t remember if the men had ever commented on Aunt Thora’s gravy, the remark had a soothing effect upon the woman, who immediately set to work spooning flour into the skillet.
In order to settle upon a plan to speak with Marshall, Audrey needed peace and quiet. If paying Aunt Thora a compliment or two would keep the woman occupied and silent, Audrey was more than willing to offer a few flattering words. While the three women completed the breakfast preparations, her mind swirled with possibilities. She wanted to speak with Marshall in a place where she was certain no one would overhear their conversation. But determining such a place and escaping the house without drawing attention remained a dilemma until after the men had eaten their breakfast.
She waited until Marshall pushed away from the table, thankful he was the last of the men preparing to depart. While he stopped for a brief exchange with her father, she returned to the kitchen. She did appreciate the fact that Marshall provided her father with some much needed company. Although he’d continued to become less vibrant, her father’s interest in construction on the island remained steadfast. He wanted to know all the details, details she couldn’t provide.
“I’m going out to the henhouse to see if I can discover if there was a prowler on the property last night.”
Aunt Thora turned from the sink and shook her head. “No need. I’ll take care of finding the culprit.”
“I prefer to go and check for myself, Aunt Thora.” Without giving the woman time to argue, Audrey yanked the apron from around her neck, flung it on the hook, and exited the back door.
She’d gone only a few steps when Thora called out to her. “No need to slam the door. I know your grandmother taught you better manners when you were just a toddler.”
Audrey waved an acknowledgment but continued down the path without a backward glance. She didn’t want to miss this opportunity to speak with Marshall. Once certain she was out of Thora’s sight, Audrey circled away from the henhouse and back toward the path leading to the work site, where she remained by one of the large oaks until she heard the thud of footfalls on the hardened dirt.
Edging around the tree, she peeked around the thick trunk to make certain her father hadn’t accompanied Marshall. If so, her plan would be thwarted. Discovering he was alone, relief flooded over her and she stepped into the path. She looked into his eyes, and her relief immediately vanished.
“I’m pleased to see you’re alone. I wanted to speak to you.” She could barely hear her voice above the crescendo of her pounding heart. “I owe you an apology.” Though Marshall made no attempt to elude her, he remained silent—waiting . . . watching . . . obviously uncertain what to expect. “I don’t know if my father mentioned that we had a talk yesterday.”
Marshall shook his head
and then squared his shoulders as if prepared to do battle. There was no doubt he was at odds with her. And little wonder, after the way she’d spoken to him.
“I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.” She blurted the simple apology with the hope it would set him at ease.
“Have you? Would you care to elaborate just a bit?”
“For the accusations I made against you regarding my father.” Marshall obviously didn’t want to assume anything. Even now, she was certain he wanted to safeguard her father’s confidence. “I wanted to protect my father. I know my response was irrational, but I permitted fear, rather than good sense, to guide me. My father has confided that he is dying and hasn’t much longer to live.” She choked out the final words as tears slipped down her cheeks.
Marshall reached toward her but then took a hesitant backward step. “I’m very sorry, Miss Audrey. I know you and your father have a special bond.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. “Why don’t you sit down?” Stepping closer, he grasped her elbow and guided her to one of the low thick branches of the live oak.
Her tears created an awkward silence that hung between them like the veils of moss clinging to the tree. “Please.” She nodded toward the space beside her.
For a moment, Marshall looked as though he wanted to disappear, but he dropped down beside her. “I do appreciate your apology. I know the kind of fear that sets in when a father drinks too much. I also know what the love of alcohol can do to a man’s family. I hope you now believe that I would never influence any man to partake—especially a man like your father. I admire what he has done over these past years—his ability to overcome the habit and create a better life for both of you. He told me how God has helped him through these changes. I only wish my father would have experienced the same before he died.”
Audrey wanted to find solace in what he said, but words did little to relieve her pain. Kind words wouldn’t help her accept the news that her father would soon die. And her father’s faith in God didn’t help, either. More than anything, she wanted her father to live—she wanted their lives to continue without change.
The morning sun saturated the mossy veils and cast delicate patterns of light beneath the low-hanging branches. Marshall leaned forward and retrieved a twig from the ground. With methodical precision, he stripped away the budding leaves and continued to speak of the heartache he’d experienced while growing up with a drunken father, all of it a mirror image of her own past—all except the portion about his brothers. She’d had no siblings with whom to share her childhood or adult years. But after listening to Marshall describe the difficulties he’d experienced with his brothers, she wasn’t certain she’d missed out on much—except additional pain. If either of them had been blessed with sisters, perhaps their lives would have been different. While Audrey had heard stories of women whose lives had been ruined by overindulging, those tales were few and far between.
She wanted to offer sympathy to Marshall, but she remained speechless, unable to think of anything that might lessen his pain. Though well-meaning, his words didn’t help her, and she didn’t believe such platitudes would be of use to him, either. She knew she would be with her father in heaven someday, but that knowledge didn’t fill the void she would feel while she remained behind.
She pulled a loose thread on her skirt and twisted it around her finger. “I remember when I was a little girl and my father would be gone for days at a time. I would miss him terribly. After my mother died, he would go on drinking binges and stay away from home for long periods. I was always thankful that he was gone during those times. Truth be told, I didn’t miss him at all then. In fact, there were occasions I wished he would never come home.”
She glanced at Marshall, who nodded his understanding. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed by those thoughts. I experienced the same feelings about my pa on more than one occasion.”
Now that she’d revealed some of her secrets, Audrey couldn’t stop. It was as if a cork had been removed from a bottle and she couldn’t quit until she’d emptied herself of every dark thought. “Now that my father has become the man God intended—one who knows and worships Him as Lord and Savior, one who has given up his dependence upon liquor, and one who has become a wonderful father—it seems he is to be snatched away from me. And knowing I’ll see him in heaven doesn’t fill the hole in my heart. Instead, it makes me angry.”
Marshall’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Angry at God?”
Audrey gave a firm nod. “Yes, at God. I know it sounds terrible to say such a thing, but I need my father here with me. Sometimes I think God is selfish and unfair rather than good and just.”
He scooted a short distance down the tree limb. When Audrey frowned, he motioned toward the sky and grinned. “I thought I’d get a little distance between us—just in case lightning strikes.”
She knew his actions were an attempt to lift her spirits, but she’d wanted him to remain serious, to say something that would help her understand. “You don’t need to be afraid. There won’t be any lightning. God knew what I was thinking before I ever spoke. Thus far, He hasn’t inflicted any further harm.” She leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm. “Don’t you ever question what happens around you and wonder why?”
“Of course. But everyone experiences difficult times. It’s part of life. That’s why we need God—to help us get through the rough times. Your father is the one who’s been telling me that I need to place my trust in God and lean on Him.”
Audrey smiled. “He said the very same thing to me.”
“Your father knows that the two of us have experienced many of the same losses. He’s a wise man, and I think he knows that we both need to place our trust in God.” Marshall cleared his throat. “For me, that’s not an easy thing, either. Maybe we can help each other. I could use a friend to talk to—one I can trust. Other than your father and Mr. Morley, I’ve found friends to be in short supply around here. What do you think?”
His tentative question surprised her. Certainly their lives had many similarities. Each had watched a mother suffer, each had experienced the financial difficulties wrought by an alcoholic father, each had endured embarrassment and social shame, and neither of them wished to go through any of those experiences again. There was much that could bring them together, but could she trust him? If she couldn’t trust God, how could she trust Marshall Graham?
She wasn’t certain she could trust either one, but she needed someone who understood her plight—and Marshall was the likely candidate. In addition, her father hadn’t hidden the fact that he thought Marshall an upstanding young man. And since giving up his drinking habit, Audrey’s father had proved he was an excellent judge of character.
Still, she didn’t want to commit and then discover Marshall an untrustworthy friend. It could prove difficult to rid herself of him should that occur. “I suppose we could give it a try, but if either of us should have a change of heart and want to dissolve the friendship, the other must agree without protest. And we must respect each other’s needs—there will be times when neither of us will wish to talk to the other. Oh, and our conversations must remain between us.” She met his steadfast gaze. “Agreed?”
He chuckled. “Agreed. I must say that you drive a hard bargain, Miss Audrey. Rather than using a lawyer, perhaps Mr. Morley should hire you to enter into negotiations for his future business contracts.” His eyes twinkled and he held out his hand. “Friends?”
She grasped his hand and gave a firm shake. “Friends. At least until I decide otherwise.”
“Or I,” he said. “Don’t forget we both have the same right to forfeit the arrangement.” His quick response caused a smile, and she nodded. “For the moment, I think we can agree that other than our duties, your father and his health should be our priority. I hope you’ll permit me to help in any way that I can.”
His generous offer brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t expected such kindness—especially after the way she had treat
ed him during their previous encounter. “Thank you . . . Marshall.” She swiped away the tears and handed him his handkerchief. “I suppose we both should get to work. The men will wonder what has happened to you, and Aunt Thora will soon come looking for me. I promised to check the henhouse and see if I could discover evidence of a poacher. There were only a few eggs when she went to collect them this morning. She thought there might be a few hens missing, but she wasn’t certain.”
“Probably a fox or some other wild animal. Do you want me to go along with you?”
“No. I’m simply hoping to find a clue that will give me an idea whether it’s man or beast that’s taken a liking to the eggs. You best get off to work, but thank you again for all of your kindness.” She stood. “And since we’re to be friends, you can address me as Audrey.”
He turned and smiled. “Thank you, Audrey.”
She was pleased their exchange had gone well. Knowing she could depend upon Marshall would provide the sense of ease Audrey would need when her father’s condition worsened. At least she hoped it would. Despite her father’s illness and the darker days to come, Audrey already felt that her burden was no longer quite so heavy.
She’d nearly reached the henhouse when a gunshot rang out. With little thought for her safety, Audrey hiked her skirts and ran toward the wooden structure. Before she rounded the bend, another shot sounded. She stopped in her tracks and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Hold your fire!”
“Is that you, Audrey?”
Audrey moved her hands away from her lips. “Yes, it’s me, Aunt Thora. Please don’t shoot me.”
“I’ve got a bead on the henhouse, so don’t cross in front of me. If that varmint in there shows his face, he’s gonna get a scatter of buckshot he won’t soon forget.”
Shading her eyes against the morning sun, Audrey spotted the old woman behind a tree, her shotgun resting on one of the branches and aimed directly at the door of the henhouse. Audrey picked her way through the undergrowth and came alongside the woman. “Are you certain there’s someone in there?”
To Have and To Hold Page 13
