Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four

by Vivian Vaughan

  Without meeting his eyes, she questioned, “Why are you doing this?”

  He swallowed. Her eyes were trained on his Adam’s apple. She was so close, watching him so intently, would she know when he lied? He knew better than to tell the truth. At least the truth that mattered most. So he settled for a more general sort of truth.

  “I don’t like to see families torn apart. My brother, Benjamin, raised me and my brothers and sisters. Eight of us in all. It was a hardship, no doubt about that. Benjamin gave the best part of his life to us kids. We didn’t have much in the way of material things, but we never lacked for love, the kind of love that really counts, the kind that only a family can give. And I’d bet a plugged nickel that you could ask any one of us today and we’d all tell you the same thing—we wouldn’t change a minute of our lives.” Except for one night a year ago, he thought, watching her relax.

  She glanced into his eyes, then away. “Do you think it’ll work?”

  “Can’t say. But I’m willing to help. We can give it our best shot.”

  What followed was two hours of chaos. The children were roused, advised of the plans, and dressed for church. Molly had to make Lindy change clothes twice and finally Rubal took her aside.

  “You’re a pretty young lady, Lindy. One of these days some lucky boy is going to fall head over heels in love with you.” He looked her directly in the eyes, speaking solemnly. “But if you sashay into that church house and flirt with any man there, and that includes Cleatus, me, or even the reverend, the ladies in this town will take every one of you kids out of this house. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t respond, but at least she didn’t accuse him of trying to act like her father again, which was what he’d expected. “It’s true, Lindy. Believe me, once you’re living with that lady who stormed in here yesterday, you’ll never be allowed to make eyes at a feller again. Think about it.”

  She shrugged.

  “That goes for dinner, too. We’re out to make the best impression we can. So play the part of a sweet little girl. Molly’s depending on you. Now run along to the kitchen. Sugar’s fixed a good breakfast.”

  Rubal headed for his own room, only to be nearly run down by Travis who brushed past on his way to the staircase. Instead of overalls, he wore breeches made of hopsacking and a rough, once-white shirt. His hair was slicked down and in his hands he carried his brown woolen cap.

  “Where’s the fire, Travis?”

  The boy spat a reply. “I go to church with Master Taylor.”

  “Not today.”

  Without responding, Travis turned away, only to be brought up short when Rubal captured him by the shoulder. “Wait up a minute. Let me explain something.”

  With a sigh of impatience, Travis waited.

  “Whether you end up living in this house or not, the other kids want to. They’re depending on you to help keep things together. As the oldest male in the family, you need to escort Molly and Lindy to church.”

  Travis’s eyes narrowed. “You escort them. Master Taylor’s waiting…”

  “I’m not one of the family, Travis. It isn’t my place to—”

  “Then quit buttin’ in.”

  Rubal cringed at the valid accusation, but he didn’t give in. “Molly needs you, Travis. The others do, too.”

  “I’m going to live with Master Taylor. I’m going to San Augustine to school…”

  “I hope you do…go away to school, I mean. Where you live is between you and Molly. That has nothing to do with today. Today’s a horse of a different color.”

  Scuffling sounds erupted from the distant family rooms. Rubal glanced down the corridor to the room shared by Travis and the two little boys. “Run downstairs and eat so your stomach won’t growl in church. I’ll see to the little ones.”

  In the end Rubal rushed into his own clothes, tied his string tie, slipped a black leather vest over his last fresh shirt, and ran a hand through his hair. He arrived downstairs breathless, knowing this must have been the way Benjamin had felt many a morning. Memories of Benjamin and his family had been revived, since coming to the Blake House, with a potency Rubal hadn’t experienced in years. Recounting his own past to Molly this morning, he’d seen the obligation he felt to help Molly keep her family together in a different light. Part of his urgency likely stemmed from a need to give something back to the world—or at least to one family—in payment for Benjamin’s unselfish sacrifice.

  He’d told Molly the truth about that. His family was a close one. But they were strung out from here to kingdom come and rarely all got together anymore. Last time he could recall was when they met in Summer Valley to bury Benjamin. Since then two of his brothers and his younger sister Delta had all tied the knot. And he hadn’t been around to kiss the bride a single time.

  By the time the boys had finished breakfast, cleaned their faces, and gathered in the parlor, loose-herded by Rubal, the church bell started ringing.

  Rubal had begun to suspect that Molly had backed out, when she and Lindy appeared at the top of the staircase. Lindy was dressed like a young lady—and only partially resigned to the fact from the scowl on her face—in a striped pinafore, pink bow in her hair, black stockings, and a frown. Noting the various places her dress strained at the seams, he figured Molly might not have to coax her into this particular dress again.

  And Molly. Rubal stood, hands on hips, watching her descend the stairs in a faded but freshly laundered cotton dress. Although her black hair didn’t hang loose like he longed to see it, her hair wasn’t braided, either. She had piled it up under a straw bonnet that was decorated with sprigs of silk dogwood. Several curls peeked out, softening the worry lines around her eyes and the dark circles under them.

  “Well, now, aren’t you the two prettiest ladies in Apple Springs.”

  Lindy’s scowl deepened. “How would you know? We’re the only ladies you’ve seen.”

  Rubal shrugged, reaching casually for Molly’s hand to guide her to the floor. She surprised him by placing her fingers in his palm. Even through her crocheted mitts he could feel her tremble. He squeezed her fingers for support, and tried to respond lightly to Lindy’s rebuke.

  “I saw that old lady who came to the house yesterday. What’s her name, ol’ lady Young?”

  “She doesn’t count,” Lindy huffed.

  Rubal smiled at Molly. He could read the terror in her tight lips and dazed expression. “I think she counts a lot. Isn’t that why we’re all going to mind our p’s and q’s today?”

  The Apple Springs Methodist Church was located two blocks down the street and around one corner. The little group set out walking, with the church bell ringing in the distance and birds singing overhead. Rubal sent Molly and Lindy ahead with Travis escorting them. He followed with Willie Joe and Little Sam, each to a hand. Watching Molly’s green sprigged skirt sway with the movement of her hips, he wished he were walking beside her. He wished she could hear the birds, but knew she was too scared. He wished he could hold her hand and reassure her.

  The white clapboard church came into view. The tall steeple he had seen upon arriving in town yesterday rose from the split-shingle roof. A picket fence enclosed the well-kept yard. Roses in several hues bloomed beneath steepled windows. A knot of worshipers had already gathered in the churchyard and were busy greeting one another. Others alighted from wagons and carriages, while stragglers like themselves arrived on foot. Eyeing the congregation, Rubal saw a number of heads swivel in their direction; several ladies stared in unabashed curiosity. He skipped a step to catch up and whispered behind Molly.

  “Don’t forget to smile.”

  “Don’t let me forget to strangle you,” she muttered.

  Then they arrived.

  “Why, if it isn’t Molly Durant. ‘Morning, Molly.”

  “Mornin’, Mrs. Griggs.”

  “Mrs. Rau.”

  “Mrs. Young.”

  “Mrs. Callicott.”

  Rubal recognized the reverend’s name. Clearing his
throat, he whispered ahead. “Invite them to dinner.”

  Molly walked like one with no joints. Hearing Rubal’s reminder, she flinched, then stopped short. “Mrs. Callicott?”

  The reverend’s petite wife stood eye to eye with Molly. Her brown hair was drawn back in a severe bun and topped by an unadorned black straw bonnet. She bestowed a tight-lipped smile on Molly, then took in the rest of the group, member by member. Coming to Rubal, her smile faded. Her attention lingered on him a moment longer, while he watched her try to determine just who he was and what he was doing in their town—and with Molly Durant.

  “Ma’am.” Rubal inclined his head, which was thankfully bare, since the boys held his fingers in such tight fists, he would never have been able to get loose and doff a hat.

  “The Blake House is setting a special table today,” Molly was saying. “We’d like it very much if you and the reverend would come to dinner as our invited guests, directly after the service.”

  Mrs. Callicott was taken aback. “Why, I don’t know…uh, I…dinner, you say? I really must consult the reverend.”

  “Of course. You can tell me after the service.”

  They reached the steps through a channel of gawking worshipers that parted like the Red Sea, coming at length to the entrance to the small white church. There, standing in the open doorway as though he had been appointed official greeter, was Cleatus Farrington.

  Rubal, feeling about as out of place as a new lamb at a coyote convention, took dismal note of Molly’s fiancé. Handsome and urbane, Farrington looked every inch the banker’s son—adopted or not. His black suit, if indeed it was the same suit the man had worn the day before, had been brushed and pressed—by the Farringtons’ maid, no doubt. Rubal suddenly cursed himself for a fool. Why, it was clear as the sun in the sky which man of the two of them would make Molly the better catch.

  He watched Cleatus greet Molly, then turn to the children. The banker’s expression hardened perceptively until he noticed Rubal standing behind the family. His features relaxed.

  “Jarrett, old man, nice of you to escort the children to church.” He crooked an elbow for Molly. She hesitated—reluctant to take Cleatus’s arm, Rubal thought…or wished. Finally, she placed a mitted hand on his black wool sleeve and allowed him to draw her ahead of Travis and Lindy.

  “Shows how much you know about things, Jarrett,” Travis quipped. Before Rubal could stop him, the boy had slipped through the door and found a pious-looking young couple, who spoke to him, then frowned at Rubal. Turning in unison, they ushered Travis into the nave of the church, one to each side, as though to protect him from some invisible threat—invisible to Rubal, anyhow.

  Rubal nudged Lindy toward Molly.

  “I’m not sitting with that man.”

  “Sit on the opposite side of your sister.”

  “No.” The girl shook her head so vigorously her pink bow toppled over her eyes. She pushed it back with a jab that nearly knocked the bonnet off her head.

  As things turned out, Rubal, Little Sam, Willie Joe, and Lindy were forced to take the row behind Molly and Cleatus, and throughout the service, Rubal wished he were back at the Blake House, wringing the hens’ necks and praying to the Lord with Sugar.

  The service didn’t last two hours, it just felt that way to Rubal. He managed to seat Willie Joe between himself and Lindy, with Little Sam on his other side. And Molly in front of him, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Cleatus, sharing the hymnal, their hands touching from time to time.

  Afterward Rubal didn’t feel any better than before the service began. From the scene in the churchyard, he figured the rest of the congregation hadn’t learned much about charity in the past hour, either. He watched Cleatus greet people, saw those same people ignore Molly.

  Not that folks were any friendlier to him. He might as well have been an apparition, as much attention as he drew. Heading for the street where the little boys played tag, he scanned the gathering for Travis and found the boy talking to the same young couple who had captured him before the service. Master Taylor and his wife, Rubal supposed. He considered going over and introducing himself, then decided against it.

  About that time Cleatus made a full circle, coming back to where Rubal stood. His hand still gripped Molly’s elbow. Rubal’s eyes found hers, held them, read her anxiety. He offered her an encouraging smile. He spoke to the reverend’s wife; Molly introduced him to a several young women about her age. They acted more like Lindy’s age, however. Then Cleatus called his attention.

  “Jarrett, come meet Oscar Petersen.”

  Rubal shook hands with the most distinguished-looking gentleman in the gathering. As tall as Rubal, the man’s sparse gray hair draped across the top of his head from a deep side part. He sported a sweeping gray moustache.

  “Mr. Petersen is L&M’s superintendent for this area,” Cleatus explained.

  Rubal shook the man’s hand. His handshake was firm, his smile friendly.

  “Jarrett’s scouting a rail line for L&M, but then I suppose you already knew that.”

  “Can’t say that I did.” Oscar Petersen ran an index finger across first one side of his moustache, then the other. “I’d like to hear more about it though. Perhaps we can get together while you’re in town.”

  “My pleasure.” Rubal considered his impulse, then forged ahead. “Why don’t you and Mrs. Petersen come up to the Blake House for dinner one night this week?” Speaking, he turned to include Molly in the conversation. “You are acquainted with Miss Durant?”

  The L&M superintendent nodded, dipping his head in courtesy.

  “I can vouch for the food,” Rubal boasted. “Best cooking I’ve had since leaving my mother’s table.” Beside him Molly huffed, but only for his ears.

  During the conversation Etta Petersen had stood back, but at Rubal’s comment, she leaned toward Molly. “I thought you had closed down, dear.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Petersen studied Rubal with blatant curiosity. She was a plump woman who obviously enjoyed good food. He expected her to comment on the dinner invitation, but instead she inquired, “Mr. Jarrett? How long will you and Mrs. Jarrett be staying at the Blake House?”

  For a moment Rubal felt as though he had missed a line of dialogue in a theatrical, then he recognized the cunning look in Etta Petersen’s eyes for what it was. Prying.

  “Mrs. Jarrett isn’t with me,” he replied, hoping to allay suspicion without actually lying, a practice that was becoming more and more loathsome to him. There was, after all, a Mrs. Jarrett, several of them. The fact that none of them belonged to him was no one else’s concern.

  Except Molly’s, he soon discovered. The words hadn’t left his mouth good, when he felt her stiffen beside him. Before he could decide how to handle his latest bumbling effort to help her, she turned and walked briskly away.

  Chapter Five

  Molly flounced down on Cleatus’s hard wagon seat, gritting her teeth against an outburst here on the grounds of the church.

  Married! Jubal Jarrett was married. She wondered if his wife knew how he went about the country sweet-talking unsuspecting boarding house proprietresses.

  She had hated his idea about going to church from the beginning, and even more so inviting the reverend and his snitty mistress to Sunday dinner. But he had sounded so convincing, telling her about his own family—reared by an older sibling, same as Molly was attempting with Lindy and the boys.

  She’d taken that bait, sure enough. And all because she’d spent the last year yearning for some word, however insignificant, of his brother Rubal. Yes, and hating herself with every daydream. Now look where it had gotten her.

  Married! Jubal Jarrett was married.

  She’d sat through church, listening to his slightly off-key baritone singing the hymns. While she held one side of Cleatus’s hymnal, her mind was on the man in the pew behind them—the man who sat with her family, encouraging them to sing, to shush, to stand, to sit.

  Once during th
e reverend’s seemingly endless sermon, she heard a commotion and turned to see Jubal shifting Little Sam onto his lap. Afterwards, he draped an arm along the top of the bench in a way that brought a catch to something deep inside Molly. When she glanced at his face, he winked, admonishing her—with those warm brown eyes—not to be such an old mother hen; they were good kids and there was nothing wrong with a little nap in church.

  After that her confidence in him—a man who reminded her so much of a despicable part of her past—had risen. Leaving church with the bell ringing triumphantly from the tower above, Molly smiled into the circle of sky that looked down on Apple Springs like a blue shield surrounded by towering green pine trees. For the first time in a year, she felt good. Really good. Even the reverend’s wife had softened.

  “Lovely day, isn’t it, Molly?”

  “Very.”

  “Reverend says he’d be delighted to come to dinner. What time do you want us?”

  “Right away. Sugar should have things ready by the time we get home.”

  “Sugar? That old Negress is still able to get around?”

  Molly inhaled sharply, but where a day before, Martha Callicott’s remark would have garnered a retort, today she let it pass. “Mr. Jarrett says Sugar’s the finest cook in Texas.”

  “Sure do, ma’am.” Jubal shook hands with the reverend, then wound his way to Molly’s shoulder in time to be introduced to the reverend’s wife.

  It wasn’t like Molly didn’t have any friends. After all, she had lived in Apple Springs all her life, and she was naturally outgoing and friendly. But for the past year she had avoided social contact with anyone other than Cleatus.

  The six months before her mother’s death had been miserable for Molly. Mortified over her conduct with Rubal Jarrett and his subsequent disappearance, she had shunned social contacts, lest someone suspect her indiscretion.

  By the time her mother died, she had avoided her friends to the point that, even though the funeral was well attended, few came to call in the months that followed. Not that she would have had time for a social life, what with the children, trying to run the Blake House, and fending off attacks by the Ladies’ Aid Society.