A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever (11 page)

“Then you must have perfect pitch. Jenny's a delightful child.”

His eyes crinkled. “You can't say anything a father wants to hear more.”

They stepped into the sunlight, and he gestured to the docks ahead of them, lining the wharf in front of a cavernous building. “We do a lot of storage and repair work here. But creating a boat from design to launch—that's the best part.”

Jenny had stopped on one of the docks, chattering excitedly to an elderly man who leaned on the rail of what appeared to be— Tory blinked.

“Is that a pirate ship?”

Jenny heard the question and swung toward her, face animated. “It's our very own pirate ship, the
Jolly Roger.
This is Thomas.” She gestured to the man on the deck. “He's helping us get it ready for Pirate Days. I'm going to wear a patch over my eye and sail it all the way around the island.”

“The pirate ship, not the patch,” Adam clarified, a note of laughter in his voice. “And I think she might have a little help with the sailing part.”

Tory looked at the masts towering above them. “I'd hope so. You're really going to sail this?”

Adam grinned. “Sounds a little silly, I guess.”

The gray-haired workman shook his head. “Nothin' silly about remembering.” He grinned widely. “Or havin' a good excuse for a shindig after all the summer folk are gone.”

“You need any help getting her ready?” Adam rested a hand on the black wooden hull. “I could spare a few hours this week.”

“That'd be a help.” Thomas nodded toward Tory. “We surely do want everything up to snuff if we have a guest on board.”

“I'm not…”

“But Miz Tory, you have to come.” Jenny grabbed her hand, jumping excitedly on one foot. “It's so much fun to play pirates.”

“Give Miz Tory time to think about it,” Adam said, detaching her. “Right now we've got a boat to launch, remember?”

“The
Terrapin
!” Jenny shouted, and raced down the dock.

Adam lifted a hand to Thomas as they followed. “Enthusiastic little thing, isn't she? Still, I'm pretty proud of it myself.”

They passed the bulk of the pirate ship and caught up with Jenny, teetering on the edge of the dock next to a gleaming white boat. Black trim and shiny fittings completed the image of a craft fresh from the builder's hands.

Tory stopped, admiring the sleek lines. “It's beautiful. You actually built it?”

Adam climbed aboard, swung Jenny onto the deck and held out his hand to Tory. “Planed every
board. Nothing mass-produced comes out of the Caldwell Boatyard. You want a custom-designed boat, that's what you get.”

She took his hand, preparing to step on board, but he caught her by the waist and swung her on as he had Jenny. She stumbled, catching her breath and trying to stop the racing of her heart.

“You must be very proud of it.” She hoped her voice sounded normal.

“We all are.”

He nodded to the men who gathered on the dock. Two of them unfastened the lines, tossing them on board, and Jenny raced to coil them as if she'd been doing it all her life.

“Start her up, captain.” Thomas grinned, and Tory couldn't mistake the look of pride and respect on his face—in fact, on all their faces.

Adam started the motor, and the
Terrapin
edged away from the dock. The men clapped, grinning. An odd shiver went down Tory's spine. Adam must feel the way she did when she'd completed a window. But he had people cheering for him, sharing his satisfaction.

She settled onto the seat behind him as he turned the new boat into the channel. “You're really an artisan, aren't you?”

Jenny wiggled onto the seat next to her. “What's an artisan?”

“Someone like me, who makes things with their hands. I make windows, and your daddy makes boats.”

Jenny tipped her head to one side, considering. “I
think I'd like to be an artisan, too. But I don't know what I want to make.”

Adam flashed Tory an amused glance. “You have plenty of time to decide that, sugar.”

They moved into the waterway, the boatyard and its buildings growing smaller behind them. Sunlight glittered on the water and turned the marshes to gold. The breeze lifted Tory's hair, the sun warmed her skin, and Jenny pressed against her arm in unconscious acceptance. The tension she'd felt since she'd walked into Adam's office slid away, like the boat slipping its moorings.

Adam glanced at her as if measuring her satisfaction. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

“I can understand why you'd never want to live anywhere else.” She tipped her head back, enjoying the sunlight on her face. “It's perfect.”

“Look, Miz Tory.” Jenny leaned across her, pointing to a buoy in the channel. “That's an osprey's nest.”

“You're quite the naturalist, aren't you?” Jenny really was an islander born and bred.

“And a sailor.” Adam leaned back and reached out a long arm for his daughter. “Come on up here and help me steer her, sugar.”

“Can I, Daddy?” Jenny scampered to him, and he wedged her onto the seat next to him.

“Sure you can. You're my first mate.” His large hands covered his daughter's small ones on the wheel. “Keep her between the channel markers.”

There was a lump in Tory's throat the size of a
baseball. The relationship between Jenny and her father was a beautiful thing to see. Adam might not realize it, but if Jenny ever did find out the truth about her mother, he'd already given her enough love and acceptance to deal with it. Jenny would never doubt that she was loved unconditionally, no strings attached.

They rounded the end of the island and made the turn into the sound. Jenny wiggled around to look in her father's face.

“We should let Miz Tory have a turn. She didn't get to steer yet.”

Adam dropped a kiss on her curls. “That's a nice idea, sugar.”

“I can't,” Tory said hurriedly, sure she didn't want the fate of what had to be an expensive boat in her hands. “I don't know how, and there's not room for both of us on that seat.”

But Jenny had already slid out, and Adam stood, hand still on the wheel, freeing the seat.

“You just slip in here,” he said. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. I'll stay right behind you.”

“Promise you won't let go of the wheel,” she bargained, sliding reluctantly into the seat and tilting her head to see his face.

“I promise.” He smiled, so close it took her breath away.

“I…I still don't think this is a good idea.” Probably because she couldn't think straight with him so near.

“Sure it is.” He bent down so his face was next to hers, barely an inch away. His arms brushed against
hers as he held the wheel. “Look right through the windscreen as you steer. It's like driving a car.”

“I don't risk beaching a car.”

He tapped a gauge on the dash. “That shows you the bottom depth. As long as you keep her between the buoys, we're safe.”

“And if I don't?” His nearness was doing odd things to her heart, and it took an effort to sound natural.

Adam turned to look at her, and she felt his breath warm against her cheek. “If you beach her, we'll wait for the tide to come in and float us off.” His voice grew husky, as if he thought about being stranded. Together.

Her heart was beating so loudly the noise drowned everything else out. If only… The longing in her heart took form. If only she really could belong here. With him.

“I love being on the boat, don't you, Miz Tory?” Jenny sounded as if she thought she'd been out of the conversation long enough. “Isn't it just the best thing?”

“Yes.” Tory's gaze tangled with Adam's, and she couldn't see anything beyond the emotion in his eyes. “It's the best thing.”

“My mommy never liked it,” Jenny went on. “That's funny, isn't it?”

Adam stiffened, his hand tightening over hers so hard it hurt. But it didn't hurt as much as seeing the pleasure fade from his eyes or recognizing the truth in her heart.

Adam was still all knotted up inside over his wife's betrayal. And as long as he was, he remained
tied to Lila just as surely as if she were still alive and here next to them.

Until Adam found a way to forgive the past, he'd never be free to give his heart to anyone else.

S
he'd been waiting since the day before for Adam to give her his answer. She was still waiting.

Tory curled up on the overstuffed sofa in the downstairs sitting room after dinner Wednesday night. She'd discovered the small room almost by accident—it was tucked behind the formal living room. Tory found its faded chintzes and soft colors soothing in comparison to the elegance of the rest of Twin Oaks. The jewel colors of the worn Oriental carpet glowed in the lamplight.

The room didn't seem to be exuding its usual peace at the moment. She frowned at the sketch pad in her lap, reluctant to open it. She'd shown the design to Adam the day before. He'd promised to consider it and give her his answer. But the hours ticked away, and he hadn't responded. Maybe he never would.

She saw again the bleakness in his face when
Jenny had innocently mentioned her mother. Adam's bitterness bound him to his late wife even more firmly than grief. How could Tory hope he'd agree to any design? How could she hope he'd be able to feel something for her?

I'm not hoping that. I'm not. But a small voice in her heart whispered that she was.

She pressed her hand against her chest as if to silence that voice. She wouldn't think about it. She'd think about the design she'd completed, about the pleasure she'd taken in choosing the glass, about the intensive labor involved in creating the life-size pattern she'd work from on the window.

All that work was worthwhile if Adam would only agree. She had to talk with him about the memorial, whether he wanted to or not.

And there was another subject on which they had to talk—one where she was the reluctant party. Should she show him? Her fingers clenched the frayed old notebook that lay under her sketch pad.

Should I, Lord? Is this the right thing to do?

She heard Adam's step in the hall, and her breath caught. “Adam?” His name was out before she thought it through.

Maybe that was for the best. God might be pushing her into this decision.

“Tory. You're so quiet I didn't realize you were back here.” He lingered in the doorway, bracing one hand against the frame. He'd rolled up the sleeves of the dress shirt he'd worn at dinner, and his hair was
mussed as if he'd been roughhousing with his daughter.

“Is Jenny all tucked in?”

Adam's face softened as it always did at his daughter's name. “She had to have three bedtime stories before she'd settle tonight. She's so excited about the Pirate Days celebration that she's probably dreaming about it right now.”

“I know you've been busy with preparations.” Is that your excuse for not getting back to me? “Do you have a couple of minutes? I'd like to talk with you.”

She felt his tension from across the room. He undoubtedly thought she wanted to talk about the window, and he seemed to be searching for any excuse. And she did mean to, of course, but something else came first.

“I have some work—” It didn't sound convincing.

“This will only take a moment.” The tattered notebook felt warm under her fingers, and she knew she'd made the decision. “I'd like to show you this.”

He shrugged, looking harassed, then crossed the room to sit beside her on the sofa. Tory swung her feet to the floor and sat up straight, putting a few inches between them. It didn't help. She was still far too aware of his nearness.

“More sketches?” There was an edge to his words that didn't bode well for her project.

“In a way.” She tried to smile and couldn't. “But not mine this time.”

That caught his attention. He lifted his eyebrows. “Whose?”

She slipped the notebook from under her sketch pad. “My mother's.” She took a breath, willing herself not to let her emotions show.

“The book was your mother's?” His tone had gentled, as if he was acknowledging her grief.

“She had a couple of old trunks I had to go through after she died.” She caressed the faded cover. “I found this. It's the only thing that dates from the summer she spent here.”

Adam's tension was back, vibrating across the inches between them. He leaned closer. “Does she say anything about the dolphin?”

“Not in words.” She opened the navy blue cover carefully, mindful of the fragile pages. “But she did this.”

She handed it to him, her throat tightening as she looked at the faded drawing—the wooden dolphin on its shelf in the church, its sleek body curved almost as if in prayer.

Adam took the notebook, his hand gentle. “She did this that summer? Are you sure?”

She pointed to the bottom corner. “Yes. She dated it.”

He studied the drawing. “She was a talented artist. No one ever mentions it when they talk about her.”

“No, they don't.” She pushed down a wave of anger. “All anyone seemed to notice was her beauty. She was much more than the way she looked.”

His gaze lifted to her face as if he was assessing her emotions. “Clayton and Jefferson were teenage
boys then. Teenage boys think with their hormones, I'm afraid.”

“I know.” She touched the page lightly. “It's only—it makes me angry that she saw herself the same way. She never tried to develop her talent or make it on her own. She let herself be defined by what other people thought.” She stopped, her voice suddenly choking.

Adam's hand closed strongly over hers. “Tory, what happened to your mother wasn't your fault. You were the child, not the parent.”

His words went right to the center of her pain and lodged there. How could he see so clearly what she felt? She didn't open her heart that way.

It was far better to focus elsewhere. She nodded toward the notebook. “There's another one you should see.”

Adam turned the page, and his hand seemed to freeze. Lamplight cast a golden glow over the pictured faces.

Tory looked at the drawing, trying to see it through Adam's eyes. Two teenage boys, similar features, arms thrown across each other's shoulders. Jefferson's head was tipped back in laughter, and Clayton looked at his brother with a smile.

Adam cleared his throat, and his eyes were suspiciously bright. “We should show this to Dad.”

Dismay flooded her. “I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure your father feels I've interfered in your family business enough.”

Adam's hand closed over hers again, warm and
compelling. “Tory, this is important. He has to see this, even if it's uncomfortable.”

Her gaze met his. His usual low-key, relaxed manner had been transformed into something determined and passionate that willed her agreement. She could no more resist than she could take wing and fly away.

And that was a sad comment on just how far beyond control her feelings for Adam had become.

 

Adam stood and held out his hand to Tory, wondering at himself. Tory was right to feel apprehensive. Interfering in the feud between his father and Uncle Clayton was playing with dynamite.

What had happened to his being the peacemaker? Peacemakers didn't set off dynamite.

Maybe he was tired of being the buffer in the family. Or maybe feeling Tory's pain over her family rift drove him. Whatever caused it, he felt compelled to do something—anything—that might make a difference.

They reached the study door. Tory hung back, her reluctance palpable. “I'm an outsider. I shouldn't be involved in this.”

He didn't have to think about it. He drew her close to his side. “You're already involved. Our families were intertwined before either of us was born. Please, Tory.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes huge. Then she nodded.

He tapped lightly, then opened the door. His father glanced up from the papers spread across his desk. When he saw Tory, he quickly removed the glasses he wore for reading.

“Adam. Tory. What can I do for you?” Jefferson's gaze seemed to soften as it rested on Tory, and Adam knew he was right to bring her in. Somehow, when his father looked at Tory, he saw Emily. It made him vulnerable in a way Adam had seldom seen.

“Tory has something I think you ought to see.” Grasping her hand, he drew her across to the desk. He held out the notebook. “This was her mother's. From the summer she was here.”

He sensed his father's withdrawal. It wasn't surprising Jefferson preferred to ignore that time in his life.

Determination stiffened in Adam. He wouldn't let his father pretend any longer.

“Look at it.” His words probably came out a little more peremptory than they should, but they worked. His father took the notebook.

“I'm not sure what all the—” The sketch of the dolphin confronted him, silenced him.

Tory's fingers clenched Adam's tightly, and he gave them a reassuring squeeze. This was the right thing to do. He was sure of it.

His father didn't move for a long moment, and Adam suspected Tory held her breath just as he did. Finally Jefferson touched the page.

“I remember when she drew this.” He sounded very far away. “I found her sitting on the church steps, sketching. She said she wanted to draw the dolphin. I knew where the key to the sanctuary was, so I took her inside.”

They stood silent, listening.

“She was so entranced with the dolphin. I'd never
seen her like that. Why should she care about something in a little church on a little island? After all, she had everything.”

The words touched Adam's heart. Had that encounter been the beginning of his father's need for success at any cost? His feeling that the girl he loved had everything while he had nothing?

Adam cleared his throat. “Maybe you ought to look at the next page.”

Jefferson turned the sheet over carefully. His hand froze. Nothing broke the silence but the tick of the grandfather clock.

Adam willed his father to speak, sensing that Tory felt the same. They seemed linked through their clasped hands, or maybe through something more elemental that he didn't comprehend.

At last Jefferson put the notebook on the desk. He touched the pictured faces lightly with his fingertips.

“So long ago.” He shook his head. “I remember. We were so close, long ago.”

“You could be again.” Adam forced the words out. “You could be, if you want it enough.”

His father's mouth worked as if he tried to hold back emotion. “It's too late for that. We've said too many painful things.”

“It's not too late.” Adam leaned forward. “It doesn't have to be. You need to make the first move.”

A sudden flare of anger chased the sorrow from his father's face. “Why should I do that?”

Adam held his gaze, knowing he was about to say something that could create a breach between them.
Knowing, too, that he had to say it. “Because you were wrong. You know you were wrong.”

Jefferson glared at him for a moment. Then, quite suddenly, tears welled in his eyes. He shook his head, blinking. “I know. I was wrong. But I don't know how to make up for it.”

Adam could breathe again. “You can find a way if you really want it. Just take one small step toward him, that's all.”

One step.
He held Tory's hand, knowing he should take his own advice. He needed to take one small step that would set things right between them.

It wasn't Tory's fault his wife had betrayed him. It wasn't her fault his mother-in-law had unwittingly given her an impossible job.

He had to take one small step. The trouble was, he didn't know if he could.

 

Tory turned off the soldering iron and pushed her protective goggles to the top of her head. She stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her back, and looked with satisfaction at the window of Jesus walking on the water, touched by the last rays of the setting sun.

It was finished. Each piece had been painstakingly cleaned and the damaged pieces replaced. The fresh look of the new lead would quickly fade. The window was as lovely as it had been a hundred years ago. She only wished she could feel as happy with her original work.

She stretched again, then moved slowly to the
workroom's other table. She'd done everything she could to prepare to work on the new window. Everything except begin.

She looked longingly at the full-size design, carefully smoothed and taped to the tabletop. Unfortunately being ready didn't do her any good. Nothing would, unless and until Adam gave his approval.

She gripped the edge of the table. She'd thought, after the way they'd opened up to each other the previous night, that it would make a difference in Adam's attitude. Apparently she'd been wrong.

Father, is this going to work at all?
She touched the design longingly.
I think I could do something beautiful to Your glory, if only Adam would let me.

She closed her eyes, trying to listen to her heart. She didn't hear an answer.

“Tory? May I come in?”

She whirled at the sound of Adam's voice. He lingered in the doorway, as if the workroom belonged to her instead of to him. With his creased chinos and white knit shirt, his hair wet from the shower, he looked ready for an evening out.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, then pushed her hair from her face. She probably looked ready to clean the trash cans.

“Of course, come in.” She moved quickly to the repaired window, not sure she wanted him looking at the new window she'd laid out. He might think she'd started work on it in defiance of his wishes. “This window is ready to go back whenever your crew can take it.”

He stood next to her, looking at the window. He smelled of soap and sunshine, and his nearness sent a little shimmer of pleasure across her skin.

“You've done a wonderful job. I didn't realize how dim the window had become until you cleaned it.” He touched the stained glass reverently. “This has always been my favorite.”

“You have good judgment. The artistry in this one is special.” She stopped, shaking her head. “The waves are so real, you can almost feel Peter's fear.”