Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four
Page 31
“You don’t intend to pay for a second semester?” she questioned in derisive tones.
“I didn’t pay for one semester. Believe me. I didn’t. I don’t know where that money came from. I don’t lie to you Molly. Jarrett’s the liar.”
She glared at him, resisting the urge to slap his self-righteous face. “You’re right, Cleatus. You’ve never lied to me. And I don’t have any business sense. I know that, too. What you say is true. I’ll never be able to provide for the children. Certainly I won’t be able to send them to school.” Crossing her arms over her heaving chest, she grasped her arms in opposite hands. She stepped off the porch and stood a moment on the step Rubal had repaired. She surveyed the length of the path, the hedges that would need trimming again before Thanksgiving, the gate he had fixed. Turning she looked back at the magnificent old house. Tears brimmed as she watched the whitewashed walls sparkle beneath the light of the rising moon.
Whitewash. It would wear off soon enough.
“Jarrett did you a worse disservice than lying about his name,” Cleatus observed through clenched teeth. “He caught you up in a fantasy world, making you think you could survive by your own wits. But it won’t last, Molly.”
Whitewash. That’s all Rubal had done here. He came charging in and whitewashed her life. And day by day it was all wearing off, exposing the barrenness underneath…and the pain.
“You’re right about that, too, Cleatus,” she admitted. “I know that, now. But don’t you see? I…I…” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Cleatus drew her to his chest and let her cry into the hollow of his shoulder. It was the first time she could recall being comforted by him. Usually it was the other way around. Knowing him as she did, though, she realized that his actions tonight meant he thought he had gotten his way with her. Well, he hadn’t.
“After Thanksgiving, I’ll be ready to talk to the Harvey House people.”
“That’s great, Molly. The best news—”
“No, Cleatus, it isn’t. It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Molly. After we’re married, I’ll—”
“I’m just selling the boarding house, Cleatus. I’m not marrying you.”
He blinked as though he hadn’t heard.
“I need your help settling the Harvey House deal. If they don’t pay you a commission, I will.”
“Molly—”
“I can’t marry you, Cleatus. I don’t want to marry you.” She considered telling him the reasons, again. But she would only end up having to comfort him, and tonight, after all the meddling he and his mother had done in her life, she didn’t feel like comforting him. She doubted she ever would again. If she could be happy about anything in the world on this dreadful night, it might be that—that she would never have to comfort Cleatus Farrington again.
During the following weeks Molly kept herself and the children busy cleaning, trimming, generally sprucing up the place for Thanksgiving. Not that she looked forward to her relatives’ visit.
But Travis would be home. Preparing for Travis’s homecoming lifted the spirits of the Blake House residents for the first time since Rubal and Jeff left.
Even the arrival of the aunts and uncles didn’t diminish the children’s happiness at having Travis home.
And had he changed! Molly had worried that he might come home from a semester of school more overbearing than before. But a semester of book learning hadn’t regressed him. The first thing he did, after spending a couple of hours sitting around the kitchen table relating his experiences, was to take the little boys fishing.
And that, of course, reminded everyone of Rubal.
“Wouldn’t be a shame, you know, if Travis turned out like the mister,” Sugar observed, as she and Molly watched the boys trudge down the path to the creek.
Molly bit back a retort. Nothing could dim this day, not even the plans she was secretly making. She couldn’t allow anything to ruin their last days together.
Memories. They would need a lot of memories in the months and years to come. And Molly set herself the task of helping the children make them.
The aunts and uncles arrived by carriage from the railhead at Lufkin. “You’d think by now the railroad would come as far as Apple Springs,” complained Aunt Charlotte.
“Why?” her brother Darrell questioned. “What’s around here that any sane person would want to see?”
“Then why is the Harvey House interested in buying this place?”
The aunts and uncles were seated in the parlor on Molly’s grandmother’s fine walnut furniture, while Molly and Lindy played hostesses, serving tea and stronger spirits to refresh them after the dusty carriage ride. Molly blanched at her aunt’s indiscretion.
“The Harvey House?” Lindy’s mouth fell open. “Buy this place?” She turned wide eyes to Molly.
“Aunt Charlotte, you need another cup of tea.” Molly’s voice was razor-edged. “Lindy, bring Aunt Sarah’s cup. You ladies put your feet up. Relax. We’ll be right back.”
“The Harvey House?” Lindy demanded when she and Molly reached the kitchen.
“That was Mrs. Farrington’s doings,” Molly hedged. “Remember those dignitaries Cleatus brought by a few weeks ago? They were Harvey House representatives. I guess his mother took that to mean they were buying our house.”
“They’re not.”
Molly studiously refilled the rose-patterned Haviland teacups. “No one knows where the railroad will be built, Lindy. Why would the Harvey House purchase a house to sit beside a railroad, when they don’t know where it will run?”
Lindy took the cups Molly thrust in her hands. “You can’t sell our home, Molly.”
Molly shook her head, her lips pursed. “Please don’t make this holiday difficult. Let’s enjoy having Travis home, if nothing else.”
Since the thought of eating at the table with paying guests appalled the relatives, Molly posted the “Closed” sign out front. She prayed the Rangers’ money would hold out until the holidays were over. Afterwards she would have to find work.
The aunts took to the little boys—Aunt Charlotte to Willie Joe; Aunt Sarah to Little Sam. The sight brought Molly to the brink of tears several times during the lengthy four days.
“My, my, what a cute little fellow you are.” Aunt Sarah ruffled Little Sam’s hair. “I can’t wait to get you home.”
Fortunately Lindy and Travis had gone to visit the schoolmaster and his wife, and neither heard that remark. As soon as the boys ran outside to play, she took her aunts to task.
“Please don’t mention this to the children. I haven’t told them what…what I’m thinking of doing.”
“What you’re thinking of doing? Prudence wrote Charlotte that—”
“Prudence Farrington doesn’t make my decisions, Aunt Sarah.”
“You mean you still think you can hang onto this run-down old place?” Aunt Charlotte questioned.
Since Aunt Charlotte had been born and reared in this house, same as Molly, Molly didn’t bother to set her straight on its value—monetary or sentimental. “I promised Mama I would try to keep the children together.”
“You know how much sense Suzanna had,” Aunt Sarah quipped. “Not a nickel’s worth or she wouldn’t have taken in that awful James Blake.”
“Mama loved James Blake,” Molly defended. “They were happy together.”
“Pshaw, child. You don’t know what you’re saying. Look what all that happiness got them.”
It was on the tip of Molly’s tongue to retort that all that happiness had gotten them Lindy and Travis and Willie Joe and Little Sam. She didn’t waste her breath. Her aunts would never understand. But the very thought brought Molly to a new low. What in the world would she do without the children? And how could she ever tell them that she was breaking up their family?
One thing the relatives couldn’t complain about was Sugar’s cooking. By the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving they were so full of wild turkey a
nd turnip greens and the pumpkin and pecan pies Molly and Sugar had spent the whole week before baking, that they refused supper and retired early.
“Must get an early start tomorrow, Molly,” Aunt Charlotte told her at the top of the stairs. “When will you tell the children?”
“I don’t know. After Christmas, I think.”
“After Christmas? I wanted Willie Joe to be with us by then. I’ve made plans, dear. Christmas without children…well, it just isn’t Christmas.”
Molly hugged her aunt good-night, biting back a stinging retort. “I know, Aunt Charlotte. Sleep tight.”
Downstairs she helped Sugar put away the food and dishes, then went in search of Lindy.
She found her sitting on the front porch, swinging and crying. Molly had never intended to sit in that swing again. She had planned to have it taken down, to use it for kindling, cursing Rubal Jarrett with every spark that flew from the flames. But she went to Lindy, sat beside her, and cradled the sobbing girl in her arms. “What is it, honey?”
“What are you planning to do, Molly?”
“The only thing I can do, the best for each of us.”
“How will it be best to sell this house to the Harvey people?”
“I told you—”
“Don’t lie to me, Molly. That’s what you sent Rubal away for. Or have you forgotten?”
“All right. But if I talk to you, grown-up to grown-up, will you promise to try to see my side? Will you promise to keep this conversation between the two of us?”
“You are going to sell our house.”
“I won’t discuss anything without your promise, Lindy.”
“I promise.”
“Yes, the Harvey House representatives made an offer, pending the location of the rails. No, I haven’t accepted it.”
“What would we do, Molly? Where would we go? We’d have to have a place to live, and that would cost—”
“I know. Hear me out. We can send Travis through school with the money. When he finishes, he’ll be able to get a good enough job to help you and the boys.”
“That’s years away. What will we do until then?”
Molly stroked Lindy’s long black hair over her head, tucking it behind her ears.
“What, Molly? You promised to tell me. What?”
“Well, Sugar will take that cooking job for Etta Petersen. You recall when she offered.”
“And the rest of us?”
“I’ll go to work for Mrs. Petersen. And you can, too, until Travis finishes school. Then you can go to school. Maybe even before then. Maybe we can sell the property Mama left us.”
“Without the timber?”
“It isn’t that bad, Lindy. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but things don’t often turn out like people want. It doesn’t mean your life won’t get better. I wouldn’t even consider all this if I didn’t think it would improve your and the boys’ lives.”
“What about the little boys?”
Molly inhaled, pursed her lips, and stared into the yard.
“I’ve heard enough this holiday to figure it out,” Lindy said bitterly. “You’re sending one to Aunt Charlotte and the other to Aunt Sarah, aren’t you?”
“Lindy, listen. They can give Willie Joe and Little Sam the kind of life we can never provide.”
“Love?”
“You can’t eat love, Lindy. You can’t wear it; you can’t even sell it…at least, not the real kind. Cleatus is forever reminding me how little business sense I have. That’s why we’re in the mess we’re in. This place is falling down around our ears. I could never support us here. And Sugar’s old. She won’t be able to work much longer. I need to be able to take care of her, and I hope to be able to bring the little boys home in a year.”
“You’re going to marry Cleatus?” Lindy’s voice accused.
“No.”
Lindy sighed. “Well, you’re always telling us to look around and see what we have to be thankful for. I guess that’s it. You’re not going to marry Cleatus.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“Send for Rubal.”
“What?”
“Send for Rubal. Please.”
“For whatever reason? What could he possibly do?”
“He’d think of something.”
“Yes. Like cutting the hedges and whitewashing the house…and working his way into the hearts of this family. We don’t need that kind of help, Lindy. That kind of help won’t keep us together. Whitewash wears off.”
“Send for him, Molly. He loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He loves you,” Lindy insisted. “That’s why he lied about his name.”
“He lied about his name to keep me from shooting him. If he loved me…” The words choked in her throat, “…if he loved me, he wouldn’t have run out…a second time.”
“But you love him.”
Molly jumped to her feet. “That’s enough.”
“You love him.”
“I told you about love. It won’t feed us or clothe us or…or do anything except make us miserable.” Reaching a hand, she pulled Lindy to her feet. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. Travis leaves in the morning, and we want to give him a big sendoff.”
“Sure, since it’s the last time he’ll have a home to be sent off from.”
Molly opened the screen door. “I’m not telling anyone until after Christmas, Lindy. We’ll have one last Christmas right here…at the Blake House.”
Lindy stood in the threshold. “I’m going to Orange.”
“To Orange?” Molly’s first thought was of Rubal. She couldn’t let Lindy go to Rubal, beg him to return. She couldn’t.
“If this is what you think is best, okay,” Lindy was saying. “But I’m not going to move out of here into some old shack and clean house for the uppity Mrs. Petersen…or for anyone else. I’m going to Orange and marry Jeff.”
Chapter Nineteen
Molly was able to elicit a promise from Lindy to wait until after Christmas to think about going to Orange in search of Jeff, promising in return to save back enough money to send her after the holidays.
In spite of the pall hanging over her, Molly refused to allow her despondency to affect the children, or to take away from their last days together.
Like she told Lindy, she hoped to be able to bring the little boys back to Apple Springs in a year. Secretly she wondered how that would be possible. But she pushed that worry to the back of her head. She would not allow the upcoming separations to dampen the holidays.
The children, however, became more and more insistent that she write Rubal and invite him for Christmas. Molly suspected Lindy of putting the notion in their heads, or Sugar, but regardless of how it got there, shaking it loose became an impossible task.
It began when Master Taylor and his wife arrived to drive Travis back to school after the Thanksgiving holidays. Since they planned to remain in San Augustine where Master Taylor would be helping at the academy until the fifteenth of December, Travis would ride home with them for the Christmas break. “Hey, Molly,” Travis called from the path, “why don’t you write Rubal and invite him to come for Christmas?”
“Boy, oh, boy!” Willie Joe cried. “Write Rubal, Molly. He thinks Sugar’s cookin’ is dee-licious. And yours, too.”
“No.”
“Please, Molly,” Willie Joe argued.
Little Sam tugged on her skirts. “Please, Molly. Write mister.”
After the little boys replayed this scene morning, noon, and night for a week, Molly knew she had to find some way to shut them up before she went mad. She also knew she wasn’t about to invite Rubal Jarrett to the Blake House for Christmas. In an effort to appease the children, however, and to get them out of her hair, she composed a letter.
“I did it,” she told the group one morning at breakfast. That was the morning she intended to go over to town and see what Cleatus had heard about the Harvey House offer. She supposed she was feeling guilty about that.
Lindy eyed Molly suspiciously. “Let us read it.”
Molly withdrew the folded letter from her apron pocket and handed it to Lindy. The little boys gathered around while Lindy read aloud: “Mr. Jarrett…Mol-ly! You can’t call him Mr. Jarrett.”
“His name’s Rubal,” Willie Joe offered.
“I know his name,” Molly said.
Lindy read the first line: “The children asked me to write—” Lindy looked up, exasperated. “Mol-ly!”
“Lin-dy!” Molly mimicked.
“You can’t say we told you to write,” Lindy complained.
“You did.”
“Well, you can’t say it.”
“Are you asking me to lie to him?”
Their gazes locked above the little boys’ heads. “Write what you feel,” Lindy retorted. “That won’t be a lie.”
Molly attempted to jerk the letter away. “I tried. Now, leave me alone about it.”
Lindy turned aside, retaining possession of the letter. She began again: “Dear Mr. Jarrett, The children asked me to write inviting you to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“Christmas dinner? He can stay longer than that,” Willie Joe insisted.
“Why don’t he come live in my house?” Little Sam pleaded.
Molly took her letter back. “Why doesn’t he come, Willie Jo—”
“I’m Little Sam.”
“I know who you are. Eat up. We have work to do. Sugar needs help popping corn to string on the tree.”
“Write another letter,” Lindy instructed quietly.
“No.”
“Please, Molly. Please.”
Molly sighed. Since she didn’t intend to mail the letter anyway, what difference would it make if she wrote what the children wanted to hear? If she refused, they would spend the remainder of their time together arguing over a stupid letter.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll write another letter.”
“You better hurry. It’s almost Christmas,” Willie Joe warned.
“Hurry, Molly, so mister won’t go to California,” Little Sam worried.
“You can approve it at dinner.” Molly wished she could believe Rubal had gone to California. But she was certain he hadn’t. If he was that far away, why was his memory so clear? Why did she still hurt so badly?