Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (17 page)

They waited longer than expected for Penny, Jannis, and Nick to join them for lunch at the rustic lodge. Beth spent the time doodling an image of the lighthouse on the back of a brochure. Julie smiled quite graciously as she looked over the drawing, yet she made no comment.

When at last the others arrived, Beth noted that Nick was
well groomed and wearing a dress jacket and tie. She wasn't certain if this was simply for Mother's sake, but she acknowledged it was the right decision if he wished to make a good impression.

“Most pleased to meet you, Mrs. Thatcher. I'm Nickolas Petrakis.” He reached out to shake Mother's hand. “Thank you so much for the invitation. I always appreciate a good meal, particularly with such excellent company.” His smile was broad and charismatic.

“I'm pleased to meet you too. We're glad you were able to come.” Mother motioned to the chairs near her own, and the trio filed into the places she designated. Nick was next to her on the left. “I hope you've been enjoying your travels so far.”

“Oh, yes. It's been very exciting. And I've met some of the nicest people.” He smiled at Julie, who gave a little giggle in response.

“I've been told that you young ladies are from New York state.” Mother turned to the sisters just beyond Nick.

“Yes, ma'am,” Jannis answered politely, much more subdued than was usual. “We're from Buffalo. In New York.”

Mother nodded. “How is it you've come to be traveling on your own?”

Penny drew herself up just a little. “We were supposed to have our aunt along—Aunt Mary—but then . . . then she wasn't able. So we came anyway, since we didn't want to miss out on all this fun . . . on account of our poor auntie,” she finished in a rush.

Julie inserted, “She broke her leg. The doctor wouldn't let her come.”

“Nor should he,” Mother agreed. “There's been much walking. Even with crutches it would have set her back weeks in her recovery, I'm sure.”

“Have you heard from your aunt?” Mother continued, to Beth's dismay.
Why is Mother pressing them like this
?

“Yes, ma'am. She's on the mend now, just fine.”

“I'm glad to hear it. I suppose you received a letter from her at one of our stops?”

The two girls quickly answered in unison, but they named two different ports. They looked at each other and giggled nervously. “Actually, it was Halifax,” Penny affirmed. “Jannis is just confused. She's so busy with everything that . . .”

But Mother had already turned back to Nick. “From where do you hail, Mr. Petrakis?”

“Oh, I'm from a little town near Philadelphia. And I haven't been too far from home before this. So it's been great to get out and see the sights a little.”

“Julie tells me that you attended university.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He laid his napkin over his lap as the waiter set stemmed glasses of cold water and linen-lined baskets of rolls around the table. He smiled with ease. It appeared he wasn't bothered by Mother's questions in the least. Beth felt empathy for him, remembering her own session earlier.
I wish it were Jarrick facing
off with Mother
right now.

“I studied economics for a while,” he said, repeating what he'd told Beth, “but I'm afraid I didn't graduate. I do plan to get some good use out of my years there, though. I'm planning to break into the business world. With a friend.”

Julie inserted herself again. “I told him, Mother, that he should talk to Father, who could be very helpful, I'm sure, in getting Nick started in business.”

Mother smiled politely.

Overall, it appeared Nick passed the luncheon test with Mother. Even Beth was impressed by his manners and straightforward answers. She wasn't so sure about Mother's view of
the sisters. But Julie grinned like a Cheshire cat throughout, maintaining a good amount of discretion despite an interruption or two. As they rose to leave the restaurant, Monsieur Laurent invited the three guests to share the walking trails.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Nick said, shaking his head regretfully. “I have to catch up to some of the guys. We planned on going as a group.”

“Us too.” Jannis nodded quickly. “We've already made other plans. But it's so kind of you to invite us along.”

Julie made no effort to hide her disappointment, but she followed Beth to the waiting car. “Wasn't he just as charming as any man we've ever met?” Julie said in a loud whisper as they climbed in.

“He was very polite—almost too much so.”

“Whatever do you mean, Bethie?”

Beth found it difficult to put her feelings into words, ones that Julie might receive. “He didn't seem
real
, darling. It seemed like it was all for show.”

She watched Julie's face darken into a scowl. “We all do that! We're always putting on our best manners at important times. You can't hold that against him. You just don't understand.” Julie folded her arms and stared stiffly ahead.

Beth couldn't help but regret her comments.
It's probably just my own disappointment
about the talk with Mother that made me react negatively
to Nick. It's unfair and unkind to burden Julie
with my own doubts and concerns.
She determined to make things right with her sister as quickly as possible.

The scenery in Cape Breton was everything Monsieur Laurent had promised. Their touring car skimmed along through the hills toward Bras d'Or Lake, and he told them about some well-known inventors from the region. Beth was fascinated to learn that Guglielmo Marconi had sent the first radio signal
from the rocky shores of Maritime Canada all the way to England—drawing the Old World almost miraculously closer to the New. Also, Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone and much more, had chosen to build his estate on the shores of this lake. Monsieur claimed the beautiful region reminded Mr. Bell of his ancestral home in Scotland.

And seeing it in person, Beth felt she could fully understand Bell's choice. The hike down toward the shore was just the therapy she needed. The rich smell of earth and evergreens, the sun on her shoulders, and the sound of the wind across the broad span of glittering water—all of it served as a balm for her troubled spirit.

She had been mentally writing and rewriting a letter to Jarrick, asking all the questions Mother had posed. Then she had imagined his responses—first one way, then another—which she knew was fruitless and silly. But the most troubling thought of all, how would she feel if some of his answers were not what she wanted to hear? Would her feelings about him change?

At last, resting on a cushion of moss stretched across a fallen log, she gazed out across the pebbled beach and prayed to release all the worrying questions. “Father God, I think I
can
trust Jarrick. I think I
do
know him well enough for that. But even if he proves to be someone other than the one I have come to . . . to appreciate and value, You are my strong defense, and I know You will set a hedge around my emotions, my desires. Please help me adjust my vision of my life, my future, to match Yours—Your will always coming first, not my own. Thank You, Father.” It was almost as if she could see her troubled thoughts sweeping away from her in the wind, carried across the lake into the hills beyond.

Footsteps crunched behind her, and she turned quickly,
shocked to see Mother picking her way carefully over the uneven stones. Beth stood and hurried to her, hand held out to take her arm. “Mother! I thought you were walking with the others along the beach.”

“I was, darling. But you seemed so alone. I wondered if there was something troubling you. Is there, Beth?”

Yes, your questions about Jarrick have been troubling
me—your doubts about him.
“I've just been praying about . . . about everything. What we talked about this morning concerning Jarrick.” But before Mother could respond, Beth added, “Tell me about your courtship, Mother. Please. I know you and Father met at church, but I'm sure there's much more to the story than I've heard before.”

Brushing at a spot on the log and spreading out a handkerchief, Mother lowered herself gently, sitting rather stiffly on the unfamiliar bench. Beth joined her. “You don't want to hear about that,” Mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It seems a different lifetime now, it was so long ago.”

“Oh, but I do. I truly do.”

For a moment she wondered if Mother would answer. She was shaking her head and trying to push stray strands of hair back into place under her hat. But at last she said quietly, “We were very young—or rather, from my perspective now, we seem to have been awfully young. In truth, I was almost an old maid by then, all of twenty-four.”

“Did you know immediately that he was
the one
?” Beth asked.

“The one? Such a notion!” her mother said with a chuckle. “He was a sensible choice, or so I felt then. My parents, however, were not entirely convinced. He hadn't proven himself yet, had not risen much above his rather meager beginnings. But he was clever, and such a good listener. And he remem
bered things—like your grandmama's favorite candy, and the kind of fishing lures your grandpapa liked best. He was a true gentleman by nature, and in his own quiet way he won them over.”

“What sorts of things did you do together . . . before you were married?”

“Oh, my darling, we weren't
ever
allowed to be alone! It wasn't at all proper in our social order. We could sit in the parlor together so long as the doors remained wide open”—she swatted away a fly—“and my father was near at hand. And we might walk together along the main road of town with at least one of my brothers trailing behind, though never too many steps away.”

Beth shook her head and laughed aloud. “They didn't trust
him
? We're talking about
Father
!”

Mother joined in the laughter. But she had turned serious again when she said, “Trust must be earned, and that's still true today, darling. Expecting anything less was considered poor parenting, like letting a fox in among the chickens, so to speak. So, you see, I'm not as strict as your grandparents were. That's something, isn't it?”

Beth only nodded, and they sat in silence as the wind whispered around them. At last her mother spoke again. “I haven't thought of that time for so many years. About the way we were then—your father and me. Margret came along in our second year of marriage, and then all my attention seemed to be focused on her. Father was gone much of the time, in the earliest days when he was working hard to build the business. I had no one with whom to share my days and my nights. I was happy, of course, but I was rather lonely too—setting up a household, without any experience hiring a staff, raising a child, expecting a second . . . who turned out to be you.”

She reached for Beth's hand. “You might not think so now, but I do understand what it is to be married to an adventurer, to in effect manage a home alone. I wouldn't choose that for you if it were up to me. But you must make up your own mind. I can only guide you with advice in the way I see things.”

“I appreciate that, Mother. I do understand that you want what's best for me. I do.”

Your
will, Father God
, Beth prayed silently as they sat together.
Neither Mother's nor my own. Your will alone
.

W
ITH
NO
FURTHER
PROMPTING
from Beth, Julie produced three finished paintings during a quiet day at sea. The fjord with whales breaching, a small fishing village tucked among the trees with a row of bobbing boats tied to the pier, and the intricate ocean-carved shoreline that Beth had sketched out herself. She was thrilled with each, amazed that her sister had captured not just the correct shapes and colors but the
feel
of each locale. And even with the lovely details, Beth found that she most appreciated the water—the many shades of blues and greens in the waves, the sense of movement—as though she could hear the roar and smell the salty spray. She was mesmerized.

“They're magnificent!” Margret complimented their sister. “How did you ever . . . ? That's just how it looked!”

Julie smiled and accepted their laudatory comments before dashing off to be with her friends, obviously enjoying the seagoing portions of their travels over the ports of call. Beth tried not to wonder if her sister preferred the new friends to her family, and hoped it was simply the appealing pace of activities on board.

They were set up in the familiar deck area, where JW spread out his favorite toys, now tiny boats and a tub of water. He splashed happily next to Mother's chair, sometimes bringing a dripping toy to share with “Annie Bet.” Margret left to rest below. They lapsed once more into the comfortable rhythm of life at sea.

“Mother, I believe I'll go for a short walk.”

“Of course, darling. Be sure to take your hat. Do you know when you'll be back?”

“I won't be long,” Beth promised.

The seed of an idea had been forming. She had tried to set it aside as absurd, but it had remained.
Why not send
another telegram to Jarrick? I could suggest a time for
us to speak again.

Beth walked to the ship's office once more, the click of her heels echoing in the corridor as she neared her destination. As she reached for the door handle, she hesitated, then moved on past toward the deck beyond. She leaned against the rail and gathered her thoughts.
What would I say—exactly? Who
might also read it? Should I send it to the
RCMP post in Lethbridge, or could it be sent to
Jarrick personally?

A strong ocean breeze pulled at her hair, with more strands coming loose by the minute. Beth knew if she stayed much longer, she would look even more outlandish than she felt.

Resolutely, she stepped inside and ran her hands over the unruly locks. Drawing back her shoulders, she moved toward the office. “I'd like a form to send a telegram, please.”

The young man seated on the other side of the desk slid a sheet of paper across to her. “Fill this out exactly as you intend it to be read. We charge per letter, so you'll want to be as brief as possible.”

“Yes, thank you.” Beth assured him, “I've sent one before.”

Stepping to the other end of the counter, Beth hunched
forward around her project.
What would Mother say if she
knew? And worse, Mrs. Montclair would scold her being so
forward!
Beth steeled herself against the mental lectures.
It'
s Jarrick.
He won't mind. He will understand; he
will want to know.

Carefully she wrote the words in pencil, erasing only once or twice to edit it all.

Questions from Mother—STOP—need to talk—STOP—best time for call Halifax Sunday PM—STOP—Barthum House—STOP.

Beth set the pencil on the counter beside the form. She could think of no other way to indicate what she wanted him to know. She fervently hoped that anyone other than Jarrick who might see the telegram would have so little information, they would make no assumptions from it.

She slid the form back to the man behind the desk. He scanned it and smiled. “Spell the name again for me, miss.”

“J-A-C-K T-H-O-R-N-T-O-N,” she answered, remembering in time that no one else referred to him as Jarrick.

“And you want it sent to the RCMP post in Blairmore, Alberta?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Uh-huh.” He smiled again but made no further comment.

Beth counted out the money. It was more than she had expected, since Monsieur Laurent had instructed her to charge the previous telegram to her room.

Hurrying back through the narrow corridor, Beth hoped she had done the proper thing. The expression on the young man's face had etched itself in her mind. It seemed as if he had seen right through what she had hoped was the unspecified nature of her message.