Down by the River (19 page)

“They're the same thing.”

“No, Margaret, they're not. Character is who we are. Accomplishments are just the icing and the way we use and express our gifts.”

“Oh, pooh. That sounds like something Vincent would say.”

“Are you trying to say you would have found Vincent more attractive if you had known he was an accomplished writer?”

“Well, of course. You can't allow yourself to be attracted to simply anyone. Jane always told me I needed to be careful to guard my heart so that I could marry well. She said it was one of the most important things a person with a gift could do. Or any woman, for that matter.”

Grace winced. “And you believed that?”

“Why shouldn't I? She said you married up in status and married well when you married Daddy. She said I could at least do as well.”

Grace blew out a breath. “Margaret, I married your father because I loved him. The fact that his family was wealthy didn't factor into my decision.” She chose her words carefully now. “There were times when I thought the finances and the emphasis on them in the Conley family more a curse than a blessing. They seemed to judge everyone too critically as to whether they were monied or whether they were not. That often worried me.”

“You mean you wouldn't care if I didn't marry well? Jane said money would help pave my way to becoming famous, that contacts would help me get on the right concert tours and into the right schools. She said talent alone isn't enough.”

Grace felt disappointed at her daughter's words. Quietly, she said, “Talent was evidently enough for Vincent. He didn't come from an affluent family. Many people's gifts find a way to prominence without them having a lot of financial means.”

Margaret indulged in another spate of tears. “I keep getting confused here. I always seem to be torn between all the different things people say I should do.”

“Margaret, you need to learn to listen to your own heart more.”

“That's the typical kind of response you always give!” Margaret's eyes narrowed. “Jane always said you were too sentimental and not practical.”

“And you believe that's true?”

“I don't know what to believe anymore!” Margaret's reply was a wail, followed by another sweep of tears.

It wasn't the best of times, but Grace told Margaret then about how she had come to know the Lord as a young girl and how it had helped her through life to make the best decisions and to know the right way to go. “It didn't always mean I knew the right answers. But it meant I had a more reliable source to turn to than just myself.”

Grace reached across to take Margaret's hand. “I'm not sure I know the right answers for your life, Margaret. And I certainly doubt that Jane does. But I believe with all my heart that God does. And I certainly think He would like you to be happier than you are now.”

Margaret's gaze hardened. “I don't know about that. Just leaving everything to faith sounds like a cop-out way to handle things, Mother.”

She got up and gathered up her things.

“I'm going to go practice the piano,” she said. “I think better when I practice. And I need to vent some of these emotions.”

A few minutes later, the house filled with the sounds of Margaret's playing. Grace looked through Vincent's book while she listened and finished her last cup of coffee. From what she could see, Vincent had presented a guide and help for understanding and thinking about the Scriptures in his little book. But the discussion wasn't theological; it was just practical and easy for anyone to understand. In addition, from what Grace could see, it was faith-established. While many books seemed to confuse one's thoughts about the Scriptures, often questioning the Bible's accuracy and meaning, Vincent's seemed to strengthen and affirm the Biblical account.

Grace was reading with rapt interest when the phone rang to interrupt her thoughts. She picked it up and immediately heard Samantha's anguished voice. “Althea Teague has had a heart attack, Grace. I wanted to know if we could bring Ruby over to stay with you so that Roger, Bebe, and I can go straight to the hospital.”

“Bring her over anytime. I'm so sorry, Sam.” Grace's answer was immediate.

The rest of the morning was tense as Grace waited to get word about Althea's condition. She knew Jack had gone to the hospital and that Vincent was there, too. Grace had told Sam earlier she would pick up Daisy, and also Jack's twins, at Bible School when the girls got out later in the day. Grace wanted to do something to help. She also sent word to Jack, through Sam, that she would be praying for Althea. And she did.

To Grace's surprise, Margaret and Ruby Butler seemed to make a quick connection. Margaret sat on the floor playing board games with Ruby now. Before that, they had colored pictures together. Naturally, Ruby had been told her great-aunt was sick and in the hospital. But Margaret's special attention to the child made the day go easier for Ruby. Margaret showed similar affection for Daisy and the twins after Grace went to pick them up from Bible School.

At dinner time, Bebe came to pick up all the girls to take them home with her to spend the night. Althea was stable now, and Bebe felt she could leave the hospital to rest. Roger and Samantha were staying longer. Bebe mentioned that Jack had left for a while, but grew close-mouthed about where he was.

“I'm sure he'll be back right away,” she said. “Jack has never been good with tense situations like this. Even as a boy, he often took off for a while until things changed for the better. It's just his way of coping.”

A short time later, Roger called to talk to Grace.

“Has Bebe picked up the girls?” he asked.

“Yes. Is there anything else I can do, Roger?”

Roger cleared his throat. “Um, yeah . . . if you would. Althea's been asking for Jack. I thought you might be willing to go look for him. He might be at the house and not answering the phone. Jack's like that sometimes when he's upset. You could drive up and see if his car is there.”

“I'll be glad to do that, Roger.”

“Uh . . . and there's something else.” He cleared his throat again, obviously uncomfortable. “You might need to look a couple of other places if you don't find Jack at the house. I hate to ask you to drive around and look for him. But sometimes Jack loses track of time. And Althea is worried about him. She doesn't need that right now. We need to get Jack up here so she'll calm down and rest.”

Grace blew out a breath. “I'll go look for Jack, Roger. Just tell me the places to look. And give me your cell phone number in case I need to call you and ask anything. I know my way around pretty well now, but it will be getting dark soon.”

It took checking Jack's house, his office, and several friends' houses before Grace found Jack's car at the Shady Grove and learned whom he'd left with. She got directions from the bartender to Ashleigh Anne Layton's house and cried all the way there.

The pain Grace felt in learning that Jack was with Ashleigh awakened her to the fact that she'd been foolish enough to fall in love with the man.

“Dang you, Jack Teague,” she said out loud as she turned down the road to Ashleigh's small cottage. “I knew better than to get involved with you. And drat it if I didn't let you get to me anyway. Here I should be weeping for Althea—and worried about her recovery—and I'm weeping for myself like a lovesick teenager.”

She stopped her tears by the time she knocked on Ashleigh's door. And then she had to have a volatile argument with the girl to get inside. Finally, Grace managed to push past the girl. Seeing Ashleigh wearing a frilly nightgown that barely covered her body gave Grace a pretty good idea where she would find Jack.

Sure enough, Grace found Jack in Ashleigh's bedroom, sprawled across her bed with the covers partially thrown over his body. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts. Grace wasn't sure if he was drunk or just asleep, but when he tried to pry his eyes open to look at her, she knew he'd been on a pretty good bender.

She looked down at him in disgust. What was he thinking to be in a situation like this when his own mother was lying up in the hospital, still not out of the woods from a heart attack? Grace blew out a breath of disappointment.

With little alternative, Grace told Jack the situation with his mother and waited while he dressed so she could drive him back to the hospital. He was obviously in no shape to drive there himself. While he dressed, Ashleigh went to the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee.

When Jack finally groped his way into the bathroom, Grace sat down on a chair to wait and then looked up to see Ashleigh watching her from the doorway.

“Seems like we've been in this situation before.” She grinned.

Grace scowled at her. “You know Althea is in the hospital. This is hardly a time for jokes. To be frank, I'd like to tell people you took Jack to his house after you hauled him out of the bar, if you don't mind. It would spare the family some sorrow right now. The bartender actually gave me the idea. He said you might have driven Jack home, but if not, he told me how to find you.”

Ashleigh considered this. “I can do that,” she said at last. “Is Althea all right?'

“She will be. Right now she's worried about Jack.”

“Perhaps you were, too. You've been seeing a lot of Jack.” It was an observation more than a question.

“His girls spend a lot of time at my house, Ashleigh. He lives across the river from me. But we're not dating, if that's what you mean.” Grace felt like saying that the girl was welcome to him, from what she'd seen of Jack tonight—but she held her tongue.

Ashleigh seemed to pick up on Grace's expression. “Don't be too hard on Jack. He didn't have that much to drink. But it went to his head quick. I think I got out of him that he hadn't eaten all day. I don't think he meant to get crocked.”

Ashleigh twiddled with the strap of her nightgown. “I like Jack. I don't mind to admit it. He knows how to make a woman feel good.”

She sent Grace an honest glance. “But nothing happened. He was too drunk to get his Johnson up. And he kept talking about you. It kind of took away from the mood, if you know what I mean.”

Grace looked up at Ashleigh in surprise.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I thought you'd like to hear that. You're sweet on him whether you want to admit it or not.”

She smiled at Grace. “Although I like Jack, I wouldn't mind seeing him hooked up with someone nice. That Celine Rosen did a real number on him in the past. I was only a kid then, but I heard about it. It wouldn't hurt Jack to have a little happiness. So don't be too hard on him about this. He was scared. Thought his mother was going to die on him like his father did.”

Ashleigh looked toward the bathroom. “He came into the bar to have a drink to calm himself down. I didn't help things. I pushed more on him. Commiserated with him. It wasn't nice of me, but I was thinking about myself. Figured if I could get a few drinks down Jack that maybe . . .” She shrugged. “Like I said, I like Jack.”

Grace made no comment, but she nodded at Ashleigh.

“I won't tell anyone Jack was here. I'll even tell Cody at the bar that I took Jack home. You can let everyone think you found him over at his own house.”

“Thank you.” Grace managed to say. She did mean that.

Jack came out of the bathroom then. He was dressed, had washed his face, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth. She could smell the toothpaste. His shirt was tucked in, and he looked better—but, to any close observer, his eyes were still a dead giveaway that he'd had more than a few drinks. And he was still hungover.

The trip back to the hospital was a tense one.

Grace expected a spate of apologies from Jack, but none were forthcoming. Yes, Jack had shown interest in her in the past, kissed her, and talked sweet to her a few times, but evidently it meant nothing in Jack's eyes. And as Grace had told Ashleigh, she and Jack weren't dating or anything. Even if Jack had called her name out when he was drunk, that didn't really mean anything. In truth, Grace had been a fool to let herself fall for Jack Teague. She knew very well who he was and what he was.

Before they got to the hospital Jack finally talked out some of his feelings to Grace, his worry over his mother, what he'd done and why. The regrets he had. She felt little sympathy. But when Jack got off the hospital elevator and confronted Roger and Samantha, Grace reiterated her story of picking Jack up at his home, lying through her teeth.

Roger gave Grace a pained look when he learned it was Ashleigh who'd hauled Jack out of the bar and had taken him home. “Thank you, Grace,” he told her later when Grace had finished her brief visit with Althea, leaving Jack with her in the hospital room. “If I'd known you'd run into as much trouble with Jack as you did, I'd have searched for him myself. I'm sure you didn't have a pleasant time of it.”

“I raised two boys through their teens and young adult years.” She gave Roger a matter-of-fact look. “It isn't the first time I've had to deal with a man who is a little inebriated.”

Roger winced. “Yeah, but all this couldn't have done any good for the relationship you and Jack were building.”

Grace gave Roger a steely look. “Jack and I have no relationship, Roger.”

She tried saying those words over and over to herself on the drive back home, but she knew in her heart that the words were a lie. For better or worse, she had gotten her heart wrapped up with Jack Teague. To be truthful, she doubted anything would come of it. But that didn't make the pain of realizing how much she cared about Jack any easier. She wished she could hate Jack after what she'd witnessed tonight. But it simply wasn't that easy. When you loved, even foolishly, you tended to love despite all.

T
he rest of the week was difficult for Jack. Not that he expected it would be easy.

He drove back and forth to the hospital for most of the week, seeing to Althea. It was good to see his mother's color gradually begin to come back and to see the tubes removed from her little by little.

Roger asked Margaret to fill in at the real estate office until Althea could come back to work, and to Jack's surprise, Margaret said yes.

“It's not because I like you,” Margaret told him candidly. “But because Roger and Samantha asked me to do it. I like them. And having some extra money before school starts will be nice, too.”

Actually, Jack found Margaret's candor and honesty refreshing. Everyone else seemed to be tiptoeing diplomatically around what they really thought of him and how he'd acted when his mother was in the hospital. Even though people didn't know he'd stayed with Ashleigh Anne Layton that afternoon, they knew he'd been at the Shady Grove drinking, that he'd gotten snookered, and that Ashleigh had driven him home. He'd always be grateful to Ashleigh and Grace for keeping that extra episode to themselves about what really happened that evening. But it weighed on his conscience.

It didn't help that he'd gotten another note from Crazy Man either. Written on a napkin from the Shady Grove bar, it said:
I know what you did.
Jack wasn't sure if this was simply another chiding from the resident vigilante about his getting drunk that night or if the man really knew more. It made him nervous, thinking about it sometimes. However, now that he'd confessed all to his mother that night in the hospital, it wouldn't really matter too much if the rest eventually got out. Like most small scandals, it would blow over in time.

The note from Crazy Man had arrived in Jack's home mailbox this time. That vexed him, too. His girls might have been the ones to find it. He was glad he'd picked up the mail that day. He didn't like the idea that the man knew where he lived and had come up his private drive into the woods to bring the note. Jack also didn't like thinking about Crazy Man's being that close to his home and family. Still, Jack didn't call and tell the sheriff about this note. He put it in a Ziploc bag and locked it up with his private papers. Swofford might have started asking too many questions down at the Grove if he'd gotten Crazy Man's note written on one of the bar's napkins.

Climbing out of his car at the realty office now, Jack saw that one of Jerrell Webb's boys, Cecil, was mowing the yard. Jack waved at him as he headed up the walkway to the office. He'd need to write out a check for Cecil to pick up when he left.

Margaret looked up from the computer as Jack let himself in the door. “Some guy said he was supposed to mow the grass today. I hope it was okay.”

“Yeah. It's Cecil Webb, one of Jerrell Webb's boys. The Webbs mow all the properties around here. They do good work.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, he's silly-acting. Came in here wanting to hang around and be chatty and tell jokes.”

Jack laughed. “Cecil's just outgoing and friendly—and perhaps a little simple-minded. But he's harmless.”

Jack picked up the mail to flip through it. “His brother, Beecher, is exactly the opposite. He's a broody, moody man and hardly has a word to say.”

Margaret snorted. “Typical of the people around here.”

“There are peculiar people everywhere, Margaret.” Jack sat down in the chair opposite Margaret's desk. “Besides, it might surprise you to hear how talented all the Webb family is in the musical field. They have a bluegrass band called the Webb Creek Band. They're rather well-known in the area.”

Margaret looked up in surprise. “I think I've heard them. They came to Maryville a couple of years ago as a part of a fall bluegrass festival. Three men and a pretty blond singer?”

Jack frowned. “The pretty blond singer was Ira Nelle, Beecher's wife. She got killed about a year or so ago. Tragic thing. She had a beautiful voice. And she left two little boys behind. The loss has been hard on the family.”

“I imagine.” Margaret looked thoughtful. “It's hard to lose a parent.”

Jack studied her covertly then. He was sure she was thinking about her father, and he knew how that loss felt, too.

“How's Althea?” Margaret asked.

“Getting cantankerous and anxious to get out of the hospital.” Jack grinned. “It's a good sign. I think they're going to let her come home on Friday, if all goes well.”

“That's tomorrow.” Margaret looked at the calendar. “That seems soon. She only went in on Monday.”

“The hospitals don't keep people long today.” Jack propped his feet up on the chair across from him. “But we'll have some nursing care at home. And, of course, Bebe will be there.”

Margaret nodded, finishing up what she was working on at the computer and then starting to print her document. She lifted it out of the printer tray, added it to a stack of other letters, and handed them all over to Jack.

“Here's the last of those letters you asked me to type. If you'll sign them, I can get them posted this afternoon.”

Jack looked over the letters. “You're doing a good job here, Margaret. If I haven't said thank you for filling in, I want to say so now. It's often hard to get good temporary office help here in Townsend.”

“So I've heard,” she said sarcastically.

Jack winced. “If you want to knife me again, I could turn around and let you have a go at my back.”

She shrugged, unrepentant. “No need. There are plenty of others enjoying a go at your back. I'll stay with the direct approach. It's more honest.”

“Actually, I've rather appreciated that direct approach this week.” Jack got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“What? My stabbing at you all week with my candid comments?”

Jack grinned and sat back down. “No. Your honesty about it. You didn't admire my actions, and you haven't been too timid to say so.”

Margaret shook her head. “What got into you that day, Jack? That was a really dumb thing to do.”

“I don't owe you an explanation.” Jack's words were sharp in reply. He got up in annoyance to pace over to the window to look outside, turning his back on Margaret.

Margaret, in wisdom, didn't say anything for once.

He turned back to look at her. “The whole scene made me think too much of the time when my father died. I panicked and didn't handle the situation well.”

Margaret put a hand under her chin thoughtfully. “No, you didn't. And it hurt my mother. I told you I didn't want that to happen.”

Jack slumped back into his chair. “I'd give anything if it hadn't been your mother who came and found me.”

“Mother's dealt with drunks before. It was the fact that you'd been drinking with that ditzy little Ashleigh Layton that hurt her. Plus the fact that it was Ashleigh who was the one who took you home.” She gave Jack a long look. “There were some pretty strong implications in that to think about.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jack didn't offer anything more.

Margaret shook her head. “I haven't wanted to like you, Jack Teague. But, admittedly, I've developed a grudging fondness for you this week. It's surprised me.”

Jack quirked a small smile toward her.

“Now, don't get overly excited about that observation. But I've seen some good attributes in you this week while I've worked with you that sort of counterbalance the bad.”

“And?”

“And maybe you have possibilities.”

“To link up with your mother?” He raised a brow in question to her.

Margaret wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn't go that far. Although I'll admit Mother has mooned and brooded about you all week and not been herself. I was thinking more in terms of the possibility that you could become a more decent person.”

Margaret's words rankled. “And what about you, Miss Less-Than-Perfect? Don't you think you could use a little changing for the good?”

“We weren't talking about me.” Her answer was clipped and prim.

Jack grinned. “Perhaps we should. You haven't been very nice to your mother in the past, either. And recently, you haven't been very nice to our resident good-looking preacher. In fact, you seem rather snippy with him. Almost bit his head off the other day when he stopped by here.”

Margaret tapped her nails on the desk and shifted restlessly in her seat. “I'll admit I'm annoyed with Reverend Westbrooke.” Her tone grew brittle.

“How come?” Jack propped his feet up again, glad to have Margaret in the hot seat now instead of himself.

“Did you know he was a best-selling writer?” She gave Jack a challenging look.

“Sure.” Jack scratched his neck casually. “Most everyone around here does. Writes some sort of devotional books or something. His books are pretty well-known in their field, I hear.”

“That's an understatement.” Margaret's voice was snappish. “His books stay practically sold out in the bookstore. They're being printed internationally now, and he can get a huge fee to speak almost anywhere in the U.S.”

“So why is that a problem?” Jack often found it difficult to figure Margaret out.

“He didn't tell me about it, that's why.” Margaret flounced up out of her seat to go over to the small office refrigerator to get herself a cold drink—some sort of fancy bottle Jack didn't recognize.

“What's that?” he asked, eyeing her drink.

“Green tea. It's good for you.”

“Got another?” He raised his brows in interest.

“Sure. And there's half a sandwich in there I couldn't eat from lunch. You can have that, too, if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Jack went over to dig out the sandwich and a bottle of the green tea from the refrigerator.

He sat back down and propped his feet up again. “What's really the problem with Vincent's having written some books and being well-known for them? I should think—since you're so snobby about reputation and money—you would be impressed with that.”

Jack saw Margaret squirm.

He laughed then. “That's it, isn't it? You feel guilty that you've given Vincent the cold shoulder all these weeks—thinking he was only a small-town preacher—and now you feel angry at yourself, knowing you might have misjudged his worth.”

“You have a smart mouth, Jack Teague.”

“Too close to the mark?” He gave her a teasing look.

“He should have confided in me.” She stuck her chin up.

“When? While you were turning your back on him and ignoring him? While you were pretending you weren't attracted to him when you were? Or maybe while you were hiding out from him all the times he was looking for you?”

“You're ticking me off, Jack.” She gave him a mutinous look.

“So, are you ready to admit you might like the preacher more now that you know he's a little more successful materialistically than you first thought?” He took a long drink from his tea. “It seems to me you have some worldly ways about you that are almost as objectionable as mine. No one respects a little gold digger.”

She stood up in anger.

“That's not true, Jack Teague. You take that back.”

“Are you going to deny you're more interested in Vincent Westbrooke now that you know he's more successful than you thought he was?”

To Jack's surprise, Margaret burst into tears. “I really hate you, Jack Teague.”

“No, you don't. We just shoot straight with each other, you and I.”

He laid down his sandwich and went around the desk to hand her a tissue. “Don't be so hard on yourself, Margaret. And don't be so quick to think Vincent doesn't understand your feelings. Why don't you talk to him about it?”

“I have.” Her reply was snippy.

Jack chuckled. “To rail and snap at him, no doubt.”

Margaret looked up defensively. “Well, I was upset.”

Jack patted her on the shoulder. “You need to analyze what you're
really
upset about, Margaret. You need to think about what you really feel about Vincent Westbrooke—beyond what he does for a living, preaching or writing or whatever.”

“I've been trying to avoid that kind of thinking.” Margaret looked up at him with eyes still wet. But her words were honest.

“Hard to hide from your thoughts,” Jack commented.

The door interrupted their conversation as Cecil Webb came in to tell them he was finished with the yard. Jack went back to write him a check, leaving Cecil to attempt to entertain Margaret again with another of his jokes. He seemed oblivious to any of the emotions stirring in the air.

Jack thought of his conversation with Margaret again on Sunday as he worked his way into the crowded pew to sit beside her. His girls had wanted to sit with the Butlers, which put Jack and the twins squeezed between Roger, Samantha, Daisy, and Ruby on one side and Margaret and her mother on the other. Jack could only be grateful he hadn't been jockeyed into a seat beside Grace. Sitting with his leg up against hers throughout the service would have been an agony right now. He'd only seen Grace in passing this week, and their interactions had all been brief and strained. What could he say to her after what happened anyway?

There was a guest minister at the church today: Reverend Grady Hartwell. Vincent introduced him as he started the service. Hartwell worked at Montreat and traveled as an evangelist. Jack knew Hartwell was a friend of Vincent's family and had known Vince since he was only a boy.

Reverend Hartwell was a fine-looking man, with rich brown hair and warm gray eyes. He had a solid ministry career and a strong family life now, but his past had been dark. He told about it with candor in his message, sharing how far he had sunk into a disreputable lifestyle in graphic detail.

“My personal gods were alcohol, drugs, myself, and a good time,” he told them, shaking his head. “And I believed, some of the time, that I was happy. I thought religion was for weak people, and I couldn't see anything in it that I thought I needed. I couldn't even see much in religious people I wanted to emulate.”