To Have and To Hold (13 page)

Marshall sighed. “I understand her desire to shield you, but I'm not the enemy.”

“You're right. And it's not fair to you,” Boyd said, massaging his forehead. “She's trying to save me from the bottle, and I'm trying to shelter her from the truth about my physical condition. I think I need to have a long talk with my daughter.”

Marshall hadn't intended to burden the older man by divulging his conversation with Audrey. Revealing the truth to his daughter would surely cause Boyd distress. And it wouldn't help Audrey's attitude, either.

———

Throughout the day, Boyd contemplated how he could ease into a conversation with Audrey. It would be no simple task to tell her the truth about his condition. She still believed that with rest, a good climate, and a proper diet, his health would improve. He didn't know how much of his daughter's conviction had developed because he'd hidden his weakening condition from her by remaining somewhat involved in the island development or how much had been pure conjecture on her part. Either way, he'd never said or done anything to sway her from the belief that he would regain his health. Thinking to protect her, he'd intentionally withheld the truth. Now he wondered if he'd been trying to shield himself rather than his daughter. In his mind, putting voice to the doctor's diagnosis of cirrhosis made it official—as if there was no turning back.

His increasing weakness had already proved there was no turning back, but repeating the doctor's death sentence to his daughter would be more difficult than accepting the frailty of his body. Knowing he'd soon be with the Lord was assurance enough for Boyd. He'd accepted the doctor's assessment without fear. But leaving his daughter to fend for herself—now that was another matter, one he wanted to resolve before he drew his final breath. Besides, telling Audrey would mean she'd hover over him like a mother caring for a newborn babe. Between Audrey and Thora, he'd be relegated to bed while the two of them decided upon a treatment they thought would save him.

Still, for Marshall's sake, he needed to tell her. “And for her own sake,” he muttered, knowing it would be better if his daughter had time to accept his impending death. He pushed up from his chair and walked into the kitchen, where Audrey and Irene were cleaning up. “I know it's getting late, but when you've finished your supper chores, I'd like to visit with you for a few minutes.”

Irene dipped her hands into the dishwater. “You go on with your father. I can finish up these dishes.”

Audrey hesitated, but when Irene gave her a slight nudge, she untied her apron and hung it on the hook beside the kitchen door. “If you're certain you don't mind. There are pots and pans that still need scrubbing.”

Wisps of dark hair had escaped from Irene's thick braid, and she lifted a damp hand to push them behind one ear. “I can manage just fine. Go have your visit.” Her plump cheeks dimpled as she shot Audrey a bright smile. “I'm happy to be of help.”

Boyd didn't miss the warmth of their exchange. He was pleased Mr. Morley had chosen a helper who was close in age to his daughter. The two were obviously becoming fast friends—and Audrey had missed having a companion near her own age since leaving Pittsburgh. Spending all of her time around Thora and their boarders wasn't good for her. Of course, she'd taken an immediate liking to Dr. Wahler's daughters, but they were too young to be the friends that she needed. She needed someone with whom she could share her concerns, and from all appearances, Irene was a perfect fit.

While still considering how he would broach the topic of his illness, Boyd motioned Audrey toward the front porch. “I don't think it's too cool for us to sit outside, but you might want to bring along your shawl just in case.”

Audrey shook her head and stopped in the parlor. “Why not sit in here? I'm not concerned about myself, but you might catch cold in the damp evening air.”

“I'd prefer a little more privacy,” he said as he picked up his lightweight jacket. “I promise to keep this buttoned clear to my throat if it will make you feel better.” When she arched her brows, he started buttoning his jacket and then handed her the shawl.

“I'll wait until you have it buttoned—all the way.” She pointed to his neck before tossing her shawl around her shoulders.

They walked outside and Boyd waited while she settled in the chair beside him. “There are a few things I want to discuss with you.”

She leaned toward him. “Has something gone amiss with Mr. Morley or with the construction?”

“No. This is about us. Well, mostly about me.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “You have some deep dark secret that you've never before told me. Is that it?”

Boyd caught the sparkle in her eyes. Unfortunately, she didn't know how close she'd come to the truth. “I'm sorry to say that I have withheld something from you.”

Concern replaced the sparkle that had shone in her eyes only a moment ago. “After learning about the taxes, I thought you vowed you wouldn't keep any more secrets from me. Do we owe more money?”

He shook his head. “I wish money were the issue, but it's something more serious. It's my medical condition we need to talk about.”

“I believe you've made some progress. Granted, you've had your bad days, but—”

“Please listen before I lose my courage, Audrey.” He leaned forward and grasped her hands between his own. “First of all, I want you to understand that my faith in God is strong. I know you've questioned whether I'm drinking again; you can set aside that concern. I no longer have any desire for liquor.” After inhaling a deep breath, he squeezed her hands. “The truth is, I'm dying. I have cirrhosis of the liver, and I don't have much longer—the doctor told me before we left Pittsburgh.”

She reeled back in her chair. “Dying? But that can't be. You told me . . .”

“I know. Back then I . . .” He looked down at his hands. “I hadn't digested the news myself, and I couldn't bring myself to tell you. But our lives have changed, and I don't want you to accuse others of wrongdoing. You have every right to be angry with me, but I can't change it now.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “I'm telling you the truth, Audrey. The doctor told me my liver is failing.”

“This can't be true.”

“I know this isn't news you want to hear, but the doctor was certain—and so am I. The years of drinking have taken their toll. I wanted to protect you for as long as possible, but you have a right to know.” His heart ached as her face contorted into a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow. “I'm sorry to cause you more pain.” His words sounded hollow to his ears. Only he and the Lord knew the true depth of his sorrow. The last thing Boyd wanted was to cause his daughter more pain.

Audrey yanked away and jumped to her feet. “There has to be something or someone who can help. We'll find a doctor who has more experience treating disorders caused by alcohol. Surely in a city the size of Atlanta we can locate someone. Perhaps Dr. Wahler can advise us. I'll go and ask him first thing in the morning.” Her words tumbled forth in fitful bursts. “Better yet, I'll go to his cabin right now.”

With Audrey's additional duties at Bridal Veil, it had been easy enough for Boyd to mask his weakening condition. During the past weeks, he had worried she might take notice of his yellowing complexion, the jaundice the doctors had warned him to anticipate. But if Audrey had observed any changes, she'd kept it to herself. Before she could step off the porch, Boyd stood and reached for her arm. “No, Audrey. Neither Dr. Wahler nor any other doctor is going to have any words of encouragement. I visited more than one doctor in Pittsburgh. They all agreed that my time is short for this world.” He motioned to the wicker chair. “Please sit down.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as Audrey dropped to the chair. Slipping her hand inside her skirt pocket, she withdrew a white handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. When her tears continued to flow, Boyd leaned forward and embraced her. How did a father soothe his child? What could he say that might lessen her pain? He thought his heart would break as he held her in his arms.

“I want you always to remember that even when I'm gone from this earth, our separation isn't permanent. We'll have a reunion in heaven, but until that time, you must learn to lean on the Lord. I want you to call upon God when you're lonely or sad. He will be your strength and comfort. You're going to discover that the Lord will comfort you more than you can ever imagine.” Boyd wiped away one of his daughter's tears. “Will you promise to do that for me?”

“I'll do my best, but it won't be the same. I don't know how I can bear being without both you and Mama. Somehow this doesn't seem fair.”

Boyd couldn't agree more. His daughter had suffered a great deal of loss and pain during her short lifetime. “It's a fact that God's plans don't always make sense to us, but that's when we learn to trust.” Stroking her hand, he considered the depth of that simple word. Trust wasn't an easy thing, especially during the hard times. Before he died, Boyd wanted Audrey to grasp the importance of trusting God during demanding circumstances, as well as during the easy, untroubled times. “I know it's hard to set aside fear and place all your trust in God—even when you're my age, it can be difficult. But believe me, the reward is worth pushing yourself to trust Him.” He pulled her close. “I have faith that you're going to be just fine, Audrey. I'm trusting God to make certain of that—and I pray you'll do the same.”

Chapter 12

Long after she'd slipped into bed, Audrey attempted to push aside her fears, but her father's words continued to haunt her. For hours, she wrestled the covers as sleep eluded her. Turning on her side, she yanked the quilt beneath her chin and recalled her father's comment regarding false accusations against others. There was little doubt he'd been referring to the remarks she'd made to Marshall. Little wonder Marshall continued to shy away from her. He knew the truth about her father's illness yet hadn't divulged the secret to her. Audrey didn't know whether to admire his behavior or find it offensive. On the one hand, she thought Marshall commendable for maintaining a confidence, but on the other hand, she believed he should have told her. In the midst of planning how to approach Marshall the following morning, she drifted into a restless sleep.

When morning arrived, Audrey trudged to the kitchen, still exhausted. She would have to rely on Irene to help her with breakfast. Otherwise, the men would likely be served underbaked biscuits and overcooked eggs. Thankfully, Irene had already made a pot of coffee and set the water to boil for tea.

“From the look of those dark circles under your eyes, I'm going to guess that you didn't sleep well.” Irene lifted a cup from the shelf and filled it to the brim with dark stout coffee. “Try this. It should help keep you awake until midmorning.”

Audrey took a sip and sputtered. The coffee would need at least half a cup of cream before she could down any more. “It's a wonder the boarders don't all have a good case of indigestion.” She touched her fingers to her neckline. Already, she could feel the strong brew working its way back up her throat. “I believe I'll have tea instead.” Audrey didn't miss the wounded look in Irene's eyes. “I'm sorry, Irene. I've never learned to drink strong coffee, but I'm sure the men enjoy it. I've not had any complaints since you began making it.”

The girl offered a timid smile as she retrieved a clean cup and set it on the table. “For your tea. Shall I start the biscuits?”

“That would be a great help. Has Aunt Thora already gone to the henhouse?” The old woman usually arose early and made a daily trek to collect the eggs. For some reason, the hens didn't peck Aunt Thora—probably because they feared the consequences. If one of them dared peck her, it would likely end up in the stewpot.

“She left a little while ago. I expect she'll be back any minute.” Irene peered out the window. “She's coming down the path right now.”

Audrey lifted a large pottery bowl to the table. “Good. I can begin the scrambled eggs once the biscuits are in the oven.”

Muffled sounds of the men moving overhead helped to keep her on task. Otherwise, she might have settled in one of the chairs and fallen asleep. Moments later, Thora burst through the door with her basket. “Either the hens have quit laying or a poacher was in the henhouse.” She removed four eggs and placed them on the table. “Better plan to fix something other than scrambled eggs this morning.”

“Irene has the biscuits ready for the oven. I can make sausage gravy, and with those four eggs, I can make enough pancakes to help fill their plates.”

“Maybe some fried potatoes?” Irene continued to dip the rim of a drinking glass in flour and cut the biscuits.

“I say give 'em grits. If they're gonna work in Georgia, they need to eat grits and drink tea.”

The pan of biscuits slipped from Irene's hand and landed on the top of the stove with a clang. “Oh, I do hope that isn't a rule, because I'm fond of coffee and I can't abide grits. They have no flavor.”

Aunt Thora shook her head. “The way you're throwing that pan of biscuits around, they're gonna be flatter than Audrey's pancakes. If that happens, those men will have no choice but to fill up on grits.” She grinned as if she hoped that's exactly what would happen.

“Why don't you finish frying the sausage while I mix the pancake batter, Aunt Thora.” Audrey handed the old woman a wooden spoon. “And you may as well give up on forcing the men to eat grits. No matter how little food I put on the table, they won't touch them.”

“
Hmph!
If a man gets hungry enough, he'll eat the bark off a tree. I remember during the War of Northern Aggression how our men were starving and—”

Audrey rapped a metal spoon on the worktable. “Not now, Aunt Thora. There's work to be done, and I'm too weary to cook and argue at the same time.”

“Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Thora's lips tightened into a frown as she turned her back to Audrey.

Audrey sighed. She'd apologize to Aunt Thora later. If she attempted to do so now, it would only lead to further talk of grits or Union soldiers, and neither was a topic she cared to prolong. Besides, she needed to decide how and when she should approach Marshall. The sooner the better. She didn't want to spend the entire day worrying over how he would react to her apology. He'd been careful to avoid her since their last conversation, so gaining his attention would likely prove difficult.

“You want me to make the gravy, or you think you can do better?”

Audrey ignored the challenge in her aunt's question. “You go ahead, Aunt Thora. I'm certain the men would prefer yours over mine.” Although Audrey didn't remember if the men had ever commented on Aunt Thora's gravy, the remark had a soothing effect upon the woman, who immediately set to work spooning flour into the skillet.

In order to settle upon a plan to speak with Marshall, Audrey needed peace and quiet. If paying Aunt Thora a compliment or two would keep the woman occupied and silent, Audrey was more than willing to offer a few flattering words. While the three women completed the breakfast preparations, her mind swirled with possibilities. She wanted to speak with Marshall in a place where she was certain no one would overhear their conversation. But determining such a place and escaping the house without drawing attention remained a dilemma until after the men had eaten their breakfast.

She waited until Marshall pushed away from the table, thankful he was the last of the men preparing to depart. While he stopped for a brief exchange with her father, she returned to the kitchen. She did appreciate the fact that Marshall provided her father with some much needed company. Although he'd continued to become less vibrant, her father's interest in construction on the island remained steadfast. He wanted to know all the details, details she couldn't provide.

“I'm going out to the henhouse to see if I can discover if there was a prowler on the property last night.”

Aunt Thora turned from the sink and shook her head. “No need. I'll take care of finding the culprit.”

“I prefer to go and check for myself, Aunt Thora.” Without giving the woman time to argue, Audrey yanked the apron from around her neck, flung it on the hook, and exited the back door.

She'd gone only a few steps when Thora called out to her. “No need to slam the door. I know your grandmother taught you better manners when you were just a toddler.”

Audrey waved an acknowledgment but continued down the path without a backward glance. She didn't want to miss this opportunity to speak with Marshall. Once certain she was out of Thora's sight, Audrey circled away from the henhouse and back toward the path leading to the work site, where she remained by one of the large oaks until she heard the thud of footfalls on the hardened dirt.

Edging around the tree, she peeked around the thick trunk to make certain her father hadn't accompanied Marshall. If so, her plan would be thwarted. Discovering he was alone, relief flooded over her and she stepped into the path. She looked into his eyes, and her relief immediately vanished.

“I'm pleased to see you're alone. I wanted to speak to you.” She could barely hear her voice above the crescendo of her pounding heart. “I owe you an apology.” Though Marshall made no attempt to elude her, he remained silent—waiting . . . watching . . . obviously uncertain what to expect. “I don't know if my father mentioned that we had a talk yesterday.”

Marshall shook his head and then squared his shoulders as if prepared to do battle. There was no doubt he was at odds with her. And little wonder, after the way she'd spoken to him.

“I've come to ask your forgiveness.” She blurted the simple apology with the hope it would set him at ease.

“Have you? Would you care to elaborate just a bit?”

“For the accusations I made against you regarding my father.” Marshall obviously didn't want to assume anything. Even now, she was certain he wanted to safeguard her father's confidence. “I wanted to protect my father. I know my response was irrational, but I permitted fear, rather than good sense, to guide me. My father has confided that he is dying and hasn't much longer to live.” She choked out the final words as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Marshall reached toward her but then took a hesitant backward step. “I'm very sorry, Miss Audrey. I know you and your father have a special bond.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. “Why don't you sit down?” Stepping closer, he grasped her elbow and guided her to one of the low thick branches of the live oak.

Her tears created an awkward silence that hung between them like the veils of moss clinging to the tree. “Please.” She nodded toward the space beside her.

For a moment, Marshall looked as though he wanted to disappear, but he dropped down beside her. “I do appreciate your apology. I know the kind of fear that sets in when a father drinks too much. I also know what the love of alcohol can do to a man's family. I hope you now believe that I would never influence any man to partake—especially a man like your father. I admire what he has done over these past years—his ability to overcome the habit and create a better life for both of you. He told me how God has helped him through these changes. I only wish my father would have experienced the same before he died.”

Audrey wanted to find solace in what he said, but words did little to relieve her pain. Kind words wouldn't help her accept the news that her father would soon die. And her father's faith in God didn't help, either. More than anything, she wanted her father to live—she wanted their lives to continue without change.

The morning sun saturated the mossy veils and cast delicate patterns of light beneath the low-hanging branches. Marshall leaned forward and retrieved a twig from the ground. With methodical precision, he stripped away the budding leaves and continued to speak of the heartache he'd experienced while growing up with a drunken father, all of it a mirror image of her own past—all except the portion about his brothers. She'd had no siblings with whom to share her childhood or adult years. But after listening to Marshall describe the difficulties he'd experienced with his brothers, she wasn't certain she'd missed out on much—except additional pain. If either of them had been blessed with sisters, perhaps their lives would have been different. While Audrey had heard stories of women whose lives had been ruined by overindulging, those tales were few and far between.

She wanted to offer sympathy to Marshall, but she remained speechless, unable to think of anything that might lessen his pain. Though well-meaning, his words didn't help her, and she didn't believe such platitudes would be of use to him, either. She knew she would be with her father in heaven someday, but that knowledge didn't fill the void she would feel while she remained behind.

She pulled a loose thread on her skirt and twisted it around her finger. “I remember when I was a little girl and my father would be gone for days at a time. I would miss him terribly. After my mother died, he would go on drinking binges and stay away from home for long periods. I was always thankful that he was gone during those times. Truth be told, I didn't miss him at all then. In fact, there were occasions I wished he would never come home.”

She glanced at Marshall, who nodded his understanding. “You shouldn't be embarrassed by those thoughts. I experienced the same feelings about my pa on more than one occasion.”

Now that she'd revealed some of her secrets, Audrey couldn't stop. It was as if a cork had been removed from a bottle and she couldn't quit until she'd emptied herself of every dark thought. “Now that my father has become the man God intended—one who knows and worships Him as Lord and Savior, one who has given up his dependence upon liquor, and one who has become a wonderful father—it seems he is to be snatched away from me. And knowing I'll see him in heaven doesn't fill the hole in my heart. Instead, it makes me angry.”

Marshall's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Angry at God?”

Audrey gave a firm nod. “Yes, at God. I know it sounds terrible to say such a thing, but I need my father here with me. Sometimes I think God is selfish and unfair rather than good and just.”

He scooted a short distance down the tree limb. When Audrey frowned, he motioned toward the sky and grinned. “I thought I'd get a little distance between us—just in case lightning strikes.”