The Baby Race (10 page)

"So I sold off all the livestock," he
finished his story, "but Blue belonged to my boys. No one but the
glue factory would want the old nag. Couldn't do that. Larry and
Mark both loved the critter. Learned to ride on him."

Tears glistened in Clarence's milky eyes. His
head nodded and his eyelids dropped. "I'm tired. Time for you to
leave."

Claire leaned over and pressed her lips to
his dry wrinkled cheek. "Thank you for the lemonade and
conversation. You rest. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll talk
more."

Clarence lifted his thin age-spotted hand. It
trembled as his touched Claire's face. "You're a sweet girl. Missus
always wanted a girl. Died trying to birth us one. So long ago, but
it seems like yesterday." His eyes fell shut.

Claire lifted a finger to her lips and led
Race toward the door.

Once outside, he inhaled deeply of the fresh
clean air.

"Crazy old coot," Race grumbled.

"He's just lonesome."

"It's his own fault. He drives people away
from him. Lashes out at everyone even his son."

"Pain and fear can make people act in strange
ways. After his older son died, he crawled into his cave to lick
his wounds. He's like one of your horses, frightened and alone. He
needs love and kindness to coax him back into the word.

The sympathy in her voice touched a cord in
Race's heart. Suddenly, his self-imposed isolation no longer seemed
like a safe retreat from a hostile world, rather a cold and lonely
prison.

~~~~~

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I'll bring you by tomorrow." Race didn't
sound pleased by the prospect of returning, but he continued, "I
want to take a closer look at old Blue. While I'm in the barn, I
can see to some of those repairs."

Claire sighed. "I should have known your
concern would be for the horse rather than the old man."

"He'll be fine. He's got you."

At his simple statement, warmth crept into
her heart. Maybe, like Clarence, all Race needed was kindness to
bring him out of his cave.

"What time?" he asked.

"Would three o'clock be okay? That way I can
bring him a casserole for his supper." She glanced at her watch.
"Could you drop me at your grandmother's house? I was supposed to
be there thirty minutes ago. Rats. I'm not dressed appropriately.
Well, at least I'm clean."

Race frowned, but turned the truck toward the
Reed mansion. "What are you going there for?"

She could hear the suspicion and subdued
anger in his question.

"Since the fund raiser, we've been meeting
twice a week for tea. Grandmere is a fascinating storyteller. I
love hearing about you as a boy."

"At sixteen, I was hardly a boy when I came
to live with Jackson. Amelia doesn't know anything about my
childhood."

"Where did you live with your mother?" Before
she could censor herself, the question slipped out. She braced
herself for his reaction. She'd learned early that he disliked
talking about his past.

During her conversations with Cindy, Cindy
had let slip the fact that Race's mother had been anything but
maternal. Race's childhood had been at best difficult. Even Jackson
didn't know all of what Race had endured as a child. On the rare
occasion Race spoke of his mother, it was to defend her. But his
loyalty told Claire more about him than it did about the woman who
bore him.

Instead of telling her to mind her own
business or retreating into silence, Race answered. His voice was
low and filled with angry pain.

"Seems like we lived everywhere and nowhere.
Like your parents, my mother had the wanderlust. No matter where we
were, someplace else always looked better to her. I'd just get
settled in one dingy apartment with her current boyfriend - Mom was
never without at least one male companion - and she'd be looking to
move on to the next.

"Unfortunately, other than Jackson, Mom had
lousy taste in men. He was the one man I think she truly loved, at
least as much as she was capable of loving anyone other than
herself. But Amelia Reed made sure that relationship didn't
last.

"Did Grandmere tell you she paid my mother to
divorce Jackson?"

Amelia hadn't mentioned it, but Claire didn't
point out that his mother's acceptance of the money spoke louder
than Amelia's offer.

"She went through the money long before she
realized she was pregnant with me. Pride kept her from crawling
back. She was determined not to let Amelia get her hands on her
son."

Somehow Claire doubted it was pride that kept
Race's mother from coming back into Jackson's life. She made a
mental note to question Amelia further. Had Amelia been paying
Race's mother to stay away? Things that Cindy had said indicated
that neither Jackson nor Amelia had been aware of Race's existence
until his mother died. If he'd known about Race, Claire was sure
Jackson would have fought for his son.

"When I was little and wouldn't behave she'd
lock me in the closet and threaten to let Amelia have me," Race
continued. "As a child I was terrified of a grandmother I'd never
met. I always imagined Amelia as ten feet tall with yellow eyes and
inch long teeth and fangs."

That sounded quite possible. Despite Race's
defense of her actions, his mother came through as a self-centered,
vindictive woman.

Claire's heart went out to the lonely,
frightened little boy Race had been. Though she admired his loyalty
to his deceased mother, she wanted to smack the selfish woman who
denied her son security and family in a vain search for a love
she'd already thrown away.

"Meeting Amelia for the first time, I was
almost disappointed." He gave a sheepish laugh. "It's hard to be
afraid of a woman who's a foot shorter and weighs a hundred pounds
less than you. Of course, the minute she opened that aristocrat
mouth of hers she more than lived up to her reputation. At sixteen
I could have crushed her with one hand, but she could demolish me
with a look.

"Sometimes she still can," he muttered.
"We're here."

Claire looked up at the imposing Reed
mansion. Set on a bluff overlooking the Council River, the red
brick, three-story house dominated the surrounding countryside,
much like Amelia dominated or tried to dominate her family. A
strong-willed group of individuals they usually held their own
against their matriarch.

Polished windows sparkled in the sunlight. An
ornate fountain sat in the arc of the circular brick drive. Race's
dusty, mud splattered truck looked out of place on the immaculate
drive.

"Call when you're ready to come home. I'll
pick you up."

Claire turned to thank him. All softness
erased from his features, he stared at the house. His mouth was a
hard line, his eyes shuttered. Gone was the vulnerable man who'd
opened his heart and spilled his past to her eager ears. While he
spoke of his childhood, something deep inside her shifted and
cracked. New, painful feelings emerged. She wanted that man
back.

The roar of the truck had long faded before
Claire walked up to and knocked on the ornately carved double
doors.

Dabner opened the door. Dressed in his usual
black suit, a neat bow tie at his neck, Dabner's very proper butler
presence hid an exceptional intellect and a wicked sense of humor.
"Welcome, Miss Claire. Mrs. Reed is waiting for you in the garden
room. Shall I show you the way?" His eyes twinkled in his impassive
face. On her first visit she'd become hopelessly lost inside the
over large house. Dabner took delight in subtly reminding her of
the fact.

"Thank you, Dabner. I can find it
myself."

"Very well, miss. Tea will be served
shortly." He gave a short, clipped bow and disappeared toward the
kitchen.

Claire moved through the huge foyer with its
polished marble floor, and sparkling chandelier hanging over a
large mahogany receiving table. The scent of the fresh flowers
filling the vase on the table perfumed the air. Ahead a horseshoe
stairway rose to a landing graced by a two-story bank of
elaborately beautiful stained glass windows that overlooked the
river below. She found it hard to believe that this elegant house
had ever rung with the laughter of children.

Her fingers trailed over the smooth curved
banister. Had Jackson or his brother ever slid down this tempting
slide? Had they played hide'n'seek through the many rooms? Driven
toy cars and trucks across the sleek marble floor? Or had Amelia
forced them to behave as proper little gentlemen?

Jackson was reserved with his mother. She was
not a woman who allowed emotion to interfere with duty or decorum.
Though hardly a plump, storybook sort of grandmother, none of
Jackson's girls seemed in awe of her. And Bobbie Sue frankly adored
her. When she wasn't quoting Race, she was telling Claire what
Grandmere said. To hear a scraped-kneed, dirty ragamuffin talk
about the proper way to pour tea and serve cucumber sandwiches made
Claire bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Demanding, imposing, and autocratic, Amelia
Reed didn't suffer fools. How much she reminded Claire of Race.
They both buried their tender hearts beneath hard outer shells.

If she told Grandmere about Banner's threat,
would she help? Temptation tugged at Claire. No. She couldn't
involve Grandmere in this problem. The fewer people who knew about
the situation the less likely social services would hear about it.
If Banner returned she'd rethink her position, until then she'd
keep quiet and pray he'd gone away for good.

Hesitating at the door to the garden room,
she tucked her yellow cotton blouse into her denim shorts.

"Come in, child. You're dreadfully tardy. The
sandwiches have gone soggy. And I'm nearly faint from hunger."
Amelia looked up from where she sat at the daintily set table. She
scolded, but there was no true censor in her tone.

Delicious looking sandwiches and tiny cakes
decorated delicate china. The aroma of cucumber and chocolate made
Claire's mouth water.

"Sit down, my dear. You look tired. Has
something happened?"

Grandmere's gentle probing and the promise of
future heartache threatened Claire's reserve. She longed to rush
forward, put her head in Amelia's lap and confess. Oh, Grandmere. I
think I've done the most foolish thing. Fallen in love with your
grandson.

Instead she smiled and shook her head.

*****

Blue watched passively as Race hammered in
the last loose nail. "That should hold things together - at least
as long as you do." He stroked the old horse's velvety muzzle.

Fixing Hoffman's barn helped distract Race
from thoughts of the coming night. With War gone for the weekend
and Vicki helping out Cindy with the girls' sleep over, Race and
Claire would be alone in the house. Somehow that thought was more
daunting than sharing a bedroom.

He mopped the sweat from his face with a
corner of the shirt he'd stripped off when he'd begun working
several hours earlier. The barn was marginally cooler than outside,
but no breeze relieved the dry August heat.

Shrugging into his damp shirt, Race gave Blue
one last pat, gathered up his tools and headed out of the barn.
Long shadows stretched across the yard. He glanced at his watch.
7:30 pm. No sign of Claire. What could she and old man Hoffman have
found to talk about for four and a half hours?

His stomach growled. No help for it. He'd
have to go fetch her. He stowed his tools in the truck and headed
for the house.

The door opened and Claire stepped out
looking cool and sweet as a willow tree after a spring shower. She
laughed at something Hoffman said, then leaned inside the door and
hugged him. Even from across the yard Race could see the new
sparkle in Hoffman's watery old eyes. His cane in one hand, a small
bit of yellow fluff in the other, Hoffman stood straighter than the
previous day. A small smile transformed his face from forbidding to
merely dour.

Claire reached out and stroked the kitten in
Hoffman's hand then she turned and ran down the steps toward Race.
A smile lit her face as she scrambled into the truck.

A few miles down the road Race said, "I can't
believe he agreed to keep a kitten?"

Claire nodded, her smile slightly smug. "I
told you he would. Everyone needs someone to love. Clarence is just
lonely. The kitten will give him a reason to get out. Keep him
active."

"Also keep down the mice in the barn. Place
is overrun with them."

"Oh, I don't think Buttercup is going to be a
barn cat."

"Buttercup?"

"That's what Clarence named the kitten. Said
his wife had a cat called Buttercup just like this one years ago.
Now I just have two more kittens to find homes for. I hope you
don't mind that I took Mitsi and Tennessee over to Annie to have
them fixed, without checking with you first?"

"No. I've been meaning to have it done. Three
cats is plenty. We'll get Cassandra spayed as soon as she's old
enough."

"You know Bobbie Sue's going to want to camp
out in Anne's office. She can't bear to be parted from that cat.
Whatever are we going to do when school starts next week?"

"Well, Mary had a little lamb. I guess Bobbie
Sue can have a little cat."

Claire's laughter at his lame joke trickled
over Race like cool water over parched lips.

She turned on the seat toward him. "After
Clarence and I talked, he decided to call his son. They talked for
two hours. That's why I was there so long. Mark is going to come
home for a week before the Fall term starts. Isn't that
wonderful?"

"Is it?" Apprehension slid down Race's spine.
Claire moved through people's lives, sweeping away years of
accumulated hurts as if they were as insubstantial as cobwebs. She
broke down the barriers people erected and let the light of day
chase away the shadows. But sometimes daylight exposed things
better kept hidden. Didn't she realize the damage her Pollyanna
outlook on life could have on people?