To Love and Honor (13 page)

 

Violet made an appointment with Pastor Tom, and he was waiting for them when Roger and Violet arrived at four o'clock. She carried the documents they had found in her mother's possessions that pertained to
What's Your Prison?
and the copy he had loaned her.

She couldn't conceal the elation in her voice, when she said, “Pastor, did you know that the author of this book you have been quoting for the past several weeks wrote under a pseudonym?”

“No, I had never heard of Richard Cameron until I found this book on the bestsellers shelf at the local bookstore.”

“One of the few things my mother brought with her from prison was a small metal box. I found these papers in that box last night.”

She handed Roger the letter her mother had left for her and extended the contract for
What's Your Prison?
to Pastor Tom. “After you've read them, switch papers. I wanted to share this good news with my two best friends at the same time.”

Roger read the letter and looked at Violet with glistening eyes. When he saw the contents of the contract, he knelt by her chair, lifted her hand and kissed it. “How wonderful for you, my dear! This has brought a happy ending to a situation that has caused you a lot of grief. You see, God is still faithful. He has vindi
cated the sacrifice you made to care for your mother, and has proven her selfless love for you.”

“Yes, I have such a sense of relief. I have a mother that I can be proud of—one who triumphed over tremendous odds and in doing so, brought help to other troubled souls. It's a satisfying end to a much-troubled life.”

“But I believe Linda had found her peace,” Pastor Tom said. “It's obvious from the words of this letter. And I've read the book several times—writing that book served as a catharsis for her wounded spirit.”

“I spoke with her attorney this morning, and he said that she had been writing the book over a period of several years, and only at his insistence did she submit it for publication.”

“With your permission, Violet,” Pastor Tom said, “I would like to contact the local paper and ask them to insert a feature about this book. I am aware that many people in town have shunned you after they found out that your mother was a convict. It might change their views if they learn that Linda was the author of this acclaimed book.”

“It doesn't matter about me. At first I was very distressed to be mistreated by my peers, but I've gotten over it. I would like to honor my mother's name, however.” Knowing that any decision she made from now would involve Roger, she said to him, “What do you think about the pastor's suggestion?”

He was sitting on the floor at her feet, still holding her hand, and Violet wondered if the pastor had noted the change in their relationship. “Why don't you think about it for a while? She's waited two years for recognition—why not a few more days? Also, you should
consider how Linda would feel about the publicity. She was a very private person.”

“Yes, I realize that publishing this information would be for
me.
She's in a place where nothing will ever distress her again.”

 

When Roger stopped the truck in front of her home, he said, “When can I see you? We need to talk.”

“Tomorrow night? I go back to school on Monday, and I'll be working late each night trying to make up for the week I've been gone.”

“I'm on night patrol next week, too. Tomorrow will be fine. Any choice of where we'll go?”

Violet gazed steadily into his eyes, hoping to convey her deep love for him. “As long as I'm with you, I don't care where we are. I love you.”

His hand tightened on her shoulder. “The next time you say that, don't do it on Main Street in broad daylight.”

“I would prefer more privacy myself.”

“How about going to the farm for steaks? I have a gas grill on the back porch.”

“Sounds good. I'll bring dessert.”

All the next day, Violet thought about the coming evening with Roger, considering the pending change in their relationship. She would miss his friendship, but she trembled at the hint of how much more she would be gaining.

It was a beautiful evening to be out in the country and Violet felt the relaxing effects of the setting and Roger's company. They had ignored any serious talk while they prepared the meal, ate it and tidied up the kitchen. They pushed the two lounge chairs close to the fire, which burned slowly, hot coals glowing be
neath the split oak logs Roger had placed on the fire. Violet sat in one of the chairs, with Roger on the floor beside her, his shoes off, long legs stretched out toward the warmth of the fire, an arm resting on her knees. Violet ran her hands caressingly through his short hair, and once she leaned forward and kissed the gray streaks showing vividly over his ears. For a long time, they were content to be together, touching; speech wasn't necessary.
Was this serenity and trust a preview of what their future might become?

Eventually, Roger gently pulled Violet beside him on the braided rug, and they sat with their backs against the chair, his arm around her, and her head on his shoulder. Strange, how well her head fit into the curve of his neck! A light still burned in the kitchen, but where they sat, only the glowing coals provided any illumination.

“Yesterday,” Roger said softly, “you told me something—I would like to hear it again.”

“I love you, Roger.”

“Yeah, I thought that's what you said.” He turned toward her, putting both arms around her, nestling her close. It didn't seem at all strange for Violet to feel safe with him. She knew that no matter how much he desired her, Roger would never step across the line of moral decency—so when he kissed her she responded with an achingly sweet tenderness that matched his own.

“Obviously, we're in love,” Roger said, and his voice trembled slightly, “so what are we going to do about it?”

“Yes, I love you,” she said breathlessly. “I suppose I always have, and while this new emotion is the
most exciting thing I've ever known, I'm still going to miss being friends.”

“My love will mean a lot more than mere friendship, but no man should marry a woman who isn't his friend. We'll always be friends—romantic love often wanes as couples grow older, friendship never does. And I guess I'm assuming that you will marry me.”

With a grin, Violet said, “I might, if I were asked.”

“I can't very well get down on my knees. I'm already sitting on the floor. But I do want to marry you, Violet. I've been thinking about it for a long time.”

“And I've only been thinking about it for a week, but it seems so right, Roger, that I don't really have to deliberate. I want to marry you, yet it isn't so simple. I'm alone, so that doesn't pose a problem.”

With a sigh, he said, “And I have two children to complicate our decision. How can I correlate my love and responsibility for them with my love for you? I've always thought that I wouldn't take a stepmother in while my children were still at home.”

“That might be a long time to wait.”

“I know, and I don't want to wait much longer. Jason is planning to backpack over Europe this summer, and when he returns, he will probably be going to the university. He won't be home much anymore, but Misty is only sixteen. She won't go to college for two years.”

“And while I don't feel any hesitancy about the difference in our ages…”

“Fourteen years,” Roger groaned. “Don't think I haven't thought of it.”

“It does bother me,” Violet continued, “that I'm not much older than your children.”

“The age difference bothers me, too, especially
when I think about having more children. You should have the privilege of having a child of your own, and I want to father your child, but I do have some reservations. At an age when I might become a grandfather, I'll be changing diapers again.”

“I've had good rapport with Jason and Misty in the classroom, but from teacher to stepmother is a vast step. I wonder what they will think about it?”

“There's only one way to know—ask them. With your permission, I intend to do that. If they aren't receptive to the idea, that doesn't mean I won't marry you, but it will complicate the situation. They're at home tonight—if you're willing, let's go and talk to them.”

“So soon,” Violet gasped. “I'll be nervous.”

“Not as nervous as you'll be if you have several days to think about it.”

Violet agreed hesitantly, and Roger said, “Now, what was that you told me earlier tonight? I may have forgotten.”

She kissed her fingers and brushed them slowly across his lips. “I love you. How often do you have to hear it?”

“Oh, eventually, two or three times a day will suffice.” He kissed her again, and she left his arms reluctantly. She wasn't looking forward to an interview with his children. It was much more pleasant to stay safely in his arms.

R
oger had built the ranch-style brick home soon after he had married. A two-car garage was attached to the house, and a row of evergreen hedges bordered the front of the building. Violet had never been to Roger's house, and her heart pounded unmercifully as they walked up the front steps; she was sustained only by Roger's strong grip on her hand. But she could sense his nervous tension as her side brushed against his—his body was as rigid as a stretched bow ready to release an arrow.

“Lord, help us,” Roger prayed as he opened the door and led her into the hallway. They advanced a few feet into the living room where Jason and Misty were watching television. Jason was sprawled on the couch, Misty curled up in an upholstered chair. On the table between them was a big bowl of popcorn and a bottle of cola. The abrupt entrance of their father and Violet must have startled Misty and Jason for they looked inquiringly at the adults. When a few minutes
passed and no one said anything, Jason muted the sound of the football game.

“Is something wrong?” Jason finally asked.

Roger cleared his throat, and struggling to speak, finally blurted out, “We want to get married.”

Jason emitted a low, throaty laugh that sounded like his father's. “Well, get married. Who's to stop you? You're both old enough. Am I to understand you're asking our permission?”

Having gained some control, Roger tugged on Violet's hand and led her to another couch opposite the one where Jason lounged.

“We're not exactly asking your permission,” Roger said slowly, “but we do think you deserve some consideration in the matter.”

“You have my blessing,” Jason said. “Misty?”

Misty sipped the cola she held. “I don't know,” she said slowly. “I've always expected you to marry again, and I've worried a little about your being alone when Jason and I leave home. I suppose I just wasn't ready for it yet, but I'll get used to the idea—it's just a surprise.”

“It came as a surprise to me, too,” Violet said softly, speaking for the first time since their entrance.

With a slight grin, Misty said, “Oh, I'm not surprised that he asked
you
—I've known for a long time that you were the one he wanted.”

“You have? Why am I the only one who didn't know it?”

“What's the matter with you, Dad?” Jason said as he sat upright on the couch. “I thought you could manage your romances better than that, or I would have advised you. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.'”

Roger's face flushed. “Cut it out, Jason. You're not making this easy for me.”

“When are you expecting to get married?” Jason asked.

“In a year,” Violet said, just as Roger said, “Six months.”

Jason laughed uproariously. “I think you two had better get your act together and then come back and talk to us.” He walked over to his father and placed a hand on his shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Decide what
you
want to do before you bring us into it. Rest assured that we'll give you all the advice you need.”

Roger groaned and rolled his eyes upward. He stood and lifted Violet to a position beside him. To Misty, he said, “I take it, then, that you don't have any serious objections.”

“No,” she said slowly. “When Miss Conley is my teacher, I would feel funny about having her as a mother, but if you aren't married for six months
or
a year—” she smiled slightly “—I wouldn't be in her class then. You deserve to be happy, Dad. I know you've been lonely all these years that you've devoted your time to Jason and me. It's your turn for happiness now.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Misty on the cheek. “I
have
been happy with just the three of us, but I love Violet, and I want her to become a part of our family.”

Misty nodded, but she wouldn't look at him. Roger patted her bowed head. “I'll take Violet home and leave the two of you to your television.”

The room was unusually quiet when they left, but Violet figured the two teenagers had plenty to say as soon as the door closed. When they entered the truck,
Violet leaned her head against the seat and exploded into laughter—uncontrollable laughter that erupted in waves of merriment.

“What's so amusing? I was scared to death.”

“That was obvious, and we certainly presented an impressive spectacle to your children. I was shaking so much that I could hardly stand up, and you looked as if you were facing a firing squad.”

“I would face death more calmly than I could confront those two kids. And, of course, Jason would choose to be facetious.”

When Violet continued to laugh, he drew her toward him, “They're good kids, though,” and Violet nodded her head against his shoulder. “That's the reason I don't want to do anything to hurt them.”

He started the truck's engine and moved down the street. “It seems we have permission to set the date. Do you really want to wait a year?” Roger asked.

“I don't want to wait a week, but that's my heart talking. My common sense says we have to enter this slowly. A week ago I hadn't considered marrying you. We have to adjust to the idea slowly and give your children time to become reconciled to our marriage. For all their seeming acquiescence, it will initiate a big change in their lives. But, surely, six months would be long enough.”

“Six months would be June 30. Would you like to be a June bride?”

“That sounds like a good idea. Schools will be closed for the summer, and Misty would no longer be my student. Let's plan on that date. The time will pass slowly, but there will be many decisions to make. For instance, will we keep my house and rent it, or sell it?”

“I realize that we do need to go slow, but the way I feel now, I want to take you over to Pastor Tom right away and have him perform an immediate ceremony to make us one.”

Violet leaned over and kissed Roger's hand where it rested on the steering wheel.

“And speaking of Pastor Tom, I've decided to let him make an announcement about Mother's book. The popularity of that publication will go a long way toward erasing the stigma of her years in prison.”

With the publication of the article, Violet felt a sense of closure over her mother's death, and she was optimistic about the future, even accepting the fact that she was going to be alone after Ruth's departure. She had never minded being by herself before, and one of the mixed blessings she looked forward to in marriage with Roger was that she would never be alone again. Already she could hardly bear to be separated from him, so that didn't trouble her much, but she did wonder how she would deal with having two children in the house. On the plus side, she remembered how she had longed for a big family during her childhood, and she realized that she would be obtaining not only a husband, but an instant family, when she and Roger married.

After the article had been published, she sensed a difference in the attitude of her acquaintances. One day she saw Mrs. Holland riding along in her chauffeured limousine, and she had graciously lifted her hand. Even Larry was making overtures to her again, and though she treated him civilly, she wondered if he thought she would fall into his arms after his desertion during her time of greatest need. Apparently no one was aware that she intended to marry Roger, for they
hadn't made public announcement of their engagement, and Misty and Jason must not have mentioned it, either. She couldn't imagine that any of her acquaintances could be unaware of the time she and Roger spent together, but no comments were made.

When the new semester started, Janie Skeen enrolled in two art classes, and the instructor reported to Violet that the girl had a natural aptitude for sketching. Janie had started attending the youth group at First Community Church, and she had made new friends there—friendships that carried over to Maitland High, where she was more accepted socially. Violet wondered frequently if Janie's father had discovered where his daughter lived.

Most of the worries that had been plaguing Violet for the past few months were dissipating and she anticipated her future with gladness. But the day before Ruth left, Violet received a disturbing letter. She had been lulled into a sense of complacency, thinking that the future held no surprises, although she should have known better. God had helped her through the trying days of her mother's illness and death, and she was looking forward to the future with much anticipation, knowing that nothing could happen now that she couldn't handle with God's help. Even after she read the letter, she wasn't as disconsolate as she had been when she had received the message about her mother's prison release, a sign of spiritual maturation on her part.

Violet found it difficult to comprehend the content of the terse message, and she handed it to Ruth who read it aloud.

“There's no doubt the letter is from your grandfather,” Ruth said with a grimace. “Always the exalted potentate giving orders to his subjects.” She tapped the message significantly. “That paints a picture of what he's like, and how he was able to railroad your mother into prison. Are you going to obey the summons?”

“Of course not,” Violet said. “Do you think I should?”

“No, although I am curious about what he wants. No doubt, he's heard of Linda's death.”

“Something just occurred to me. Why didn't the Conleys take me when my mother was sent to prison?”

“That's some of the information you can learn from William O'Brien, but with all of the trouble Linda had with the Conleys, she wouldn't have wanted you to live with them.”

When Roger came that evening to bid Ruth goodbye, Violet showed him the letter.

“He doesn't sound like a doting grandfather,” Roger said with a laugh.

“My husband and I were in Mexico during the years that Linda and Ryan were married,” Ruth said, “so I haven't met any of the Conleys. My husband
was an archeologist, and we were isolated on a dig during the time of the trial. Violet lived with Linda's attorney and his wife for a few months until we returned, and I took her into our home. Even in her letters, Linda didn't have much to say about her in-laws, but enough to indicate that Josiah Conley dominated the lives of his two sons.”

“Are you going?” Roger asked as he handed the letter back to Violet.

“I have a strange feeling about this, as if I don't have any business mixing with the Conleys. They evidently brought about my mother's downfall. I'm better off ignoring them.”

But in the end, she answered the letter, addressing it to “Mr. Conley,” for she wouldn't recognize him as her grandfather. She wrote, “If you had me investigated, then you will know that I'm employed as a public schoolteacher, and I have a busy schedule. I will have some vacation during the Easter Holidays, and if I should have occasion to be in Kansas City during that time, I will contact you.”

It was still six weeks before Easter, and Violet thought she would not have to worry about seeing her grandfather until then, and she could devote more thought to her marriage and the decisions she and Roger must make. Her ship of life was sailing smoothly again, and she didn't want the Conleys to disrupt that. Then a second jolt penetrated her horizon.

Violet was unaware that the Associated Press had picked up the article about her mother's book and subsequent death until she received a visitor late one afternoon. Ever afterward, she believed God had placed Roger in her home that day, for she needed him beside her when she first met Peter Pierce. Roger had arrived
soon after she came from school, for they wanted to assess the value of her house, and decide if any repairs should be made before they reached a decision about putting the house on the market for sale or rent. A cold March wind offset the sun's warmth as they walked around in the backyard, and Roger looked over the exterior siding. He had just descended the ladder, after checking out the roof and the guttering, when they heard a car stop in the driveway.

Violet walked around the house to check on her visitor. A black van with a New York license was parked behind her car, and a man, who looked somewhat familiar, was exiting the vehicle, a briefcase in his hand. He saw her, and with a broad smile, walked in her direction.

“Miss Conley,” he said. “Miss Violet Conley?”

Roger had joined her by that time. “Yes,” she answered.

“I'm Peter Pierce,” the stranger said, “Perhaps you've heard of me.”

No wonder he seemed familiar—her visitor was the emcee of the hit program, “Travesty of Justice,” that aired on a major network every Saturday night. Violet hadn't watched his show often, but she did remember one program that had cleared the name of a convict executed in the electric chair—a few years too late someone else had confessed to the crime.

“Yes, I've heard of you.”

He presented a card for identification, but none was really needed, for his face was well-known to television viewers. Pierce looked questioningly at Roger, and Violet said, “This is my fiancé, Roger Gibson.”

Pierce shook hands with Roger. “I'd like to talk
with you, Miss Conley, if you can spare a half hour of your time.”

“I suppose so.” Violet glanced at Roger.

“I suppose we can speak with him Violet,” Roger said.

She opened the door and the two men followed her into the kitchen. “May I offer you a soft drink, Mr. Pierce?”

“That would be fine.”

“Let's sit here at the dining table, then. The bright sun is making this alcove a pleasant spot right now.”