She dragged out a sigh. “Yes, but unfortunately, Charles mortgaged Osborne Citrus Groves so he’d have working capital. At least, that’s what he told the bank.”
“Oh, I see. But that wasn’t the truth?”
She shook her head. “Partially. We did need capital, but after Charles’s death, my attorney discovered the money wasn’t put into the business.” She bit down on her lower lip. “He said Charles spent it gambling . . . but now I think that he might have used some of the funds to support his . . . other family.” Her voice cracked as she glanced out the wide window and struggled to rein in her emotions.
“I assume you’re meeting payments on that loan,” Andrew said gently.
Katherine paused before she nodded. “Well, I’m trying, but it’s difficult. No matter how hard I work, I never have quite enough to repay Charles’s loan and run the business. It’s a constant battle to balance both.” There was more to the story, yet she couldn’t bring herself to explain the deeper problem, at least not now.
“I see why you’re concerned. Have you told your father about this other issue?”
She shook her head and her brow lowered in fear. “No, and I do hope you won’t tell him either. I know you owe Papa loyalty, but that doesn’t mean you should repeat what I tell you in confidence.”
“Calm down, Katherine. I promise I won’t say a word. This is between you and your father. But I urge you to mention it to him.” Andrew rubbed his chin. “Your father can offer better advice than I can about managing a business. Why didn’t you ask him for a bit more money so that you have enough to meet that loan’s payments this summer too? It’s a legitimate business loan. At least it was meant to be.”
Katherine shook her head. “But it’s become more of a personal loan. I won’t ask Papa to repay money owed by a man he despised.”
“I understand, but he might do it. For you.”
“No. That wouldn’t be right. The thought of him covering a loan that went to support my husband’s . . .” Her words faded and she appeared pale.
“So the loan from your father only solves part of your problem this summer.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’ll pay for repairing some equipment and harvesting my fall crop. The profit will enable me to repay Papa. But I still have Charles’s loan to negotiate.” She smiled faintly and tilted her head. “Are you sure you can’t recommend something? You used to advise me all the time.”
Compassion and reticence collided in his heart as he stammered over his reply. As her father’s employee, Andrew wasn’t allowed to give an opinion that differed from his. And now, he was just as beholden to her father—and in turn, her mother—as she was.
He’d always prided himself for rising above the scramble toward power and riches. But had he, too, sold his soul for a chance at advancement?
Chapter Six
Several days later the Isabelle pulled into the small depot by the edge of Raquette Lake, New York, without Katherine’s maid. She’d left with a profuse apology, a big grin, and a new hat on her head.
With her father’s assistance, Katherine stepped from the Raquette Lake steamer onto the Birchwood pier, parasol and reticule gripped in her hands. After the long journey from central Florida, every nerve in her body tingled with anticipation and anxiety.
She gulped a deep breath of fresh mountain air and glanced up at Birchwood Lodge, her family’s summer retreat designed in the style of a Swiss chalet. Tucked into the Adirondacks, the chalet and all its cabins and outbuildings overlooked the shores of the crystal-blue Raquette Lake. Purple and yellow petunias— her mother’s favorite colors—still sprang from window boxes painted cranberry to match the trim of the paned windows.
Her home of countless childhood memories had often echoed through her mind these last several years, and now it was as if she couldn’t quite believe she was really back.
At long last she was home. It was time to reunite with her mother. Would Mama welcome her with as much love and enthusiasm as her letters always suggested? Or, as Katherine suspected, would she dwell on the hurts caused by her rebellious elopement? Well, she wouldn’t know her mother’s reaction until she faced it. Expelling a pent-up breath from deep within her lungs, Katherine waved good-bye to the captain and her fellow passengers, all neighbors heading to their lakeshore camps.
A trio of footmen waiting on the Wainwrights’ dock retrieved the mountain of steamer trunks and bowed slightly. The older one, apparently in charge, greeted them. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Osborne, Mr. Wainwright, Mr. Townsend. Welcome home.”
Katherine smiled. “Good day. It’s grand to be home again.” She followed the men across the lawn and to the back porch where the footmen placed her trunks near an empty rocking chair. Her luggage contained all the private mementos of her entire married life—pitifully little for six years of marriage and two more of widowhood. If all went well, she’d take her belongings back to Florida in a few months, but probably leave photographs of Charles at Camp Birchwood. Or I might burn them, she thought with a shiver of fury. The trunks, suitcases, and valises belonging to Andrew and her father were carried through the back door of the lodge.
As Katherine climbed the shallow porch stairs, her mother whipped around the corner of the chalet, watering can in hand. Mama’s mouth tipped upward in a broad smile that stretched across her pale, square-jawed face. She stripped off her gardener’s gloves, set her watering can upon the rough planked decking, and rushed forward with arms open wide. Mama smothered her in a hug so tight Katherine could scarcely breathe. But she melted into the warmth of Mama’s small, wiry body pressed against her own and inhaled the faint but familiar smell of potting soil mixed with the scent of Mama’s lily of the valley perfume.
“Welcome home, Katherine,” Mama whispered, her voice choked. She stepped back, took a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt, and dabbed at her light blue eyes. An embarrassed laugh bubbled up. “Pardon me, please. I’m just so happy to see you again.”
“And I you, Mama.” Her mother’s enthusiastic welcome allayed her fears, at least for the time being. Katherine let her rigid shoulders relax.
Mama stuffed the lace-trimmed handkerchief back in her pocket and sniffed. “I’ve missed you so. It’s been far too long.”
Mrs. Clarke, Mama’s dearest friend from their school days— and Andrew’s aunt—trudged several paces behind. Tall and large framed, she dwarfed Katherine’s spry little mother but could never cast her into the shadows.
“Katherine, my dear,” Mrs. Clarke said, “it’s so good to see you. We were so anxious that you’d listen to reason and return home with your papa and Andrew. Welcome home!” She leaned down and kissed Katherine on the cheek.
“Of course she’d listen to reason! I’m sure it’s a relief to escape that awful Florida heat,” Mama added, her eyes roving over Katherine’s elbow-length sleeves. “You must remember to cover your skin, my dear, or you’ll look like a foreigner.”
Her mother’s clipped, New England accent sounded exactly as Katherine remembered. Firm and definitive, yet honey-coated. Still thin and ramrod straight, Mama looked much the same. But the web of fine lines that fanned out from the corners of her eyes had deepened to crevices. Those intervening years had added wrinkles to her forehead and gray to her chestnut brown hair coifed in a stylish, yet rather messy, pompadour. Even her formidable mother couldn’t escape the ravages of middle age.
“Martin, take Mrs. Osborne’s trunks to the cabin nearest the lake.” Mama glanced around and frowned. “Where’s the rest of your luggage, my dear?”
Katherine swallowed hard. “That’s all I have. I didn’t need anything more than a few frocks for working in a citrus company.”
Mama’s mouth opened wide. “Only a few frocks? I’ve never heard of such a preposterous thing.”
“Well, I’ve been in mourning for the last two years,” she hedged, “so I haven’t needed anything fancy.”
“I suppose.” Mama’s voice held doubt. “But where�
��s your maid? Don’t tell me you haven’t got one.” Glancing toward the boat now steaming away toward the next camp, she looked to Katherine for an explanation.
“As soon as the train pulled into New York, Etta Mae quit. She said factory work paid more. But no worries. I’m quite capable of seeing to myself.”
Mama shook her head and sighed. “I don’t understand servants these days. You give them a good position, pay them handsomely, and then they leave without warning or any consideration for their employers.” She shrugged, not one to dwell on matters outside her control. “Well, no matter. Aunt Letty’s maid will help you.” Mama bent over to water two clay pots frothing with red geraniums before she strode after the footman, her head held high with the confidence of the great society matron she was. “Come along, my dear.”
Katherine stepped briskly to keep apace as Mrs. Clarke dropped into a wicker chair with a deep sigh and a copy of Ladies’ Home Journal magazine. Katherine followed her mother across a small patch of lawn studded with evergreens and several leafy sugar maples, and then headed down the covered walkway connecting many of the camp’s outbuildings. Late afternoon sunshine spilled through the tangle of pine, black spruce, and white birch trees and splashed across the boards of the walkway. Katherine inhaled the aroma of fresh-scented fir trees and rich, dark earth.
They passed the laundry with servants’ quarters above, and several new guest cabins, some sheathed in birch bark and others built of logs cut right on the Wainwright property. Her father owned hundreds of acres of wilderness and some of the most beautiful and rugged terrain in northern New York State.
Mama leaned toward her. She lowered her voice, though the footman was well out of earshot. “We have so much to catch up on. You must tell me everything, Katherine. I’ve worried about you—that perhaps your life in Florida hadn’t lived up to your dreams. Your letters were rather vague, to say the least.” She reached over and grasped Katherine’s hand as they walked past a guest cabin. “Do tell me I’m wrong and I’ll feel so much better.”
Katherine suppressed a grimace. “Oh, Mama, we have the whole summer to catch up.” Although she loved her mother, as any daughter should, she had no intention of ever blurting out the horrendous details of her marriage. Her relationship with Charles was out of bounds, especially with her bloodhound of a mother. “My life . . . there are some aspects that are difficult to talk about.”
Her mother’s face puckered. “I understand. To be a widow at your age must be heartbreaking.” She reached over and gave Katherine’s arm a squeeze.
“Yes, in many ways.”
Yet Mama had detested Charles right from the start. She’d called him a rogue and a reprobate and tried everything in her bag of tricks to prevent the marriage.
Her mother continued, “I’ve arranged all sorts of activities for you. It’ll take your mind off your sadness. You’ll have a busy summer ahead. I know you’ll enjoy every moment.”
Katherine kept her voice steady and steeled herself for a protest. “I need some time to readjust before I step back into society.” Holding her breath, she glanced sideways at Mama and hoped she’d let her comment pass. Perhaps she’d mellowed with age.
Her mother’s eyebrow arched. “Readjust? To your own home? That seems quite unnecessary. Ludicrous, in fact.” A scowl slid across her face. She wasn’t used to having her plans questioned.
Katherine cleared her throat, clogged with fear. She might eventually have to concede defeat, but not yet. “Losing Charles and then running the groves for two years on my own—it was an ordeal. I’m hoping my time here can help me recover, in part.”
Mama looked askance for several long moments. “You can’t mourn forever, dear.” Then she grasped Katherine’s hand in an unexpected gesture of love and understanding. “I don’t mean to sound harsh. You’ve been through a dreadful time. But you must get on with your life. The sooner the better.”
“Don’t fret, Mama. I’m looking ahead, not back. But I need awhile to rest. Managing the business has left me tense and exhausted.”
Mama nodded. “I daresay, I’ll never understand why you even tried. When Charles passed away you should’ve come straight home where you belong. We would have taken good care of you.” Mama drew out a resigned sigh and then swept Katherine with a long, critical look. “My dear, you do look drawn and so thin! We’ll order up some hearty, nourishing food from Cook.”
“I promise I’ll eat like a horse.”
Mama brightened, visibly encouraged by her responsiveness. “Excellent. Once you regain your health, you’ll feel so much better.”
Katherine bit back a smile. Her health was fine. But the last thing she needed was to run from morning until night with social obligations.
“Now remember, being out and about will drive away your sadness. Brooding won’t do you a bit of good.” Mama’s hooded eyes widened. “By the way, Randy Clarke is visiting for the summer. He can’t wait to see you again.” Her voice was much too nonchalant.
Katherine resisted a groan even as she smiled at the thought of seeing dear Randy again. Mama must be up to something, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have a wife and children by now.”
Mama laughed slyly. “No, my dear Katherine. His mother believes he’s waiting for you. Truth be told, Georgia and I have always hoped you two would marry someday.”
The hairs on the back of Katherine’s neck prickled. A few seconds passed before she managed to find any appropriate words. “Mama, I’ve only just gotten home.” Keep your voice light, Katherine, and don’t quarrel. “You must realize I’m not here to catch a beau. I’m here to be with you and Papa and Aunt Letty. And to rest.”
“Yes, I know, dear. I’m only talking, not pushing. I simply hope that when the time comes, you’ll choose a gentleman from our circles. Someone we know.” Katherine could practically hear her unspoken words. Someone we approve of.
When they’d wed, Charles’s father had owned hundreds of acres of citrus groves, but the Osborne family hadn’t the lineage her mother—the great social leader, Isabelle Wainwright— insisted upon for any potential beau intent on courting her daughter. The Osbornes weren’t part of the New York set, and therefore they were out-of-bounds. Katherine had met Charles when he’d visited Randy during a weekend away from college. His charm and good looks immediately attracted her.
Katherine sweetened her voice. She’d not be dragged into a disagreement with Mama on the first day back at Camp Birchwood. Arguing with her would surely not be abiding by her agreement with Papa. But she’d never agreed to entertaining prospective suitors! “I’m mostly here because Papa said Aunt Letty needed a companion,” she said. What would happen if Mama knew she’d received a loan in exchange for agreeing to come? “I plan to keep company with Aunt Letty and lead a quiet life this summer. But you should know . . .” She paused, dreading the outburst sure to follow. “I’ve made up my mind to remain a widow.” Much to her horror, she sounded strident when she hoped to sound cool and rational—and above all, pleasant.
Mama blanched. “My dear! That’s utter foolishness. You’re still young and beautiful. But if you delay too long there won’t be any appropriate suitors left. Not even Randy will wait forever.”
Katherine swallowed. “Mama, I don’t wish to ever remarry. I know that upsets you, and I’m sorry. But I’ve made up my mind.” The Lord had given her one opportunity at love and she wouldn’t ask for another. She didn’t want another.
Mama halted and pinned Katherine to the railing with her disbelieving gaze. “Surely you’ll change your mind. You can’t bury yourself in the past. No matter how difficult, you have to accept Charles’s death. You must go on and face the future.”
“You make it sound so easy, Mama. But it’s not.” She didn’t know how she’d ever get past Charles’s infidelity, to trust again.
All Mama’s energy drained into one long sigh. “I’ve not experienced the pain you have. But I’m sympathetic, so I won’t
press you now.”
“Thank you,” Katherine murmured. Obviously, Mama wouldn’t approve of staying a widow indefinitely, but they needn’t argue about it, not while she was home. When she returned to Florida, her decision would speak for itself.
They continued down the walkway. The heels of their buttoned boots tapped against the wood, the only sounds competing with the chirp of birds nesting in the tree branches. They passed a game room, the dining hall, and the icehouse. From the kitchen floated the aroma of baking bread and roasting meat. Her mouth watered in anticipation of dinner.
“There’s one more thing, Mama. You do know that I’ll be returning to Florida at the end of the summer, don’t you? I have to get back for harvest.”
Mama’s jaw dropped, and Katherine’s heart sank. Had Papa manipulated them both? “You look shocked. Didn’t Papa mention I’m only here for vacation?”
“Indeed, he did not,” her mother said, tight-lipped. “I trust your time here at Birchwood will change your mind. In more ways than one.” Mama had always seen any wall as an obstacle to be conquered. Katherine supposed it was that tenacity that had fueled her own dreams at the citrus groves over the years.
When they came to a small structure overlooking the lake, Mama pushed open the door and stepped inside. The coachman had placed her trunks on the rag rug in front of the wardrobe. A young maid with coppery hair and curly bangs bent over it and carefully removed the clothing. She wore her afternoon uniform, a black dress, frilly white apron, and doily cap with streamers. Life at Birchwood was far more casual for family and friends than in the City, but her mother maintained high standards for the staff.
By habit, Mama wiped her finger along the top of the maple bureau, checking for dust. Local craftsmen had made most of the camp furniture in an artistic but rustic Adirondack style. They used logs and twigs in their creative designs, making one-of-a-kind bed frames, headboards, and chairs.
Apparently satisfied with the maid’s work, Mama turned her attention back to Katherine. “If you don’t mind, you’ll share the cabin with Aunt Letty until some of the guests leave the Lodge. I miscalculated and invited a few more people than we really have room for. But the more the merrier, I always say. We have thirty-four visiting for another week or two.”
A Path Toward Love Page 7
