Dear Lord, don’t let me do this to Andrew. He deserves better. Give me strength to resist.
Charles had deprived her of love for so long, she craved heartfelt intimacy. But she shouldn’t use Andrew’s interest for her own selfish benefit. This isn’t fair to him; this is wrong. Numbly, she stepped back from him and took a deep breath. Her heart continued to slam against her ribs. Years had passed since she’d experienced such emotion.
“I should go, Andrew,” she whispered, glancing up at him. “I needed you . . . and you were there for me. You’re a dear friend.”
His smile slipped at the word friend. Her heart ached for him. He didn’t want friendship anymore, and who could blame him? He wasn’t a flirtatious boy enjoying the antics of a precocious schoolgirl.
He was a grown man falling in love. Unfortunately, with a woman left with little more than a shriveled heart. Andrew deserved love in his life. A kind, generous, wide love. And that just wasn’t something she could offer.
Andrew excused himself and headed across the lawn. He shouldn’t have pressed her, especially at such a vulnerable moment. He couldn’t berate himself. What was done was done. Yet from now on he’d behave properly and not endanger their friendship—or his career—any further. That would please the Wainwrights and his Aunt Georgia. And Randy, of course.
Andrew sighed. He hoped Katherine wouldn’t feel awkward about this, or even worse, avoid him. He returned to his bedroom, still reeling, and wrote a short letter to Marston Voyles. Marston had opened his detective agency a few years before and sent notices to his classmates advertising his services. Andrew thought it odd a fellow graduate of Columbia from a prominent family would settle on police type work. But Marston had laughed when Andrew mentioned his surprise.
“Now that so many society people are getting divorced, they need evidence of the more sordid variety to use against their spouses. I’m here to oblige. My business is booming.”
Marston would uncover the true facts about Harriet Roles and her son, Zeke. He’d heard his old schoolmate was discreet, professional, and thorough. Maybe Marston could set up a meeting with Harriet. If Katherine didn’t want to go herself—and he felt sure she wouldn’t—he’d take her place and discover exactly what it would take to make Harriet go away, forever.
He gave his letter to the butler to post, and in the sanctuary of his bedroom, he opened his Bible. He flipped to Jeremiah 6:16, a verse he thought fitting. “Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.”
As soon as Katherine turned around, she spotted Mama picking black-eyed Susans in her rock garden at the foot of the bridge. From behind the bouquet of bright yellow flowers, Mama scowled and then slowly ambled toward her. Katherine checked her first impulse to run. Trying to escape Mama was a futile notion because she’d follow right behind. But maybe she hadn’t seen her with Andrew.
As Mama drew closer, Katherine painted on a smile and hoped for the best. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed.” Mama’s pale blue eyes glared like sun rays striking ice. “I saw you sharing intimacies with Andrew Townsend. What was the meaning of that?”
Mama moved so close, Katherine had to step away. Her backside slammed against a rough tree trunk. “It was merely conversation, Mama. Andrew is like a brother to me. He always has been. You know that.”
Her mother shook her head. “I know nothing of the sort. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, young lady, because you can’t. I saw you two holding hands.” Mama’s usually soft voice gathered strength and rose.
Katherine edged away. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not finished. You must understand that I can’t allow your shocking behavior to continue. If it does, I shall have to ask your father to send Andrew back to the City, even though from what I could see, you were as much to blame as he was. Is that understood?”
Anger welled up and blocked Katherine’s throat. But also fear for Andrew. Had she put his job in danger? “Yes,” she sputtered. “I understand.”
“Good. I hope we’ll never need to speak of this again. It’s unseemly.”
Spinning around, Katherine strode off toward her cabin, where she could safely escape Mama’s prying eyes and acid tongue.
Two days later Katherine fidgeted in her mother’s dressing room as Bridget pinned and tucked, altering a new gown Mama had ordered for her without asking. Apparently, Isabelle wanted her looking just right for tonight’s festivities at Camp Birchwood.
Katherine wanted to skip the dance, but there was no chance of that. Mama had hired a local band and invited dozens of their neighbors and their neighbors’ guests from nearby camps. She expected Katherine to reacquaint with her old friends and blend back into society. Starting tonight.
“Are you quite through with her, Bridget? We have yet to see to her hair! Let’s try a new style and see how it looks.”
“I’m almost finished, Mrs. Osborne,” Bridget said, still pinning.
Mama circled the pair, scrutinizing the length of the gown. “It’s long on the right side. Do take it up a little.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Katherine grew claustrophobic as she waited in Mama’s cluttered dressing room. Well-pressed clothes hung from hangers all about and deep drawers burst with odds and ends. Hatboxes rested on shelves and a few dozen pairs of shoes were lined up in neat rows. Even with the informality of camp, Mama insisted upon all the proper accessories for the occasional dance.
Katherine fidgeted as Bridget pinned a torn ruffle on the skirt of her violet, watered silk gown. On her hands and knees, the maid continued to work quickly. But then Katherine sneezed and Bridget’s hand slipped. The pin jabbed Katherine in the leg, piercing her skin. She let out a yelp.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the young maid mumbled, horror in her eyes.
“Oh, Bridget!” Mama exclaimed. “I believe there’s a spot of blood on the fabric now!”
Nervously, Bridget bent down to examine the tiny stain. “It won’t take much to get the blood out, if I see to it immediately.” Flustered, she whisked the gown off Katherine, leaving her in her chemise and corset.
Katherine tried to hide the bloody speck on her sheer stocking, but the movement drew Mama’s sharp eyes to her leg. As soon as Bridget left for the laundry, Mama came closer. “Katherine, let me look at your leg. Roll down your stocking, please.”
“There’s no need, Mama.” Katherine yanked her petticoat over her legs and turned away. Mama straightened up, but with less agility than she used to have. “What happened, Katherine? I can see your right leg is severely scarred. Goodness gracious.”
Heat seared Katherine’s neck and face. She’d planned to keep her scar hidden from everyone.
“Please tell me how this happened,” Mama repeated, her voice softer.
Katherine took a ragged breath, giving in. “Several years ago when Charles and I were hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I tripped and fell down a cliff. I was badly injured, and my leg required quite a few stitches.” Her voice snagged and her shoulders heaved. Dear Lord, please don’t let me break down in front of Mama. Thankfully, she was able to sniff back tears that threatened to spill. Why did she always react with such emotion?
“Katherine, my dear,” Mama asked, grasping her hand, “you look as if you’re ready to cry.” Mama’s touch felt cold and dry, not in the least bit comforting, but her voice sounded kind.
“My mind wandered. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, dear. But are you all right? Weeping for no reason isn’t at all like you. Is it your leg?” Mama motioned Katherine down on an easy chair. Her mother removed the garter and rolled down the stocking. Gasping, her hand slammed over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh my goodness. My poor, dear Katherine. Your leg is—”
“Hideous. I know. My scar never healed. In fact, as time passed it got uglier and m
ore painful.” Katherine bit her lip hard so she wouldn’t burst into a flood of noisy tears. She hated the scar and could hardly bear to look at the angry, thick, red line. It was just another way she’d emerged disfigured from her marriage, both on the outside and deep within.
She’d hoped Mama would never see this awful souvenir of her marriage. The “accident” happened during the early days of her marriage.
Pity and compassion radiated from Mama’s eyes. She was now poor Katherine, a woman scarred. A girl in need of her mother, in so many ways. For a second she wanted to blurt out everything, open her heart, and lay her head in her mama’s lap as she had occasionally during childhood. But the moment slid by before she uttered a word.
“We should have a physician take a look at this. Maybe he could do something.”
Katherine shook her head. “No, it’s not necessary. I’m sure I saw every doctor in Florida, and no one could help. It’s all right, Mama, I can live with it.” She feigned a reassuring smile. “It’s only a scar and no one sees it.” It was another reason never to marry again; a husband would certainly notice the ugly reminder of her accident and recoil at the sight of her.
But everyone has scars of one sort or another, she told herself. This was just one of the many she bore that she’d yet become accustomed to.
“Why didn’t you write and tell me you were injured?” Mama dropped into a nearby chair.
Katherine yanked up her stocking and covered her legs with her petticoat. “Because there was nothing you could do from so far away. I didn’t want you to worry. And I recovered. So please don’t fret about this. I’m fine now.”
Mama drew out a sad, weary sigh. “As you wish. I’m just so sorry you didn’t tell Papa and me.”
“It happened when we were estranged.” During her first two years of marriage, her parents, led by her mother, no doubt, refused to correspond.
Mama pursed her lips. “I . . . I see. But I hope in the future you won’t keep anything so important from me. An injury like that . . .”
She shuddered in fear. “You ought to know I’m here to help in any way I can. You’re my only child. My dear, precious daughter.”
“I know, Mama,” Katherine said with a sigh.
A knock sounded on Mama’s door. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
Katherine closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory that suddenly swelled in her mind. But as usual, she couldn’t. Once again she was hiking beside Charles on a mountain path, and they argued. She halted, jammed her hands on her hips, and faced him, shaking, not caring who heard her down the trail.
Her voice vibrated with outrage. “You squandered the year’s profit from the orange groves. In one short weekend you gambled everything and lost. We’ll have little to live on until the next harvest, and barely enough to keep the groves producing. You must stop at once.”
“Well, I don’t intend to,” he said, swaying. “And stop your nagging, Katherine. It’s unbecoming for a lady to scream at her husband.” He glared at her as they slowly climbed the path that edged a sharp drop. He turned mean when he had been drinking, and lately he’d taken to doing it more often.
“I can’t live like this, Charles. We’ll have nothing left if you continue playing poker. You lost my grandmother’s inheritance in a couple of games. What will you gamble away next? Buena Vista? The Osborne Citrus Groves?”
His gambling was a more than a vice—it was a disease consuming him like a cancer.
“I’ve heard enough from you, woman.”
They strode on in silence. From the corner of her eye, she watched him steal a gulp of whiskey. She smelled the stink in his breath. He’d destroy them both if he didn’t quit drinking spirits. She increased her pace, not looking where she was going. Her ankle twisted on the rough, deeply rutted path, and she felt herself swaying. Arms flailing, she fought to right herself. His hand reached out to her, and for a split second she thought he’d help her avert a terrible fall. But instead of pulling her back to safety, he either missed her flailing hand or thought better of it. She was never sure.
She tumbled down, down, down, through brush, over sharp rocks, all of it scratching and cutting as she rolled. Her breath came in gasps, and she thought she might suffocate. She rolled so fast she could only glimpse the approaching terrain. Then the rough earth gave way to a cliff. Dropping over the edge like a rag doll, Katherine felt nothing beneath her. She fell and fell until the hard earth again rose to meet her. Seconds later she smashed into a tree trunk and came to a dead stop. It stole her breath, and every part of her body screamed in pain. And then her world faded and she blacked out. Mercifully.
When she awoke the next day she found herself in her bed at the inn where they were staying, bandaged and in such excruciating pain she wanted to die on the spot. Every muscle and bone flared like fire burning out of control. Charles sat by her bedside, his head in his hands, sobbing.
“I’m so, so sorry, Katie.” He coughed up jagged shards of words, and she barely understood what he said. Her usually debonair husband’s face had been so puffy, as red as stewed tomatoes, that it startled her. He blinked away tears, frightening her more. “I didn’t mean for you to fall.”
The day before returned in a haze of memories; she couldn’t quite remember everything that happened. But she did recall he missed her when she needed his steadying hand.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” he whispered, shuddering. “But you lost the baby.”
She barely comprehended his words. “Oh God, no.” Her mouth was so cut and bruised, she could only whimper.
“I tried to grab you, Katherine, but I only fell with you.” He thrust out his arms. She squinted to distinguish a few superficial scratches and a tiny bruise on his hand. Charles’s fresh sobs reeked of remorse and self-pity.
Later, after she’d recovered, the wound on her leg worsened and Charles found the resulting scar repulsive. And in spite of her injuries and grief, Katherine found the strength to stand against him. She wouldn’t allow him to ruin his business and their marriage without a fight.
He never came to her bed after that. Not that she missed him. He took to sleeping down the hall in his own room, and his distance came as somewhat of a relief. She heard him coming and going at all hours of the night, but she never questioned it, content to believe he was with friends or business associates.
Katherine blinked repeatedly, trying to disengage from the awful memories. But at least now she knew why she’d lost Charles during those dark days.
It was about the time of her accident that he’d gone back to Harriet.
Chapter Thirteen
At eight o’clock that evening Katherine donned the altered gown for the dance. Bridget swept her hair into a pompadour, without the need for concealed rats and rolls to provide extra fullness. She added diamond hair clips that sparkled even in the mellow kerosene light and a fragrant white gardenia in place of a feather. Katherine slipped her feet into borrowed satin shoes embroidered with silver thread and sighed with relief when they fit perfectly. An amethyst necklace from Mama graced her long neck.
Katherine and Aunt Letty strolled the short distance between their cabin and the lodge as boats docked at the pier. Katherine entered the converted ballroom and inhaled the fragrance of roses freshly picked from the garden. Yet even the delicate blooms and pretty tablecloths couldn’t fully transform the country atmosphere of antlers, deer, and moose heads staring down at the guests. She walked across the shiny wooden floor, devoid of the Oriental rugs that footmen had rolled up and cleared away early in the afternoon. The sofas and chairs lined the walls. They’d added a few wicker chairs from the back veranda so all the ladies would have comfortable seating.
Katherine passed the band tuning their instruments in soft disharmony. At the other end of the spacious room, a fire roared within the stone fireplace, crackling and spitting sparks up the chimney. It diminished the slight evening chill so common in the mountains. The smoky aroma mingled with the scent of fl
owers and the ladies’ French perfume.
Katherine greeted stodgy Mrs. Porter, who was decked out in a wine-colored gown hugging her plump form, and Randy’s mother, who looked like an Amazon next to her stick of a husband. She spotted Andrew among the gathering crowd and immediately her spirits lifted for a moment before she realized that things were not as they once were between them. Steeling herself, she headed toward him, hoping she could find the words to bridge the gap.
Spellbound, Andrew watched Katherine gracefully weave through the crowd, drawing several men’s lingering looks. A vision in violet, she held her head high, displaying a flash of jewels at her neck and wrist. Mrs. Wainwright intercepted her before she reached him and guided her over to a group of friends centered around Randy. Before long, his cousin led her to the dance floor, and they joined the couples swirling about to the music of a Viennese waltz. Then they danced a reel, another waltz, and a schottische. When they moved on to a polka, Andrew had had enough. He moved outside, perspiring as if he’d been dancing with them.
He leaned over a railing, staring at the lake glittering under the moonlight, trying to forget how well Katherine looked in Randy’s arms. How they looked so right together. He shook his head. I’m beginning to think like my aunt and Mrs. Wainwright. Regardless of how right they appeared on the outside, there was something so incredibly wrong within, he couldn’t imagine how Katherine could tolerate it. Randy either, for that matter.
Not that his cousin cared for anything but his own entertainment . . .
Katherine’s laughter tickled the back of his neck. He dared to glance over his shoulder. She was chatting with an old friend, fanning herself, and drinking from a crystal goblet. “My, I’d forgotten how hot a dance floor could get!”
A Path Toward Love Page 14
