by Janet Dailey
“Why wasn’t I told? I didn’t know.” The words came out in a sob.
“She probably didn’t want to worry you. It’s immaterial now,” he stated logically.
“It’s my fault.” She leaned against him, guilt pressing at her. “I should have gone home on my vacation instead of coming here. When I talked to her tonight, I should have told her I was coming instead of stalling and making her wonder why I wasn’t.” She blamed herself for being thoughtless.
“Elizabeth was worried about Rory, too,” Whit reminded her.
At the moment, she was only concerned about her own guilt. “I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her.” Her face was hidden in the curve of his neck.
His arms tightened around her in silent comfort while his hand stroked the back of her hair. “She’ll be all right, Shari.” His mouth formed the words against her temple. “You’ll see.”
Despite his assurance, she shuddered against him. “I’m so scared,” Shari whispered and her lips brushed against the warm feel of his skin.
He seemed to withdraw his comfort, first mentally, then physically as he took hold of her shoulders and forced her to stand away from him. That wasn’t what she wanted, but in her weakened state, she couldn’t resist him.
“There isn’t time for that, Shari.” His voice was hard and inflexible. Its lack of sympathy hurt her.
The sound of heavy footsteps briefly distracted her and she turned her head in their direction. Rory was coming down the steps, yawning widely, his black hair all tousled from sleep.
“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily. “Who was at the door?”
“It’s Mother,” Shari answered him without thinking about the shock the news would be to him.
Whit stepped in before she cruelly blurted out the words. “There’s some bad news from home, Rory.” He gave Rory a minute to brace himself. “Two State Patrol officers came to inform us that your mother has had a stroke and we’re wanted at home immediately.”
“Oh, no.” He leaned against the stair railing, choking up. “How bad … is she?”
“We don’t know,” Whit admitted. “I suggest we don’t waste any more time talking about it. You two need to get your things packed so we can leave as soon as you’re ready.”
“Yes.” Rory was already turning to climb the stairs, his head downcast under his own weight of guilt.
“You, too, Shari.” Whit pointed her in the direction of the stairs, prodding her along. “I’ll let your friends know about the situation and give them a key so they can stay here as long as they like.”
“Yes,” she murmured because she had forgotten all about Beth and Doré. With the news about her mother, their vacation plans were thrown to the winds.
Once Shari was alone in her room, shock seemed to take over. She stood in its center, looking at nothing, forgetting even why she was there. A few minutes later, Beth came in to help her pack and laid out a set of clothes for Shari to wear. With the help of her friend, Shari managed to be dressed and packed by the time Whit came to her room.
“Are you positive you’re going to be all right, Shari?” Beth asked anxiously as Whit picked up the suitcase to carry it downstairs. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” Shari smiled wanly at the generous offer. “You and Doré stay here and enjoy your vacation. I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll look after her,” Whit promised, tucking a hand under her arm to usher Shari out of the door.
Doré was waiting at the head of the stairs. Their earlier disagreement was forgotten as she hugged Shari and tried to offer words of encouragement and hope. But it was the expression of friendship more than what she said that Shari remembered.
It was a silent trio that climbed into Whit’s car parked outside the condominium. Earlier that day, Shari had dreaded the thought of returning to Gold Leaf, but she couldn’t get there fast enough now.
She sat in the passenger seat in front with Whit, and Rory hid in the shadowed darkness of the back. Her younger brother hadn’t said a word since he’d asked the one question about their mother’s condition. It seemed to take forever on the winding roads before they left the mountains behind and began driving on the high plateau of the piedmont region.
“How much longer?” Shari finally put the question to Whit, unable to contain the impatience born of anxiety any longer.
“Another hour—hopefully less if the traffic stays light,” he answered shortly.
A moan came from the backseat, a kind of protest to the time still ahead of them without any news. “None of this would have happened if I’d left Mom a note,” Rory declared in a voice heavy with self-recrimination. “I was so busy thinking about myself, I didn’t give a thought about what this would do to her.”
“I’m guilty, too.” Shari wouldn’t let him take the full blame.
“It’s spilt milk now,” Whit inserted curtly. “It isn’t going to help Elizabeth to have you two wallowing in guilt when she sees you.”
No matter how wise it was, it was difficult advice to accept. “She’s too young to have something like this happen to her,” Shari protested.
“It’s happened,” Whit stated as proof she wasn’t too young.
His lack of sympathy with their guilt ended any further conversation before it began. If Whit hadn’t been there, Shari was certain she and Rory would have talked themselves into a state of abject misery.
The golden glow of daybreak was on the eastern horizon when they neared their destination. Shari expected Whit to drive directly to the hospital. She was confused when he took the turnoff to the family home.
“Aren’t you taking us to the hospital?” she frowned.
“No. We’re going home first and find out what the situation is,” he stated in that tone of authority that didn’t listen to arguments contrary to his decision.
“But we can find out there,” Rory leaned forward to protest.
“Before either of you see your mother, you’re going to shower and clean up.” His gaze skimmed Shari’s pale and drawn features with a critical eye. “There’s no need for her to be worrying about your health.”
Neither of them argued with that. They were already weighed down with enough guilt not to want more. Besides, Gold Leaf wasn’t far away now, so they’d be finding out how she was soon.
A little ache welled in Shari’s throat at the sight of the familiar green tobacco fields and the drying sheds. When she caught the first glimpse of the old pillared mansion standing so proudly in the morning light, a tear slipped from her lashes. She wasn’t a Lancaster so it didn’t belong to her, but it was where she had lived as a child.
All her memories were wrapped around that house and this land. It affected her this way every time she came back, but the homecoming never lasted longer than her first meeting with Granddad Lancaster. Shari hoped he was at the hospital, and this one time, her homecoming wouldn’t be spoiled by angry words.
Whit parked the car at the head of the circular drive near the porticoed front entrance. A carriage house in the rear of the old mansion had long ago been converted into a garage, but there was no point in driving the car back there when they’d be leaving soon.
There wasn’t any standing on ceremony as all three climbed out as soon as the motor was switched off. Shari waited by the steps while Rory and Whit took the suitcases out of the trunk of the car. She turned loving eyes on the massive structure, its white walls rising two and a half stories into the air. It was built to withstand time and the elements, a fitting home for the Lancaster dynasty.
At the approach of her half brother and stepbrother, Shari climbed the steps to the front door. The knob yielded to the touch of her hand and she pushed it open to walk inside. It had always seemed that nothing could happen within these thick walls without the direct permission of a Lancaster, which made it all the more difficult to accept that her mother had been stricken and was lying in a hospital bed. Perhaps the Lancasters weren’t so omnipotent after all.
&n
bsp; The wide hallway echoed their footsteps on the oak floors, an intrusion in the silence. Soon it was answered by another set of footsteps hurrying toward the front hallway. The housekeeper, Mrs. Youngblood, appeared, relief breaking through her strained expression when she saw them.
“Thank God, you’ve arrived.” It was truly a prayer of thanks by the religious woman as she sent a glance heavenward.
“How’s Mother?” Shari asked the question uppermost in her mind as a door to her left was opened.
It led to the library, the private sanctuary of Lancaster males. Shari stiffened and half-turned to look at the aged man she knew would be standing in the opening. Frederick Lancaster leaned heavily on his cane, an indication that his health wasn’t as robust as his body appeared.
His height was equal to Whit’s, but advanced years had stooped him. His dark hair had turned to an iron shade of gray and a multitude of lines had weathered his face. However, his eyes burned brightly with the topaz color she often saw reflected in Whit’s.
Mrs. Youngblood didn’t offer any information now that the head of the family was on the scene. She left it to Frederick Lancaster to inform them of Elizabeth Sutherland Lancaster’s present condition.
“So, Whit has brought the runaway children home,” he commented with an edge of reproval.
“He didn’t bring us home. We came,” Shari corrected, bristling as she always did when she confronted him. “How is Mother?”
“You’ve never been concerned about her before this,” he pointed out. “Isn’t it a bit hypocritical to come rushing back when she’s in the hospital?”
“They’re here now, Granddad,” Whit inserted firmly. “That’s all that’s necessary for the present. What is Elizabeth’s condition?”
“She has had a bad stroke, but the doctors are confident that she will recover.” His cane thumped the hardwood floor as he hobbled into the entrance hall.
The first tingle of relief went through Shari and her glance ran to Rory to share the moment. He blinked at the tears in his eyes, trying not to let them be seen lest his grandfather think he was weak.
“I’m taking Shari and Rory to the hospital to see her as soon as they’ve freshened up and changed,” Whit stated.
“I’ll never understand how a woman as selfless as Elizabeth could have two such thoughtless children,” their grandfather declared in open disgust. “All you care about is yourselves.”
“That isn’t true,” Shari angrily denied the charge.
“What do you think started this all off?” he challenged. “Rory goes tearing off to join the circus. He didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a note to explain why he was leaving—or the guts to tell us he was going.”
“This wasn’t Rory’s fault,” Shari insisted as her younger brother paled under the accusation of blame.
“You’re damn right it wasn’t!” the patriarch of the Lancaster family agreed with an emphatic nod, and pointed an arthritically crooked finger at Shari. “It was yours! He was only doing what he knew you did at his age! I should never have listened to Whit. I should have hauled you back here and locked you in your room.”
“You couldn’t have kept me here! Not you! Not anybody!” She was shouting. She hadn’t been inside the house a minute before she was locked in another one of their duels of will.
“After all your mother did for you, I’ll never understand how you could treat her the way you have,” he said coldly. “You don’t even come to see her during the college breaks unless you have nothing better to do.”
“And just why do you think I stay away from Gold Leaf?” Shari stormed. “It’s because of you! You think you can control everybody’s life. You want everybody to do what you want! That’s why I left—and that’s why Rory left! We just couldn’t stand it any more! If anyone’s to blame for what happened to Mother, it’s you!”
“Shari, that’s enough!” Whit ordered.
There were hot tears in her green eyes when she looked at him. “I don’t know why I let you bring me here! I knew this would happen!”
“I brought you here because this is your home,” he stated.
“No, it isn’t! It’s never been my home. I only lived here,” she retorted, speaking the truth she had always felt. “It belongs to Lancasters and I’m a Sutherland. I used to cry myself to sleep at night because I wasn’t a Lancaster. But when I look at you—” She turned to her step-grandfather, “—I’m glad I’m not! I’m glad!”
Before she disgraced herself by breaking into tears, Shari bolted for the stairs, brushing past the embarrassed housekeeper who had been an unwilling witness to the bitter exchange. She ran directly to the room that had always been hers and threw herself onto the bed, sobbing openly.
Someone touched her shoulder. She stirred, peering tearily through her lashes to see Whit standing by her bed.
“Go away,” she complained.
“Take a shower and run some cold water over your face,” he instructed. “You don’t want your mother to see that you’ve been crying when we go to the hospital.”
It was true. She didn’t. She managed to restrain her sobs to hiccoughing sounds. “Why does he always have to do this to me?”
“Believe it or not, he loves you, Shari,” Whit answered. “Now get a move on. We’re leaving for the hospital in twenty minutes. You don’t have much time to get ready.”
Chapter Five
Cold water took a lot of the puffiness out of her face, but not all of it. Exactly twenty minutes from the time Whit had given her, Shari was descending the steps. She paused at the landing, rawly stiffening when she saw her grandfather waiting at the bottom, using the banister for support instead of his cane.
Determined not to let him incite her to anger again, Shari started down the steps. Her emotions were too torn apart from the sequence of recent events to endure another battle royal with him.
“Shari,” he called her name when she would have walked right past him. She would have done so anyway if she hadn’t heard a placating quality in his voice. So she stopped and turned to look at him, a vaguely defiant tilt to her chin.
“Yes.”
“I was upset and probably said some things I shouldn’t have.” His reply came close to a grudging apology, but he was too proud to come right out and say he had been wrong. “Your mother’s illness has been a strain on all of us, I guess.”
“Yes,” she admitted that her nerves had been worn thin by it.
“You’ve been like my own granddaughter. I’ve always wanted you to regard Gold Leaf as your home,” he insisted.
“I’ve explained how I feel about that.” Shari avoided his gaze.
“Yes,” he sighed heavily and paused. “We both have a bit of a hot temper. Do you think we could manage to observe a truce—for your mother’s sake?”
Coming from him, it was quite a gesture. “I think we could try.” Shari was moved to agree.
He offered to shake hands on the bargain and Shari accepted. He held her hand an instant longer. “If I interfere too much—” he said without admitting that he did. “—it’s only because I want you to do what is best.”
“Best, according to your standards,” she reminded him.
“Yes … well. …” He released her hand, unwilling to go so far as to admit that there were standards other than his own. “Whit is waiting outside for you. You’d better go. Give Elizabeth my love.”
“I will,” Shari promised and hurried down the hallway to the front door.
Whit had the engine running when she climbed into the empty passenger seat of the car. He ran a glance over her before shifting gears to start down the drive. Rory was in the backseat.
“Did you talk to Granddad?” Whit inquired with apparent foreknowledge that she had.
“Yes.” She suspected he had had something to do with it. “We agreed to a truce of sorts.”
“He could use some compassion from you,” Whit stated.
“Why?” She asked the question to discover Whit’s reaso
n for saying that, not to argue whether or not it was true.
“Granddad has buried his parents, his brothers, his wife, and his son. Your mother may be his daughter-in-law, but he has developed a deep affection for her over the years. He had to have been very worried and frightened when she had the stroke. Try to imagine how helpless he felt at the time,” Whit suggested with a side glance at her. “And the three of us weren’t here. He needed us as much as your mother did—perhaps more.”
Helpless, frightened—those weren’t words Shari would have associated with Frederick Lancaster. He was the strong, stern head of the family. In the space of twenty-four hours, her entire outlook on things seemed to have turned topsy-turvy.
“I suppose he did,” Shari conceded the possibility.
“Whit talked to Annie,” Rory spoke up from the backseat, referring to the housekeeper by her given name. “Mom is partially paralyzed from the stroke.”
Her widened gaze flew to Whit in alarm. “Is that true?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yes,” he admitted without taking his attention from the road, and speaking very matter-of-factly. “Her left side has been affected. Her speech has been impaired.”
“Not permanently?” Shari hoped fervently.
“No,” Whit confirmed. “At this point, the doctors can’t say how much use she’ll recover or how soon. It’s going to be a long, slow process.”
Shari sank back in her seat. “I hadn’t thought … I hadn’t realized …” she murmured.
“It’s better if you know all this before you see her,” Whit stated. “Both of you need to be prepared for the way she’s going to look and act.”
“Yes,” she agreed numbly.
His advice proved to be invaluable. Without it, Shari was certain she would have broken down and cried when she saw her mother lying in the hospital bed, so incapacitated and unable to communicate. The smile Shari plastered on her face never cracked under the strain of maintaining a cheerful front. It remained in place until she stepped out of the room, and a raw shudder shook it away.
