Into the Light (7 page)

With luck, keeping quiet through this farce would be the worst of it. His father and Vernon Forbes would talk about nothing but business from now until they retired to the study for brandy, cigars, and more of the same.

Vernon’s brother, Daniel, would join the conversation now and then, but for the most part, like Trey and the women, he’d limit himself to polite pleases and thank yous as the serving dishes passed around the table.

Trey accepted the potatoes from Daniel with a smile and nod, wishing he knew more about both the Forbes brothers. He knew Vernon had managed the Van Cleve lumber mill up north, then graduated to overseeing several mills and factories. Now Vernon served as Webster Van Cleve’s assistant in managing the entire Van Cleve empire, and Daniel had taken over Vernon’s old position.

Unlike Alice, Vernon and Daniel were friendly, even giving Trey an occasional eye roll or wink from behind his father’s back when things got tense. Maybe Vernon had married Alice to further his ambitions, but he treated her with courtesy, and Trey had glimpsed moments of what looked liked genuine affection between them.

What made Trey keep his distance was knowing Vernon and Daniel had to be aware they worked for a man not only corrupt, but criminal. Vernon couldn’t do his job without being complicit. The brothers’ round, open faces, sandy-hair, and blue eyes gave them a guileless look that could all too easily make a man underestimate them. Trey vowed not to make that mistake.

How much did Alice know about the workings of the empire she coveted? And what did she think about it? If it were all hers, what would she do about it?

Alice looked away from her husband, caught Trey’s eye, and her pleasant expression hardened to fury. Vernon touched her sleeve, and Daniel turned the subject away from the potential of gasoline engines.

“You haven’t told us whether you enjoyed the Fourth in Hubbell, Trey. I’ve never spent the holiday in a small town. What was it like?”

“I did enjoy it,” Trey said. “It was about the same as anywhere in the country, speeches, a parade, good food on every street corner, fireworks in the evening. Everything is just on a smaller scale than in a city.”

“And contests,” his father said in a voice that froze everyone at the table. “They have a long-range shooting contest every year, and you didn’t have the good sense not to embarrass yourself and the rest of us by entering. You can’t walk from the barn to the house without resting half way, but you entered a shooting contest.”

So his father had watched from the house and not been fooled by the pretense of stopping to admire the view, and someone had hurried from town to the ranch and earned a dollar or two reporting what happened at the contest.

“I never considered who I was or wasn’t embarrassing,” Trey said. “I saw a flyer about the contest, and it sounded like fun. So I entered.”

“Fun! You let Sutton beat you in front of the whole town.”

“It was a draw,” Trey said. “I left the trophy at Jamie’s, but I’ll haul it out here and show it to you if you want to see it.”

His flippant tone was bound to provoke, but it was better than giving way to the anger spiking hot in his chest. After all his plate was still half-full and his stomach half-empty.

“He gave you a draw. Condescended and gave it, and you let him get away with it.”

Trey balled his napkin and threw it on the table, wishing his appetite hadn’t returned. “Since you weren’t there, maybe you’re imagining it had to be the same for me as it was for you. Did he condescend when he gave you a draw?”

His father exploded from his seat, red-faced and shouting. “He didn’t give me a damn thing! I fought him to a draw. Those plowed up scraps of land like his weren’t worth what he did to your mother.”

Trey rose slowly, wishing he hadn’t left the cane upstairs. “He didn’t do anything to Mother. It was what he did to
you
that scared her, and if you hadn’t tried to steal that land, he wouldn’t have done a thing.”

“I offered good money for that land, and you know it. He was nothing but a gun for hire until the Hawkins woman got her hooks in him and turned him into a sodbuster.”

His father was still sputtering and shouting as Trey made his way steadily out of the dining room and shut the door behind him. Maybe next time he was in town he’d see if one of the town’s preachers could give some guidance about how far a man had to go to uphold his end of a bargain with God. Hell, maybe Jamie’s priest would let him off the hook if he converted to Catholicism.

A
T THE SOUND
of the bedroom door, Trey turned from staring out the window at nothing but darkness. If Alice had returned to plague him, he’d pack and head back to town tonight.

Not Alice. His mother. She held a coffee pot in one hand, a cup and saucer in the other, making him wonder how she’d opened the door. Edna followed right behind, carrying a tray with everything he could wish for on the plates. Meat and potatoes. Bread and butter. Apple pie.

He watched half in disbelief as his mother set the coffee on the bedside table, moved the few other items on the surface to the floor, and Edna transferred the contents of the tray to the table. That done, his mother sat on the bed. Edna gave a shy smile and left.

His mother, for once, was not smiling. “Since we’ve gone to this much trouble, you’d better eat,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Trey pulled the only chair in the room over to the table, sat, and broke open a warm roll, almost sighing over the yeasty fragrance as he slathered on butter. “You’ve never done this before.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten anything before.”

“Couldn’t have, but I am hungry tonight. Thank you.”

He eyed her between bites. As a boy he’d been willing to do anything to please her. The desire rose as strong as ever, but this time what she was going to ask was impossible.

Finishing the pie, he washed it down with a second cup of coffee and pushed the chair back from the table.

“I needed that, and it was terrific. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I want to see you healthy again as soon as possible.”

“With meals like that, it won’t be long.”

“With meals like tonight’s, the rest of the family will lose
their
appetites and waste away. Your sister does not need this aggravation.”

“No, she doesn’t. Are you asking me to leave?” That would get him off the hook, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

“Of course not. I am asking you to stop provoking your father.”

“You don’t think he provoked me tonight?”

She hesitated, then admitted. “Perhaps he did, but you are the son, and he’s right about Sutton. You know the man is dangerous. You shouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

“I didn’t even know he was there. I was standing on the shooting line when I first saw him. You can’t think I should have turned tail and run at that point.”

She was kind enough to pretend running was even a possibility. “You don’t have to run, but you certainly can turn in the other direction any time you see him. Part of his agreement with your father was that he would turn away any time he saw us.”

Trey smiled at that. “Not us. You. And I bet he’s never had to do it in all the years since because you’ve never been within five miles of each other.”

“Be that as it may, since you spend so much time in town, you may see him again. You need to avoid him, and you need to make an effort to get along with your father. I thought you came back because almost dying in that horrible place made you realize you needed to repair things between you. You aren’t trying.”

What could he try? Nothing had changed except he’d made an impossible bargain in a desperate moment.

“How do you do it?” he asked her. “You can’t tell me you don’t know what he’s done, what he’s still doing.”

Rising from the bed, she began gathering the empty dishes on the tray. “Business and financial affairs hold no interest for me. You have twisted and exaggerated pieces of information you came across into something ridiculous, and you’ve never been willing to admit your mistake.”

“I see.” Maybe he even did. How else could she stay in her serene shell? But he couldn’t be that willfully blind.

“You are his son. You will inherit everything he has worked so hard to build. You owe him respect.”

She managed to balance the tray on one arm and wrench open the door before he could get to it to help. It closed quietly behind her, the click of the latch emphasizing her anger better than Alice’s door slamming ever did.

Trey sat unmoving for a long time, head in hands. His father was impossible, but there had to be some hope with Alice. If he could just make her believe....

An idea slowly formed and took hold. What if he signed papers now refusing any inheritance from his father? What if he signed something giving it all to Alice? There had to be a lawyer in Hubbell who could tell him if he could do either or both and how.

He raised his head. If nothing else, seeing a lawyer would give him an excuse to get away and go back to town for a few days. Too bad there was no way to know when his mystery woman would be there again. Right now he’d give a lot for a friendly conversation with a woman who didn’t want something impossible.

T
HE OLD BROWN
hen pecked Deborah on the forearm so hard she cried out and dropped the egg she had just stolen from the nest. The egg cracked wide open against the edge of the pail at her feet, the sound distinct amid the flurry of feathers and loud squawks of the hen as she ran from the chicken coop.

Rubbing her stinging arm, Deborah looked down at the pail. The egg she dropped had broken at least two others.

An intact yolk sat on top of the mess, peering up at her like an accusing yellow eye. She knew better than to try robbing that nest with the hen still on it, but she’d been woolgathering. Again.

No blood showed on her sleeve. Too bad the summer heat had led her to dress in her lightest gingham this morning. Being careless around a broody hen didn’t hurt so much in heavier clothing.

Her arm would sport a small bruise for a few days, but it was nothing worth crying over. So why were tears running down her face? The pigs could have as much of the ruined eggs as she could scrape out of the pail. She’d wash the rest at the pump and be more careful tomorrow.

And all the other tomorrows.
The shock of that unbidden, unwanted thought stopped her tears. What was wrong with her?

Everyone had an occasional blue day, but lately melancholy followed her like a shadow. Doing chores in the cool of a summer morning had always filled her with a quiet joy. She preferred the subtle pinks of sunrise to the garish oranges of sunset. Ordinary sounds had a different, delicate quality to them in early morning.

Today all she saw was the clear sky overhead that heralded another scorching July day. Some gnawing discontent had hold of her and wouldn’t let go.

Aunt Emma and Uncle Jason had begun to notice. They couldn’t hide the worry in their faces when they looked at her any more than she could hide the nameless feeling that had stolen her peace of mind.

In the distance, she could see her uncles bringing the horses into the barn for a feed of grain before a long day of work in the hay fields. They’d be at the house soon, Uncle Eli to take his share of the morning’s milk and eggs back to his own place, Uncle Jason ready for the breakfast that needed three of the eggs in her pail.

Deborah hurried toward the water pump. Before washing the eggs, she would wash her face. Enough cold water should hide any lingering signs of tears.

By the time Deborah made it to the house, Aunt Em had coffee brewed, potatoes and ham frying, and a stack of hot cakes keeping warm in the oven. Even though Deborah didn’t want a heavy breakfast, the combination of familiar scents comforted.

Aunt Em reached for the eggs the second Deborah set the pail on the counter. “Why are the eggs all wet?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before cracking one after another into a frying pan.

“I was careless and that old brown hen pecked me so hard I dropped her egg. It landed right in the pail, and it broke and cracked two others.”

“That old girl is living on borrowed time. She’s too tough to roast, but once the weather cools enough for stew, she’ll be in the pot.”

Uncle Jason walked into the kitchen, hair still slick and wet from washing up. “If she’s in the pot, we’ll be short an egg every day. Maybe it’s time to let her raise that brood of chicks she’s pining for. We could use a few more laying hens.”

He took his place at the table, and Deborah took a minute to pour him a cup of coffee before setting the table. Uncle Jason was the same age as Caleb, but he looked ten years older, his face heavily lined, his shoulders stooped as if he carried an invisible burden. He never shirked from his share of the butchering, but he didn’t like it and was quick to find a reason to give an animal a little longer if he could.

Once Aunt Em perched on her seat and Uncle Jason gave the blessing, Deborah helped herself to small portions of everything, hoping her aunt wouldn’t notice how small. A futile hope.

“If you don’t start eating better, you’re going to waste away. You’ve been as broody as that hen lately. Are you coming down with something?”

“Of course not. I’m just not hungry this morning. It must be the heat.” She turned to her uncle. “I don’t envy you working in the fields on days like today.”

“I’d rather fork hay than be up to my elbows in a tub of hot water scrubbing clothes,” he said, studying her. “You have been looking peaked lately. Your eyes even look red. Have you been sleeping?”

“I’m sleeping fine. I am fine, really. You worry too much. Both of you worry too much.”

They ate in silence for a few moments until Aunt Emma changed the subject. “So what do you think of your cousin’s plans? It’s hard to believe Cal and Norah are allowing it, but they say they are. I don’t care what they say about it being free either. It’s bound to end up costing them a pretty penny, but I suppose they can manage.”

Deborah had no idea what her aunt was talking about. Caleb and Norah had two daughters and a son, and one of them must be up to something, something that could end up being expensive, but how was she supposed to know what it was?