To Honor and Trust (26 page)

“You're right.” Callie's stomach tightened at the remembrance. “I should have told you before I interviewed for the tutoring position. Though I apologized to both you and Mrs. Deitweiler, I still regret I wasn't forthright.”

“I know, my dear. Mary and I have healed any ill feelings that arose out of the incident. I'm merely pointing out that you didn't tell me. I know you didn't do it with any thoughts of malice, but you need to remember that we all make errors
in judgment. I believe that's what happened to Wesley—he made an error in judgment.”

“But I told him about Matthew and how I struggled with trusting others. He should have told me rather than let me believe he was an entirely different person.”

Mrs. Bridgeport leaned forward and clasped her hands. “You're right. He should have, but he seems to be a young man who has suffered a great deal of personal pain through the tragedy that occurred in Texas. And having met his father, I'm sure he's putting pressure on Wesley, as well.” She squeezed Callie's hands. “I don't believe he was deceiving you in order to hurt you. I think he feared he would lose you if you learned the truth about his past.”

Mrs. Bridgeport released Callie's hands and stood. She walked to the bed and kissed Daisy's cheek and then turned toward Callie. “I believe I'll go and join Luther and the children. Think about what I've said, Callie. I believe you'll come to agree that I'm right.”

While Daisy continued to sleep, Callie considered her conversation with Mrs. Bridgeport. She
had
judged Wesley unfairly. Though he could have been more straightforward about his family, she had made it clear that she wasn't interested in becoming a member of the social set—along with numerous other comments that likely had given him pause. Little wonder he hadn't divulged his parents were the Townsends of Townsend Mills. And she'd shown little sympathy for the trauma he'd suffered in Texas. Granted, she'd told him he couldn't hold himself responsible, but she didn't consider what it must have been like to see all those people die and to feel he'd somehow caused their deaths. Instead of offering Wesley comfort, she'd turned on him—told him he wasn't acceptable, that he hadn't passed her test.

In her concern to protect herself from further pain, she'd forgotten grace. She bowed her head, and with tears streaming down her face, she begged God to forgive her for her callous behavior. If only she could have the opportunity to ask Wesley's forgiveness, as well.

Wesley sat on the screened balcony of his suite that overlooked the croquet lawn of the clubhouse. He leaned forward to watch the children playing and was once again struck by the fact that Callie was no longer on the island. A young boy, who looked much like Thomas, ran across the lawn carrying a croquet mallet, his laughter floating on the breeze like a joyful song.

Wesley inhaled slowly and closed his eyes as the scent of freshly mown grass filled his nostrils. Like a swarm of worker bees, gardeners arrived each morning to manicure the lawns and hedges that surrounded the clubhouse. Mr. Crocker demanded perfection for the guests of Bridal Veil. Whether in the opulent dining room, the lavish suites, or the surrounding grounds, he made certain the workers provided that expected perfection. The same was true at the golf course, where workers daily arrived to care for the greens and rake ridges into the sand.

On any other morning, Wes would already be at the golf course, but this was Sunday. The guests golfed in the afternoon, but they attended church at the island chapel every Sunday morning. He startled when a knock sounded at the door to his
suite. Pushing up from his chair, he returned inside and strode across the sitting room.

“Father.” Wes failed in his attempt to smile as he backed away from the door to permit the older man entrance. “I thought you'd be down at breakfast.”

His father frowned. He'd obviously sensed Wesley's displeasure at the unexpected visit.

After stepping inside, his father strode further into the room. “I plan to go down in a little while, but I wanted to speak to you first. May I sit down?”

“Yes, of course.” Wes gestured toward the two overstuffed chairs flanking the marble fireplace. He had hoped for a peaceful hour to clear his thoughts and pray about his future before attending church services with the family, but it appeared that wasn't going to happen.

“Your mother and I had a lengthy talk last night.” His father inhaled a deep breath. “About you.”

Wes grasped the arms of his chair and braced himself for an onslaught. How long would it take before his father accepted the fact that he could not control all of his children? Granted, he'd been successful with the others, but Wesley remained determined to stand his ground and make decisions for himself. He was not going to let his failure in Texas give his father a toehold to gain control over his life.

“I'm sure you and Mother have more important things to discuss than me.” He forced a smile. “After all, you're in the throes of expanding the mills.”

His father nodded. “That's true enough, but nothing is more important than our children.”

“I'm not a child any longer, Father, and I—”

“Just hear me out, Wesley. Your mother told me about this
young lady that you've met. Callie Deboyer, I believe that was her name?”

Wes nodded. “Yes, that's her name.”

When he'd talked to his mother, he hadn't anticipated she would relate their conversation to his father. Then again, he hadn't asked her to hold their conversation in confidence. She hadn't betrayed him, yet her behavior surprised him. He'd always believed she kept their conversations confidential. Maybe he'd been wrong.

“Your mother says that even though Miss Deboyer has left the island, you are determined to win her heart or some such thing.” He tugged on his vest. “I didn't listen very well when your mother began using flowery words and speaking of love, but I did listen to the rest of what she said. Afterward, I did some genuine soul-searching and had a long conversation with the Lord.”

Wes arched his brows. There had always been prayers at meals, regular church attendance, and Bible reading in their home, but Wes had never considered his father a man who conversed with God or regularly sought God's direction. The idea somehow seemed foreign to him because his father had always presented himself as a self-made man who thought goals could be accomplished only through hard work and tenacity. And life's problems could be solved in much the same way. Now to hear his father say that he'd spent time speaking to God was difficult to comprehend.

“I'm surprised.” Wes longed to say something more profound, but at the moment words escaped him.

His father grinned. “That I didn't listen to the love part or that I had a conversation with the Lord?”

“That you would seek God's guidance.”

His father's smile faded. “You don't think I seek God's help from time to time?”

Wes leaned toward his father. “I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to offend you, but I've never seen you spend much time in prayer or heard you talk much about looking to God for help.”

“Just because you don't see me praying or hear me talk about a need for God's help doesn't mean that I've gone through life without seeking divine guidance.” He stared at the floor for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. After clearing his throat, he looked at Wesley. “As I was saying, I did some soul-searching, and it has become clear to me that I should quit interfering in your life. You are the one who must decide what you want for your future. I am not going to try to persuade you to enter the family business any longer. It is not what you want, and I will honor your decision.”

Wes loosened his grip on the arms of his chair. “You mean it? There are no hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings. If, in the future, you should have a change of heart, then I will welcome your decision, and there will be a job waiting for you at Townsend Mills.” His lips curved in a lopsided grin. “However, I don't believe that will ever happen. I wish you well in whatever decisions you make for your future, but remember that you must decide upon something. While I won't force you to work for me at Townsend Mills, I will not support you while you sit idle. Understood?”

“Understood. I don't expect you to support me, Father.”

“Then you have a plan?” There was an expectant gleam in his father's eyes.

“I wish I could tell you that everything is settled, but that
wouldn't be true. First, I must find out if Callie will forgive me for withholding the truth from her. If she'll forgive me, then it is my hope to marry her.”

“Without any means of supporting her? I think you're putting the cart before the horse, Wesley. You need to decide upon future employment and then consider marriage. I think any young woman would look upon a prospective husband more favorably if he were gainfully employed, don't you?”

“In most cases, I think that is true, Father. But if Callie will have me, I'd like her to join me in making decisions about the future. Shortly after we met, I learned that she has been struggling with plans regarding her own future. I feel I must first win her heart and her trust. Then we can discuss what's ahead for both of us.”

“So long as we are clear that I will not support you once we return to Massachusetts, then I'm fine with whatever you decide.” His father pushed to his feet and clapped Wesley on the shoulder. “I know I've been hard on you since your return from Texas, but I thought the best way for you to get over the tragedy you'd experienced was for you to find a new profession and keep yourself busy.”

Wesley followed his father to the door. “Thank you, Father. Even though you may not agree with me, I am thankful you've decided to let me make my own choices.”

Wes returned to the sitting porch. The children had returned inside, likely to eat breakfast and prepare for church. Soon he'd need to do the same. But for now, he looked out toward the river and thanked God for the change in his father's heart. He prayed God would change Callie's heart, as well.

Mrs. Bridgeport returned to the hospital during the evening and stayed with Daisy while Callie went to supper and rested. After sleeping for an hour, she stopped by the Bridgeports' hotel rooms. Mr. Bridgeport answered the door, and she stepped inside, where the children were busy playing a game of checkers in the sitting room.

He gestured toward Thomas and Lottie. “I thought a game might keep the children occupied. I saw the checkerboard in the lobby, and the clerk said we could bring it to the room.”

“That was an excellent idea. I'm sure it helps keep their thoughts off of Daisy.” She grinned at Thomas. “Are you winning?”

“I'm not sure. Lottie's pretty good.”

“Then you best keep a sharp eye on the board.” She winked at Lottie and then turned to Mr. Bridgeport. “I'm going over to the hospital. I'll encourage Mrs. Bridgeport to come back here for the night.”

“Thank you, Callie.”

Callie arrived at Daisy's room a short time later, and after only a few minutes, the doctor and a nurse appeared. He checked Daisy and then urged them to return to the hotel for the night. “There is nothing you can do for her. The best thing is to let her rest—and you need to do the same.”

“Her fever has returned, and she hasn't wakened during the past several hours. I think she's taking a turn for the worse.” Mrs. Bridgeport wrung her handkerchief between her hands.

“I mentioned yesterday that you can expect to see some of these fluctuations,” the doctor replied. “We had hoped she might have a quick recovery, but that doesn't often occur. I do think you should both return to the hotel for the night. Your prayers will do the most good right now.” He waited and
when neither of them moved, he glanced at the nurse. “Why don't you stay here with Daisy while I walk Mrs. Bridgeport and Miss Deboyer to the stairs.”

“Yes, of course, Doctor.” The nurse pulled a chair near the bed and sat down.

Mrs. Bridgeport and Callie followed the doctor. “Do get some rest, ladies. We'll see you in the morning.” He turned and headed back down the hall.

Halfway down the stairs, Callie stopped. “I forgot my purse in Daisy's room. Why don't you go ahead, Mrs. Bridgeport, and wait for me in the lobby. There are chairs down there. I won't be long.”

Callie turned and hastened up the stairs. She was about to enter Daisy's room when she heard voices inside and stopped.

“I don't think she'll make it through the night. You should check on her frequently and follow the orders I've written. If need be, you can send for me.”

Callie gasped and, with her hand still covering her mouth, stepped into the room and circled the partition.

The doctor caught sight of her and sighed. “Those comments weren't meant for your ears, Miss Deboyer.”

Callie glared at the doctor. He seemed as distant and cold as the stark hospital room. “You lied to her mother. How could you do such a thing? It's cruel and it's wrong. If these are to be Daisy's last hours, Mrs. Bridgeport will want to be with her. To tell her to go back and rest when you know her child might not live until morning is beyond belief to me. What kind of man are you?”

He took Callie's arm and led her across the room. “I am a doctor who cares about his patients and also cares about the families of those patients. If Daisy's condition continues to
worsen—as I expect it will—then she will likely suffer terrible convulsions and bear extreme pain in the coming hours. If her parents are here, those images will be burned into their memories for a very long time, perhaps forever. How do you think they would prefer to remember her, Miss Deboyer? As they've last seen her today, or in a raging convulsion?”

“I doubt they would want to see her suffer, but I can't speak for them. And I can't lie to them.”

“I'm not asking you to lie, but you need not tell. Her mother won't question you any further. She's already spoken to me and won't expect another report from you.” He frowned. “Why are you back here, anyway?”

“I forgot my purse.”

He glanced at the windowsill, picked up her purse, and handed it to her. “I think you should keep this information to yourself.”

Callie stared at Daisy's bright red cheeks. Such a sweet and innocent child. Callie couldn't imagine watching the little girl suffer any more than she had already. She was certain Mrs. Bridgeport would come back upstairs if she told her what was expected during the night. And the sights and sounds would likely be more than Daisy's mother could bear. Yet hadn't she condemned Wesley for withholding the truth about himself? She recalled the conversation she'd had with Mrs. Bridgeport only a night ago. Callie had railed against Wes's behavior, yet now she was being asked to do the same thing. Worse yet, she was now considering that it might be the right thing to do.

Fighting back tears, she turned to the doctor. “I won't tell Mrs. Bridgeport.”

“Good. I think that's the right thing to do. Now, come along, and I'll—”

Callie held up her hand. “You didn't let me finish. I won't tell Daisy's mother, but I will tell Mr. Bridgeport. I'll leave it to him to make the final decision.”

After placing a kiss on Daisy's warm cheek, she hurried from the room. Stopping at the top of the stairs, she dabbed away her tears, straightened her shoulders, and forced a smile.