Saving Laurel Springs (13 page)

“Dad,” a soft voice called as Carter started to slip out the door.

“Just checking on you, buddy.” He walked back over to Taylor's bed and leaned over to give his son a kiss on the forehead.

Taylor sighed deeply. “Dad, I can't remember Mom very well anymore. Grandaddy Benton is always saying ‘remember when she did this when you were two' and ‘remember when you and Judith did that when you were three' . . . but I don't remember.”

He turned his face up to Carter's, and the light from the hallway showed Carter a track of tears. “I feel real bad that I don't remember but I never tell him. I don't want him to think I'm bad.” He sniffed.

Carter patted his knee. “You're a good boy, Taylor. And you need to know that no little kids remember much before they are four or five years old. Psychologists call it infantile amnesia; that means your brain isn't developed enough to hold memory like it will later in your life.”

“But I remember some things.”

“Everyone has some random memories of their preschool years but they don't have the focused memories they will have in their school years later on.” He rubbed Taylor's leg. “A lot of times small children have seen pictures and heard stories so many times about their baby and toddler years that they think they remember things they actually don't. I know some stories like that about my young years—ones that have been told to me again and again.”

Taylor chewed his lip. “What I remember most is Mom being sick. Not being able to walk or run. Needing to have Martha or her nurse dress her and feed her. I remember running around the yard or climbing in the tree and seeing her sitting in her wheelchair.” He hesitated. “I felt guilty a lot of times because I wasn't sick and could run and play.”

Carter leaned over to kiss Taylor again. “I felt that way, too, buddy. It seemed wrong to be able to live my life in a normal way when your mother was so sick—and when I knew she was dying.”

Taylor slipped a hand into his. “A person shouldn't have to die when they're young.”

“No.”

Anguished young eyes looked up at his then. “You won't die, will you, Dad? Promise?”

Carter tucked the covers around Taylor. “I don't plan to die anytime soon, Taylor. Most people live long, rich lives, like Grampa Layman and Nana Dean. I expect to do the same.” He squeezed Taylor's hand. “But no one can
promise
another person they won't die. It's something we can't totally know.”

Taylor sighed. “Okay.”

“Listen, Taylor, I can talk to your Grandaddy Benton, if you'd like. He may not realize all small children don't remember the past well. He doesn't mean to be hard on you.” He paused. “He's hurting, losing his only child. It helps him to remember all the good times.”

“I know.” Taylor pulled a lop-eared stuffed dog closer to him. “He cries sometimes. Martha says he's mad and angry that he couldn't find a way to save Mom, even with all his money.”

“Martha said that to you?”

“No.” Taylor shook his head. “I heard her say that to Pickett.”

“I see.” Servants talked and children listened unobserved. “Listen, Taylor, I was going to stay through the weekend, but I think we might fly on back home on Friday after my Quest meeting if it's all right. We won't be able to go to the zoo, but maybe we can plan to go somewhere special around Cosby.”

“Okay.” Taylor's voice brightened. “That will be cool.”

Obviously Taylor wasn't very upset to leave early. Carter tucked him in again and stood up to leave.

“You know, Dad, I think I'm going to ask Grandaddy Benton to take me to the zoo tomorrow. He said he might take off work to spend some time with me. We could have a good time and talk about the animals.” He hesitated. “It might help him to get his mind off Mom, don't you think?”

“Yeah, I think that would be great, Taylor.” His boy had turned out to be such a nice kid. How had that happened amid all the tragedy he'd experienced?

Carter turned at the door. “How would you like to take a hike over near the Cosby Campground this weekend? Go up to Hen Wallow Falls? Maybe cook hot dogs outside afterward at the campground?”

“That would be cool!” His sudden grin flashed in the dim light. “Maybe we could take Rhea. You could tell her I want her to go if you're scared to ask her.”

Carter grinned. “Yeah, I might do that, Taylor.”

CHAPTER 11

A
fter Rhea's Sunday visit to Carter, she purposely avoided him for the next several days. She heard through Nana and others that he'd recovered. From the schoolhouse one day, she saw him drive by, laughing with his son, and on another occasion she secretly spied on him and Taylor as they swam in the lake. It was cowardly, but she needed breathing space.

At the office on Monday, she shamelessly googled the name Judith Benton Layman and studied every piece of information about her. She learned about the Benton family's vast wealth and enterprises, Judith's elite schooling, her studies in design, and the business she created and worked with until illness made her unable to work. She saw the names of the wealthy, privileged men Judith had dated and noticed that even after her marriage the press always included Judith's maiden name in any coverage. To her surprise, there was seldom mention of Carter. Even after their marriage, society pictures of Judith only occasionally included Carter as her escort.

Of course, a lot of wealthy women still maintained a great deal of independence after marriage. She frowned as she expressed the thought. And Carter still attended school during the first years of their marriage and worked at Quest. He probably had little time for social events.

Researching Carter's life, she learned about the development of his career, read about games he'd developed, and found online trailers of some of his latest games to view. However, neither his social life nor his marriage were highlighted often in the online articles and news clips she found. Mostly, as an afterthought, journalists would add:
Carter Layman is married to the heiress Judith Benton, whose father, Morgan Adelman Benton, the current head of Benton Electronics, started Quest Corporation.

Previously Rhea had avoided learning anything about Carter's life, now she felt she needed to be armed with all the facts she could find. She didn't want any more shocking surprises. Dealing with Carter proved difficult enough without continually bumping into information from his past that shook her self-control and defenses.

Tired from bookkeeping and indoor office tasks, Rhea took her sack lunch out to the front porch of the ad-min building. She wanted to see the sunshine and breathe the summer air.

With surprise, she saw scaffolds set up against the church and a group of painters and laborers hard at work on repairs. Carrying her lunch with her, she walked over to see what was going on.

Grampa Layman came out the front door as she came across the drive. He waved at her before he turned to talk to one of the workmen.

“The front doors here are to be stripped and restained.” He gestured. “We want to try to keep the original color, too.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “We ought to get the first coat of paint on the exterior today and have the interior repainted and dry before Sunday service. We're also scheduled to clean all the stained-glass windows, repair the broken one, and then let Mattie Brownlow carefully repaint the Scripture over the door when we're done. She's good with that restoration sort of stuff.”

When the man left, Grampa gestured to Rhea to sit down on the stone bench by the porch. “Sit and talk to me a spell while you eat your lunch, girl. I could use to sit and rest myself.”

Rhea sat down and dug into her lunch bag to pull out a second sandwich half. She offered it to Pastor Layman. “Here, want the other half? Nana always packs too much lunch for me.”

“Don't mind if I do.” He took the sandwich eagerly. “I got tied up here with the workmen and haven't made it home for lunch.”

“I'll share.” Rhea smiled, spreading her food items out on her lunch sack between them.

She sniffed the air. “It's great to smell fresh paint.”

“Yep, that it is. And it's a blessed thing to see the old church getting such a face-lift.” He took a small sweet pickle out of a Ziploc bag and popped it into his mouth.

While munching the pickle, he gestured above them. “Mattie Brownlow, the historical expert hired to help with some of the restorations around here, has found us a bell steeple to put back on the top of the church.”

“Really?” Rhea opened a bag of chips to hide her astonishment.

“Yes, indeed. She researched old records and found a description and an old photo showing what the original steeple looked like. It got destroyed when a flat-line storm hit Cosby back in the 1930s. Storm took half the roof off, too.” He grinned widely. “I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day we'd get a bell steeple back on the church.”

Rhea looked up toward the square-topped steeple, remembering how she and Carter once dreamed of finding a bell tower to replace the one pictured in ancient, grainy black-and-white photos of Laurel Springs. She frowned at the memory.

“What's that frown for, girl? Isn't it a blessed thing for the church to have herself fixed up like this?”

“Of course.” She offered Grampa a bright smile. She'd called Pastor Layman simply “Grampa” since she was only a small girl.

He studied her. “You're troubling over the fact that it's Carter's money that's doing all the fixing, aren't you, girl?”

Rhea dug out a pickle for herself and avoided his eyes. “I'm happy the church is being repaired and restored. How could I not be? It's the church I was raised in and I love it.”

“And?”

She gave up. “And, yes, it's hard seeing all my old dreams being fulfilled by Carter's money.”

Grampa dug into the bag of brownies now, ready for dessert. “I'm reminded in all this of how Joseph was sold down into Pharaoh's land to become prince so he could help his people.”

Rhea snorted. “Carter was hardly sold into slavery in California, Grampa. It's hard to see how those two stories relate.”

“Oh, I see similarities.” He munched a bite of brownie, thinking. “When Joseph's brothers bewailed all they'd done, Joseph said: ‘Don't be grieved . . . for perhaps God sent me before you to preserve you a posterity in the earth.' God has a way of working things out for good, Rhea. And a lot of good is coming from Carter's time in California.”

“Hmmmph.” Rhea fished another sweet pickle out of the bag.

A workman came to direct a quick question to Grampa before he continued, “Carter's back in California. Did you know that, girl?”

Rhea dropped her pickle to the ground in surprise, and then bent over to retrieve it.

“Don't eat that now; it's soiled,” he told her unnecessarily.

He put a hand on her knee and patted it. “Your reaction told me something I was wondering on, Rhea Kaden Dean. You still have feelings for Carter.”

She started to deny it, but Grampa's probing eyes forced her to say the truth instead. “I don't
want
to have feelings for Carter, Grampa.”

He shook his head. “I'd hoped that message on unforgiveness on Sunday might help you to let go of old resentments and bitterness toward Carter. It's not healthy to harbor feelings like that.”

She crossed her arms. “Listen, Grampa, I know Carter is your grandson and that makes this awkward, but even if you forgive, it isn't all that easy to simply forget.” She set her jaw, trying to think what to say. “You loved Gram, your wife, Edith, a lot, didn't you?”

“Still miss her every day.” He gave Rhea a misty smile filled with memories.

“Well, what if she'd gone off and married another man when the two of you were pledged . . . and then wandered back here nine years later—widowed and with a son, how would you feel?”

She watched his eyebrows lift.

“You see?” She shook a finger at him. “It's easy to tell someone else how to feel—but it's harder to live it.”

“I see your point, girl.” He ate another of the brownies, thinking.

“Still, the past is the past, and the present is the present. I loved Edith Ann Costner. I still remember the day I first met her when we weren't but fifteen. Prettiest little thing I ever saw. It's hard for me to imagine loving anyone again like I loved Edith Ann.”

He tapped a finger on his chin. “I reckon it might have been hard for me to get past her choosing another instead of me. But if later on she got free, and if God hadn't brought another partner to me in the meantime, I'd probably go after her all over again.”

Rhea sighed. “Here, Grampa, you finish up any of the rest of the lunch you want. I've got to go meet Jeannie to clean cabins.”

Fortunately, one of the workmen came to ask a question, giving Rhea a chance to slip away without getting into more conversation with Grampa Layman about Carter.

Rhea soon learned Carter's visit to California would be brief. Billy Wade said he'd gone for a business trip in relation to the
Traveler
movie—now in early production stages. Taylor went along to see his grandfather. Rhea gnawed a fingernail thoughtfully and wondered how often Carter would be running back and forth between two worlds.

“It's none of your business,” she told herself in the mirror Friday night as she got ready for her date with Marshall. “You'd be smart to focus your attentions on Marshall Sutton. He lives here in the valley; he'll
stay
here in the valley. He's safe and solid and sensible—just the sort of person you need in your life.”

Rhea twirled slowly to watch the black skirt fan out around her knees. With the black satin skirt, she wore a white silk blouse and a lavishly sequined black vest. She and Marshall were going to the symphony—and dressy black and white was always an appropriate choice.

Hearing Marshall's car drive up, she put quick, finishing touches on her hair, pinned up for tonight, and grabbed the clutch purse she'd chosen. Marshall's eyes lifted in appreciation as she came down the stairs.

“You look fantastic,” he said as he led her out to the car.

“Thanks. You look good, too.”

He did, dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and neatly patterned tie. Rhea smiled at him, purposing to put away thoughts of Carter tonight and to have a good time.

They ate dinner at Chesapeake's, an elegant, classic downtown restaurant in Knoxville. It had a quiet, tasteful atmosphere, and they talked of local happenings while attentive waitstaff made their meal even nicer.

“I liked your new column in the Newport paper.” Marshall lifted a wine glass to her in tribute. “You wrote about the history of the Carver Apple Orchard and I learned things I didn't know about it.”

Rhea smiled with pleasure. “I enjoyed doing that piece. In fact, I've found writing my
Now and Then
column to be a genuine pleasure these last years.”

“It was a lucky day when the newspaper hired you.” He put butter and sour cream on his potato while he talked. “How did that happen?”

Rhea sprinkled bacon bits and chives on her own potato, thinking back. “I was a student at Walters State Community College. I took a journalism class as an elective and one of our projects was to write and submit an article or piece to a newspaper.”

She stopped to take a bite of her prime rib. “All I really knew very much about was local history, so I invented a column idea and wrote a short history about Laurel Springs for it. I sent it to the editor—not expecting much—and he decided to print it.” She shrugged. “People liked it and the editor asked if I'd write a few more. The rest is history, I guess. I've been writing a weekly column for the paper ever since.”

“Don't diminish it, Rhea. You do excellent work.” He smiled at her again, and Rhea decided this was becoming a very nice evening. It felt good to be appreciated for her writing, and Marshall was making a distinct effort to make this evening special.

Knowing he would warm to the subject, she asked him how he was enjoying the new boat he bought. He entertained her then with lake stories, especially with an amusing one of teaching his nephew to water ski.

“I'd probably fall flat on my face, too.” Rhea laughed.

His eyes met hers with warmth. “You know, I'd enjoy teaching my own children to ski one day. My mother says it's past time I married.”

Rhea dropped her eyes. “You're only twenty-six, Marshall.”

He laughed. “
You're
twenty-six and have a birthday in September. I turned twenty-seven in January.”

“Oh, I didn't know.” Rhea felt sorry she hadn't acknowledged Marshall's special day in some way.

He shook his head indulgently. “Don't feel bad for not knowing. We'd just started dating then, Rhea. But maybe for your birthday we can do something special.” He paused. “Like having a party to celebrate our engagement.”

Rhea's breath caught in her throat, and she put a hand to her heart.

Marshall cocked his head to one side. “Have I surprised you, Rhea? I thought you'd know how I feel about you by now. That it would be inevitable where my thoughts might be traveling.”

She searched for some words in response but didn't know what to say.

Marshall took one of her hands and patted it. “I find you very beautiful, Rhea, and very desirable. I think you and I would suit well in marriage. I hope you will think about it. Obviously, I've surprised you too much with my proposal for you to give me an answer now.”

Rhea worked a smile onto her face. What should she say? “It's a lovely offer,” she said at last.

Marshall grew more possessive as the evening wore on. He found more ways to touch her than before—settling her into the car, walking into the theatre where the symphony performed. In the dark of the theatre, he found her hand and held it.

The orchestra performed Gershwin favorites that night. Rhea admittedly loved it. A guest pianist added sparkle, and many of the tunes, like selections from
Porgy and Bess,
were toe tapping. Other old favorites, like “I've Got a Crush on You,” brought a smile, and the finale of
Rhapsody in Blue
drew the audience eagerly to their feet.