A Path Toward Love

by Cara Lynn James

  “Yes, but Papa has staff to carry on during his absence. I’m afraid I don’t.”

  If he weren’t Mr. Wainwright’s employee, he’d wrap his arm around her shoulders and show his affection and support. He so admired her pluck. But if Mr. Wainwright caught him touching his daughter, he’d fire him before he had a chance to explain. Katherine’s parents expected their daughter to marry well— someone like his cousin, Randy Clarke. The bitter taste of pure jealousy filled his mouth; he’d have to conquer that before it conquered him.

  He owed so much to the Clarkes. He’d be forever grateful to his mother’s sister, Aunt Georgia Clarke, who’d taken him in after his parents died and brought him up with Randy, treated him kindly, and paid for his education at Columbia. She and her husband, Clarence, had a fortune nearly as immense as the Wainwrights’, while Andrew’s father had earned only a modest salary as an attorney and later as a judge. Andrew wouldn’t have fared well without his aunt and uncle. With no other relatives, he could’ve ended up in an orphanage. But despite the Clarkes’ generosity and fondness for him, Aunt Georgia would never allow him to interfere with her marriage plans for her only son. Andrew didn’t blame her. Katherine was a fine woman. A little battered and bruised, but fine to the core.

  He stared at her, as inexplicably drawn to her now as he had been eight years prior. She looked lost and forlorn. Against his better judgment, Andrew eased his fingers around Katherine’s hand. Immediately, feelings he’d suppressed for so long shot through his body.

  Shifting her gaze toward him, Katherine smiled and squeezed his hand. Hers felt soft and silky, and he relished the touch of her warm flesh curved against his own.

  “Katherine, if you really want to go home, then pray about it. The Lord will show you a way. I’ll help you too.”

  “Thank you, Andrew. You’ve always been my white knight, and I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for your kindness. You tried so hard to lead me away from Charles, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  He just wished he’d done more to prevent her marriage. But maybe now he could support her. He resisted the urge to tip her head back and kiss her with all the love he’d stored up over the years. It took great willpower to steady his racing heart and pretend to care for her only as an old friend.

  “Sometimes I’m unsure about my future. Usually I forge ahead convinced I know what’s best, but every once in a while I feel lost and alone.”

  Katherine sounded so uncertain that he longed to reassure her. “The Lord will show you the road He wants you to take, but sometimes it’s not the way you may want to go.”

  When she tightened her lips and lowered her gaze, he knew she still struggled with her willfulness. It was one thing to rail against her mother, but quite another to battle with the Lord. She’d face a long and difficult walk if this was the path the Lord had laid out for her, and if Andrew could do one thing, it’d be to stay beside her every step of the way.

  Chapter Four

  Andrew waited for the best time to speak to Mr. Wainwright privately, but he didn’t find him alone or in the right mood until after breakfast the next morning. The temperature and humidity hadn’t yet risen to unbearable, but they still headed for the library, the coolest room in Buena Vista. A giant oak just outside the window blocked the sunshine from streaming into the room and heating it to oven temperature.

  They were both reading over business contracts when Andrew laid his papers down. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I’d like to speak to you about Katherine.”

  Apparently surprised, his employer cocked a bushy gray eyebrow. “Of course.”

  Andrew hesitated, unsure where to begin. He should’ve planned exactly what to say before he’d disturbed his boss. “Katherine told me last evening she still hasn’t decided about whether or not she can come to Camp Birchwood.”

  “I hope we persuade her soon, because I can’t tolerate much more of this infernal heat.” Mr. Wainwright mopped his brow, as if to emphasize his point.

  Andrew nodded with sympathy. “She obviously needs the loan, but with Mr. Herne gone, she feels she ought to stay here to run the groves herself. She’s in a real quandary.”

  Mr. Wainwright grunted. “She’s out of options, but that’s a good thing, Andrew. Does she ever look in the mirror? She’s a rack of bones, the poor girl. Whatever happened to my beautiful, high-spirited daughter who took New York by storm? This business is crushing her.”

  “I think she’s aware of the toll it’s taking,” Andrew said. “It’s partly why coming home for a visit entices her.”

  “Listen, I realize she’s disappointed that I won’t hand her the money without strings. A father wants to give his daughter everything she needs and wants. But in this case, I can’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “What she wants isn’t good for her. These misguided efforts will ruin her health and eat up her years. Her mother and I won’t allow it.”

  “There is the fact that managing the groves makes her so happy,” Andrew said lightly. “And she is of age to make her own decisions . . .”

  “You know as well as I that Katherine has often made impulsive and ill-conceived decisions. Staying here and struggling against all the odds is just another mistake in a long series. Can you deny it?”

  Andrew couldn’t. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, it will take years to find out. But . . .” Andrew pretended to pick lint from his trousers and then dared to meet his boss’s gaze. “I’ve found that Katherine’s matured, sir.”

  Mr. Wainwright let out a huff. “Perhaps. We’ll be better able to assess that when we all return to New York.”

  “You won’t reconsider, then? Helping her out financially, but allowing her to remain here?” Andrew couldn’t believe he had the audacity to ask his boss such a personal question. Yet he had to support his friend.

  Mr. Wainwright shook his head and gave him a hard stare. “Absolutely not.”

  Andrew’s mouth went dry as hay. An apology caught in the back of his constricted throat, and he couldn’t push out the words. So he had to stick by them. He might have jeopardized his position at the Trans American Railroad, but at least he’d stood up for Katherine.

  Mr. Wainwright rose and jammed his book back onto the shelf. “I understand your concern for my daughter, but you must understand her mother has plans for her future. My wife wants Katherine to marry—and marry well this time. No more running off with someone unsuitable. Who knows who she might run across here?” He shook his head at the thought. “All we want is for her to have a brilliant marriage with a society gentleman who’ll make her happy.”

  “But if she doesn’t want that, sir? What then?” Andrew asked.

  Mr. Wainwright glowered. “Her mother will convince her we have her best interests at heart and she must listen to us.”

  For once in her life, Andrew finished silently.

  Katherine climbed the stairs to the attic before the sun transformed it into an inferno. She rifled through several steamer trunks lined with cedar in search of a few more lightweight summer frocks. The year before he died, she thought she remembered Charles storing some up here for her as autumn arrived. She’d just about given up when she spotted a dusty trunk in the corner that she hadn’t opened. It was worth a look.

  But instead of a pile of clothes, she discovered old letters tied with string. Glancing through the small stack, she found notes she’d penned while Charles was courting her. She cringed at how she’d poured out her soul on paper. Obviously, he saved everything. It probably took too much effort to sort through old keepsakes and discard. Or had he truly cared about her? Once?

  She climbed down the stairs and directed Etta Mae to bring the trunk down to the front veranda. Five minutes later Katherine continued sifting through the old chest. Without rereading any of the silly billets-doux, she ripped them in two and tossed them into a trash basket. Good riddance.

  From the bottom she pulled out a packet with handwriting she didn’t recognize. Who would’ve writt
en in such a feminine hand? Her breath caught deep in her lungs. Were her suspicions about Charles’s infidelity true? During the last years of her marriage she’d wondered if he kept a mistress, though she seldom allowed her mind to wander in such a dangerous direction. Long periods of time away from home, no interest in their marriage, no love. All the warning signs were there.

  For several seconds she held the heavy packet and stared at the dark blue ink. She ought to rip them up without a second thought—and without reading them first. As she had with her own. But wasn’t it better to read them now and spare herself the agony of imagining the worst?

  With trembling hands, Katherine untied the string and removed a sheet of inexpensive paper.

  My dearest Charles,

  I’ve missed you so, my darling. My life without you is empty and meaningless. I try to stay busy and distract myself, but I’m just so terribly lonely. Please hurry back to me. I count the days.

  All my love,

  Harriet

  The letter was dated a few years after Katherine’s marriage to Charles. Why were there so many letters? Her heart squeezed so tight it hurt. Who was Harriet?

  Katherine pulled open the next note and then the next until she’d skimmed all but a half dozen of them. Tossing them aside, she glared at a blizzard of paper spread across the beige seat cushion.

  Reluctantly, she fished out one of the earlier letters to reread it.

  I don’t understand why your father dislikes me so. Is it because I’m not of your social set? You say you don’t care about his opinion, but I fear very much that you do. If only I came from a prosperous and respectable background we could marry soon, as we both wish. But I don’t, and I can’t change that unfortunate fact. I hope he softens his attitude toward me when he realizes we are meant to be together. I couldn’t bear to lose you, my love.

  Katherine sat perfectly still while white-hot anger burned through her chest like flames to the skin. Gradually, she pieced together what had probably happened. Charles had met Harriet a few years before he’d met Katherine. Old Mr. Osborne had unyielding control over his family. He must’ve forbidden Charles to marry Harriet, so Charles obeyed. He’d never mustered the gumption to confront anyone. He’d drown his cowardice in whiskey and gambling instead.

  But after the elderly Mr. Osborne died, Charles might have felt free to indulge his passions without any repercussion. He must’ve taken up with Harriet once again.

  It would explain Charles’s neglect. Katherine had ignored his frequent absences and chose to believe they involved business dealings, though if she’d used her God-given common sense, she’d have realized that couldn’t possibly be the case. He seldom set foot in the office or groves. Their bank account dwindled, yet he refused to explain why. Katherine moaned quietly. How could she have closed her eyes to what was right in front of her?

  She knew the reason. To admit her marriage had failed would compel her to take some sort of action. Either she’d have to return home to her parents and confess her mistake or stay at Buena Vista and suffer in silence. She chose to ignore the problems and hope their marriage would someday improve. But it didn’t.

  Katherine heard the front door open and footsteps on the gray painted floor. Glancing up, she saw Andrew approach, a look of concern etched in his face. She sniffed back a sob and blinked away tears, embarrassed to be found in such a state. Hastily she searched her pockets for a handkerchief, but they were empty.

  He pulled one from his own pocket and offered it to her. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice trembling. He dropped into a nearby rocking chair and focused his attention on her. His beautiful blue eyes radiated an ocean full of sympathy. He didn’t ask for an explanation, but she fought the urge to tell him.

  “I was reading old letters. I let my emotions take over.” She gave him a pathetic imitation of a smile and wondered if Andrew would accept her explanation. Even though she’d told him a little about her unhappy marriage, she didn’t want to burden him with the ugly details.

  He glanced toward the door as if ready to leave her alone with her grief. “I’m sure your pain must still be raw. One doesn’t get over a marriage quickly, I assume.”

  She warmed to his kindness. “It’s difficult to overcome the past and look toward the future. But I’m trying.” She bowed her head and a torrent of tears wracked her body. Her shoulders heaved and her sobs grew louder and more desolate. “I’m so sorry for making a scene. I should learn to handle my feelings.”

  Andrew pushed the letters on the swing to one side and sat close beside her. Hesitantly, he touched her hand. “Do you want to talk about it, Katherine? It might make you feel a little better. I don’t know a lot about love or marriage, but I’m a good listener.”

  She stiffened. If she weren’t more careful he’d offer so much empathy she’d let her entire story slip out. She didn’t want to share her humiliation with anyone, even Andrew. She’d said enough already.

  Katherine touched his hand. “You’re a true friend and I love you for that.” Embarrassment scorched her face. “You know what I mean, don’t you? We’re the truest of friends. Our affection goes far beyond romance.” She sputtered a nervous laugh. “I’m not saying this correctly . . .”

  His crooked smile seemed to be covering up an amused grin. “That’s all right. I believe I understand.”

  She wasn’t encouraging him in a romantic way, was she? She’d never forgive herself for misleading him. After Charles, she vowed never to wade into those poisonous waters again. Andrew was the dearest friend she ever had, and she’d never intentionally hurt him with false hopes—in case he had any.

  Katherine felt the tears burn again. More than anything she wanted to lose herself in Andrew’s kindness and tell him what she’d learned about Charles. Andrew would understand, but should she burden him with her husband’s infidelities and her sorrow?

  She only had to look into his eyes to know she couldn’t. He was a friend, possibly a bit more than a mere friend, and she’d never do that to him. Yet it was probably her weakness that drew her to him right now and not anything else.

  She pushed that thought away.

  Andrew looked down at the letters and then up at her. Did he want her to explain what was written on the scattered pages? Of course, he’d never ask.

  He waited a few moments and then rose. “I’ll give you your privacy, Katherine. I feel as if I’m intruding.”

  She didn’t stop him, even though his departure left her feeling torn. When his footsteps died away, Katherine stared at the closed door a long time before she opened another envelope, her hands shaking, her pulse still racing. She wasn’t sure why she tortured herself by perusing these hurtful letters. But perhaps she could completely rid her mind of Charles if she faced the brutal truth. Then, not one shred of emotion for him would remain to torment her.

  For the last several years she’d combed the memories of their marriage trying to understand what exactly went wrong between them. She’d believed it was her fault he’d lost his passion for her. Shortly after old Mr. Osborne passed, open hostility had replaced Charles’s love. He blamed her for their alienation and she’d believed him.

  She believed she was at fault because her own mother had said nearly the same thing. Mama claimed she was outspoken and stubborn and willful. So the problem lay only with her—though now, when she scrutinized her married life, she couldn’t recall when she’d acted in a headstrong manner as she had so often as a child and young woman. With Charles she’d never fought for her way or defended herself. She’d given in to his wishes at every turn.

  Now she knew the cause; Charles longed for Harriet and saw Katherine as the only remaining obstacle. Katherine glanced through the next letter, and then another. The illicit words of lust twisted her stomach until she thought she’d vomit. There was just one letter left, the envelope blank. She steeled herself to read it; then she’d be through with Charles forever.

  After ripping the letter open, she started reading, exp
ecting more sickeningly sentimental words. But this was different. It was from Charles to Harriet, and it had never been posted.

  My darling Harriet,

  I’m so sorry you are suffering because I’m still living with Katherine. You know my heart is with you, and I yearn to join you soon. I can’t tell you how agonizing it is for me to remain with my wife in a loveless marriage when I only wish to share my love with you and our little son.

  Son? Katherine let the letter fall to her lap. She’d never suspected Charles had a child. Her hands trembled as she tried to absorb this new revelation. She’d wanted to give him a child, but that dream hadn’t come to pass. Swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat, she picked up the note and resumed reading.

  I shan’t stay here at Buena Vista much longer. I can’t abide the tension. At present, I’m trying to put my affairs in order so we can be together. As soon as possible I shall ask Katherine for a divorce. We make each other miserable, and I regret the day my father convinced me to marry her. But I shall soon rectify that sad part of my life and join you, my darling, the one I should have taken in holy matrimony.

  I am desolate, my dearest Harriet, and I long for your sweet touch. Do be patient with me, my love. We shall soon be together, forever.

  Katherine gasped. The date read only a day before Charles fell ill, and merely a week before his untimely death. He’d caught a fever and died quickly. Never once had he mentioned Harriet or their son, nor had he asked for an end to their marriage. But he’d been too sick and weak to think of anything except getting well.

  Katherine had nursed him, stayed by his side, and worn herself out praying unceasingly for his recovery. He was probably yearning for his mistress and their son while she cared for him night and day.

  But God help her, she hadn’t felt any grief when he died, only relief. Her heart swelled with anger and humiliation. He’d been the most despicable of hypocrites.