Katherine shredded the letter and tossed it into the trash basket. Gathering the rest of the notes, she tore each one in strips and threw them away too. Finally, when the porch swing was bare once again, she arose, dabbed at her stinging tears, and strode into the house.
She found her father and Andrew in the seldom-used office next to the library. Whether Papa was at home or not, he needed to keep abreast of his railroads, and from Andrew’s look of eager concentration, he reveled in work as well.
“I have something to announce,” she said, clutching the back of a chair. “I’ve made a decision. One you’ll like, Papa.” Her voice sounded thin and reedy, as if it came from far away.
Papa smiled in anticipation.
“I’ve considered my circumstances and I’ve decided I shall return with you to New York for the rest of the summer.”
Andrew’s jaw dropped open, and her father beamed a grin as bright as a lightbulb.
She put up a palm. “I can’t agree to move home permanently. I still love these citrus groves and my work here, and I hope this fall’s harvest brings us closer to profitability. But I believe a change of scene is just what I need.”
“I’m so pleased,” her father said, obviously overcome with relief. “You won’t regret your decision.”
“If I’m to leave, then I’ll need someone reliable to take care of the groves and run the business for the summer. I’m not sure I can find a good manager, but I shall try.”
Papa placed the cap on his fountain pen and stood. “Leave it to me. I shall contact Stuart Osborne. I imagine he’ll take over the company on a temporary basis.”
With the hope I’ll eventually sell. Papa would pay him handsomely for his trouble. She preferred to leave the day-to-day operation to someone other than Charles’s brother, but she didn’t know anyone else who could fill in for her on short notice. And the idea of trying to find the right person wearied her further. “All right, Papa. Thank you.”
“I’ll get on it right away.” Her father dropped his pen and papers on the desk and headed into the hall for his bowler and walking stick.
“Do you wish for me to accompany you?” Andrew asked.
“No, thank you, Andrew,” her father said. “I’ll only be gone an hour, I imagine.” The big man propelled himself forward with a burst of energy that Katherine had never imagined possible.
When the front door closed, she turned toward Andrew. “I do hope I’m not making a big mistake.” Once she left Florida, her parents would use every weapon in their arsenal to keep her from returning in the fall for the harvest. But she would return, if she really wished to. No one would physically stop her, but the reality of a business barely limping along, on top of these new revelations about her marriage, had seemed to rob her of any meager wind she’d had left in her sails.
She turned away to the staircase before Andrew could see what was happening in her heart. Charles had deceived her right here, in this house, under her sightless eyes. Remaining in a home filled with such sad memories was far more than she could bear. She pictured Charles clattering down the staircase, valise in hand, as he had so often, calling out that he’d be gone on business for a while. A while usually stretched into days and sometimes weeks.
Andrew cleared his throat and she met his puzzled gaze. “Katherine, one of those letters convinced you to leave here, didn’t it?”
She nodded. Collapsing into a soft chair, Katherine closed her eyes for a few moments. What point was a secret between them? “Yes. I’ve just discovered Charles had a mistress and a child I knew nothing about. He planned to leave me, but he fell ill and died before he had the chance.”
Her voice faltered. Blinking back tears, she said, “I’ll have to make a list of all the chores I’ll have to do before we leave— assuming Papa can convince Stuart to oversee the property in my absence.”
Andrew took the seat beside her. “I’m so sorry about Charles. Is there something I can do to help?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but thank you all the same.” She looked up at him. “I was a fool not to listen to you about Charles. Forgive me, Andrew.”
He nodded. “You were young.”
She tossed her head back and groaned. “And headstrong and stubborn. I should’ve listened to my head, not my heart. You can be sure I’ll not make that mistake again.”
His gaze captured hers with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before. “Remember to look for God’s path for you. To listen to His still, small voice.”
“More good advice, my friend,” she said.
But what if she couldn’t discern what the Lord had to tell her?
Chapter Five
A week later they waited in the carriage, ready to leave Osborne Citrus Groves. Glancing back at Buena Vista, Katherine felt a twinge of sadness. Would she regret abandoning the dreams she’d invested in the business, even temporarily? Memories of earlier hopes for a happy life flooded her mind. None of her expectations had worked out. Buena Vista was a beautiful home, but filled with memories of her loneliness.
Numbness froze her heart, and she doubted it would ever thaw. Yet somehow a few hot tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks.
Her father patted her hand. “You’ll get over this, princess. Once we’re back at Birchwood you’ll forget all about Florida and your citrus groves. You’ll have a grand time at camp. Did your mother tell you I added a bowling alley last year, and a new game room?”
She smiled and ignored his unintended jibe about her dreams. Papa was still trying to promise her joy, something he couldn’t deliver. Raising her gaze, her eyes met Andrew’s, and his sent a message of concern. He seemed to read her mind and discern emotions she’d never admit. It was most disconcerting.
They soon boarded Mr. Wainwright’s private railcar attached to the back of the northbound train. The varnish was custom-built by George Pullman to Mrs. Wainwright’s exact specifications. Andrew had heard that his boss had paid seventy-five thousand dollars for the Isabelle, named after Mrs. Wainwright.
Andrew settled into his stateroom, a compact area with everything he needed—a double bed with brass headboard, a desk, washstand, and wardrobe. Like the parlor, the walls of his stateroom were paneled in mahogany and trimmed with a design in gold leaf.
Surrounded by wealth since the age of ten, Andrew had never quite adjusted to extravagance. Like the millionaires’ servants, he lived among someone else’s treasures, without owning any of them himself. Yet, unlike the servants, he had luxuries to indulge in because he was part of the family. A cherished nephew, but on the periphery.
He held the best of both worlds in the palm of his hand. With the Clarkes’ connections, he received countless opportunities for success in the law—yet he hadn’t enough funds to become lazy or even vaguely dissatisfied, chronic conditions plaguing so many sons of privilege.
Andrew unpacked and then wandered into the parlor. His boss glanced up from a stack of papers piled beside him on the plush green sofa.
“Just the man I want to see.” Mr. Wainwright gestured for him to sit in the nearest chair.
Andrew sank into a coordinating seat, overstuffed with the softest of cushions.
“You remember that trunk line for sale in California? Well, I might buy it, especially if I can get it at a lower price. I’ve made inquiries. I hear they might be ready to sell this fall, for much less than their asking price.”
Andrew nodded. The line from San Francisco down to San Diego was already profitable and worth a lot of money. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“The owner is returning from abroad in September. I’d like to go to California to negotiate, but it seems Mrs. Wainwright has other plans. There’s a wedding of some cousin of hers in Boston the same month. It’s a nuisance, but she has her mind set on attending, and I don’t have the heart to turn her down.”
Andrew kept his amusement from invading his smile. He doubted Mr. Wainwright had ever turned down that domineering wife of his.
The bi
g man leaned forward, holding out a sheet of paper. “I’d like you to go to California in my place. I anticipate you’ll only be there for a week or two. The entire trip should take less than a month.”
Accepting the paper, Andrew glanced at the details of his itinerary. “Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to it.” As Mr. Wainwright’s private legal counsel, this assignment was the most important given him to date. “I’m most grateful for the opportunity. Thank you.”
Mr. Wainwright nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. I know you’ll do an excellent job.”
Together they reviewed Mr. Wainwright’s potential offer and all his detailed instructions over cups of coffee and a midmorning snack of Danish pastries made within the Isabelle’s well-equipped galley. When Mr. Wainwright adjourned to his stateroom, Andrew cupped the back of his head in his hands and let a grin spread across his face.
“Why do you look so self-satisfied?” Katherine swept into the parlor, a partially refurbished hat and a bag of feathers and flowers in hand. She took her father’s spot on the sofa. She wore a gray-green traveling suit, appropriate for a widow but hardly a flattering color. Yet she flashed the first truly relaxed smile he’d seen since his arrival in Florida, and she looked young and beautiful again.
He pulled his attention back to her question. “Your father just gave me a big assignment. I’ll be heading west this September.”
“Why, good for you! No wonder you look so pleased.”
“I’m thrilled,” he admitted.
“I have no doubt you deserve the assignment,” she said, examining the plain straw hat. She glanced up at him. “My father doesn’t lend his trust readily; I’m glad you’ve conquered that hurdle.”
Deep pleasure from her secondary praise rose in waves of heat and probably stained his face tomato red.
“Do you enjoy working for my father? He’s a dear man to his family, but I don’t know how he treats his employees.”
“He’s a stickler for detail and getting things exactly right. We work hard, and he rewards us with fairness and respect. What else could a man ask for?”
Katherine nodded, then riffled through her small bag and pulled out pieces of pink ribbon, rose tulle, and clusters of silk roses interspersed with something small and white, maybe baby’s breath.
“That’ll look lovely on you,” he said, envisioning Katherine topped with the wide-brimmed hat boasting as many flowers as a garden. It might threaten to overwhelm her delicate face, but those luminous blue eyes would still dominate.
A smile turned up the corners of her lips. “Oh no, this isn’t for me. It’s for my maid Etta Mae. She loves pretty things. I want to finish it so she can have it before we reach New York.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I have a feeling she’ll quit once we stop in the City.”
“Why would she do that?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Because she wants to experience New York. She’s lived in the country all her life, and she’s tired of it. Who would blame her, with the opportunity so literally at hand?”
“Not you, I take it.”
Katherine laughed. “Of course not. I love the citrus groves and the sounds of crickets and tree frogs, but she doesn’t. She thinks there’s more to do in the evening than just catch fireflies in a jar. I’ll miss her, but if she’s happy, then I’ll be glad to let her go.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Most ladies would show at least displeasure at the departure of an efficient servant. But Katherine had always helped others without even realizing it. “And I’m sure a new hat will be a kind send-off.”
“Well, thank you, Andrew, but I’m not doing anything special. Decorating hats is no chore. It’s my favorite way to relax.” She tilted her head and gauged the top of his. “I can make over one of your straw boaters, if you’d like. Should I add a handful of daisies or would you prefer pink carnations?”
He smiled back at her. “I think I ought to stick with a plain, black band,” he said.
“Ah, well. I’m hoping to spruce up many more hats once I’m at Birchwood. It’ll fill up some of the hours I might idle away otherwise. I can’t imagine being content just making social rounds with my mother. Not after growing accustomed to the constant demands on my time.”
“If you’re looking for a way to keep busy, decorating hats could be a useful summer project. Maybe you could turn your hobby into something more meaningful.”
“What a splendid idea, Andrew. I could design hats for a few of my friends. If they were lovely enough, they might even pay me. I’d donate any profits to charity, of course.” Then she sighed and shook her head. “But my mother would never approve.”
“Approve of what, Katherine?” Mr. Wainwright asked as he entered the parlor. “Here’s more information about that trunk line.” He handed Andrew a sheaf of papers.
Hesitating for a moment, Katherine quickly regained her confidence. “I believe I might try my hand as an amateur milliner. Just for the season, of course. I’d donate any proceeds to that orphanage you support in New York.”
Her father’s jaw dropped. “You’re quite right, your mother would never approve. Besides, you need not work at all. This summer is about rest for you, recuperation after all your trials in Florida. I’ll gladly give you whatever you want.”
She lifted her chin. “Papa, if you wish to please me, then convince Mama to let me do something constructive over the summer.”
Mr. Wainwright sent her a mild frown as he settled into a sofa. “I meant that I’d gladly buy you anything. But I can’t allow you to start any sort of business, even for a worthy cause. You know that, Katherine. It’d be unseemly.”
She shrugged, apparently undeterred. “Then I suppose I’ll have to persuade Mama myself.” She gave a mischievous laugh, but Andrew knew she was seriously considering the idea.
Andrew widened his eyes, but held his tongue. How amazing that a slip of a girl could speak to the great William Wainwright in such a tone and receive a smile instead of a rebuke. Such impertinence in the office would land a man on the streets.
Mr. Wainwright groaned. “Surely you can find something more appropriate to occupy your time.”
Katherine smiled as she rose. “Mama will find all kinds of tedious activities if I let her—which I won’t.” She planted a kiss on her father’s high forehead. “Papa, please don’t get upset.
Truly, it was only a passing thought. Please excuse me. I must get ready for luncheon.”
When she disappeared down the passageway, Mr. Wainwright lifted a brow at Andrew. “Discourage her, if you can. I’ll not have my daughter making hats while she should be enjoying herself. Doesn’t she understand I work from dawn to dusk so she won’t have to?”
Andrew nodded and mumbled, “I see your point, sir. But turning a hobby into a modest summer job might give her great satisfaction.” He paused and swallowed the discomfort clogging his throat. “In fact, I suggested she make hats.” He held his breath.
Mr. Wainwright’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t a good idea, Andrew.” Then his gaze shifted toward the curved ceiling. “My father laid track before the War. As a young man he rose from a fisherman in Maine to the owner of one of the largest railroads in these United States. By golly, I won’t allow my family to slip backward. We fought too hard to get where we are for Katherine to throw it all away on a silly whim.”
Andrew gathered every shred of his courage. “Mr. Wainwright, Katherine also needs to feel useful. She—”
His employer raised his palm to silence him. “Her mother will make sure she feels useful. But this isn’t the proper way to go about it. Do speak to Katherine about dropping her idea. You’ll do that, won’t you?”
“Of course, sir,” Andrew reluctantly agreed.
As the train chugged northward, Katherine grew more and more apprehensive. With little to do but read and glance at scenery flying by, her mind replayed her father’s disapproval of the millinery project she proposed yesterday. If he objected to creatin
g hats for society ladies, then he’d certainly continue to discourage her from returning to her citrus groves at the end of summer.
The train swayed gently as it clattered down the track. Rain splashed against the wide windows, splitting into rivulets as it dripped down the glass. She sipped her afternoon cup of tea across the dining room table from Andrew. He devoured a rich Sacher torte with whipped cream on the side and strong black coffee as the day’s dreariness seeped through the window and dampened her spirits.
Katherine placed her fork on the china plate next to the untouched chocolate cake. “Andrew, do you think I’m making a mistake going home? I keep fighting the urge to leave the train and head back to Buena Vista. I know I need to get away from the memories of Charles and Harriet, but what if they haunt me wherever I am? Maybe I should’ve stayed in Florida and faced them head-on.”
Last night she’d dreamed of discovering Charles embracing his mistress in the parlor of Buena Vista. When they finally noticed her standing in the archway, they’d lunged toward her, demanding she give him a divorce. She’d cried and tried to flee, but her feet stuck to the floor. Charles raised his arm as if to strike her. Or push her. And then she’d awakened in a sweat, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
“It’ll take time to recover, but you will. I think Camp Birchwood is a perfect place to heal your hurts and begin to discover what might be next for you.”
She shrugged, unconvinced. “I do hope so, yet I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just uneasy about mixing with society again.”
“Or perhaps you’re already restless and bored, being stuck in a railcar. You’re used to your long walks among the groves.” He finished the last crumb of his torte and pushed his plate to the side. A steward refilled his cup with fresh, piping hot coffee.
“No, it’s more than boredom. I’m concerned about my company.”
Hands folded, he leaned across the table. “What’s there to worry about? Stuart will give his best to the groves, hoping they’ll one day be his, right? And your father gave you the funds to harvest your crop.”
A Path Toward Love Page 6
