A Path Toward Love (20 page)

I have letters from Charles expressing his love for me and acknowledging the paternity of my child, whom we named Zeke. I'm enclosing one of the notes so you'll see for yourself I'm telling the truth. You'll recognize his handwriting, I'm sure. I'd like to settle this with you in a civilized way, so please write back at the below address as soon as possible.

Sincerely,
Harriet Roles

Andrew glanced at the next sheet of paper penned in a bold, masculine writing. Beginning with “My dearest Harriet,” it was signed “Your loving Charles.”
Our little boy
stood out on the paper. Anger flared in Andrew's chest as he scanned the note. He glanced at Katherine. As he expected, her face glowed red with humiliation as she sat clutching her hands on her lap.

“I'm so sorry, Katherine. This must be a terrible blow, her coming after you for anything. Not after . . .”

She shook her head without glancing up. “I should have known I couldn't escape the past.”

“If you'd like, I can contact a friend who's an investigator in the City. He can check on Harriet Roles.” Andrew fought the urge to offer anything but formal empathy. “Do you believe what she says is true? About the child being Charles's, as well as her present circumstances?”

“Yes, I'm sure it's all true. He mentioned their son in another letter too. And it is Charles's handwriting.” Her head still bowed, she rose and paced the length of the bookshelves. “You told me he was a cad and I should run from him as fast as I could. But I didn't believe you. I loved him so much I couldn't see the truth, even though it was staring me right in the face. I should've listened to you, Andrew, but I wanted Charles so badly. I—I adored him. But I was completely mistaken about his character.”

Andrew stepped toward her. “I'll help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose Charles didn't provide for the boy in his will.”

“No, of course not.” Katherine's voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. “He never could see anything through to completion in any part of his life.” She stopped and leaned back against a bookcase, as if her spirit had drained out of her. For a moment she seemed to wobble and he thought she might collapse. But instead, she gripped the back of a nearby chair and steadied herself.

Andrew drew closer. “Maybe he didn't want you to find out about the affair. Maybe he hoped to spare your feelings.” Andrew didn't believe a word he said, but possibly Katherine would.

She snorted, her anger spurting to the surface. “If he hadn't died, he would have left me, gone to live with Harriet and the boy. He probably assumed he had time enough to get his affairs—
all
his affairs—in order. And then he didn't.”

She looked so stricken that he searched for words to lessen her pain, but all that came to mind were platitudes so trite they'd be far worse than sympathetic silence.

“I need some air. I'm going for a walk. Would you come with me?” she asked, already headed for the hallway.

“I'll be glad to.” He glanced around, making sure none of the other Wainwrights were around, and then followed her down the paneled hallway and out the side door.

The clouds had blown away and the sky had brightened to deep blue. They strode around the grounds and then across the gently sloping lawn toward the bridge that led to a gazebo jutting into the glistening lake. Katherine sat down on a bench beneath the branches of a red maple and stared out at the lake. Andrew unbuttoned his coat and then dropped down to the bench beside her, unsure of what to say.

Katherine buried her head in her hands. When she looked up, she tried gamely to keep her emotions under control. “I didn't expect Harriet would ask for money. She must be very worried.” Glancing at the blue water lapping the shore, Katherine bit her trembling lower lip. “I don't feel a personal responsibility for Charles's child, but as a Christian, I won't let them starve. I can't blame a child for the sins of his parents.”

A dragonfly flitted by. She looked out over the glassy lake smoothed by the still air, her lips compressed as she turned his way. “But Harriet stole my husband, and I can't forget that.” She breathed deeply, obviously trying to stave off her tears.

He couldn't deny it or even downplay Charles's despicable behavior. What could he say to ease the raw pain in her voice? She pitied Harriet and her son but hated the woman's adultery.

Pausing for what seemed like hours, she finally looked up at him. “During the first year of our marriage, Charles and I were happy. But then for some reason I never understood, he didn't want me anymore. When his father died, he obviously went back to her. He loved her, not me. Maybe he never loved me, not really.”

Fury swelled in Andrew's chest. He could only imagine the hurt she must feel. But if she didn't forgive Harriet and Charles, the pain might linger for years.

“I wanted to be wrong about him, you know,” he said at last. “I always hoped you'd live happily ever after.”

At least after she'd eloped. Before then he'd prayed she'd see Charles for the scoundrel he was. But the Lord had failed to answer his prayer, at least in the way he expected. How could a kind, loving God let Katherine make such a horrible mistake? He still didn't know the reason, but he'd learned to live with unanswered questions. It was part of trusting the Lord.

Katherine sighed. “I was so sure Charles loved me. I wouldn't listen to anyone who said otherwise. But apparently, I am to continue to pay a heavy price for my foolishness.” She grimaced. “Andrew, would you write to Harriet for me? I couldn't bear to contact her myself.”

“Yes, of course. As I've said, I have a friend in New York, Marston Voyles, who can track down information about Harriet Roles, just to make sure everything she claims is actually true. Don't contact her until we hear from Marston.”

“All right. If you think that's the wisest course of action. Thank you.”

Andrew fought off the desire to touch her. “Are you going to talk to your parents about Charles's affair? Your mother might understand why you're so reluctant to rush into another marriage if you shared it with them. And perhaps she'd let you alone, at least for the time being.”

He waited while she apparently mulled over his suggestion.

Her words rushed out. “I already told both my parents that I was mistaken about Charles, and I don't want them to have to bear this burden too. Besides, Mama still thinks I lack good judgment, and I should rely upon her to make any future choices; this would only strengthen her resolve to see me married off as soon as possible.”

He fought a sardonic grin. Katherine's judgment wasn't so bad; she definitely understood her mother.

“Is she truly pressuring you to marry again?” He could scarcely breathe in the warm, stifling air.

Katherine gazed deep into his eyes and for a long moment he knew his heart had stopped beating. Her calm voice prickled the hairs on his arm. “She says she's not trying to rush me. But unless I want Papa to call my loan on the groves, I must do as she asks during my time here. And that means keeping company with Randy.”

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. “If she insists, will you marry him?” He had to know the answer, no matter how awful.

Katherine shook her head. “My plan is to stay a widow, despite Mama's badgering.”

He could see that she and Randy made a lukewarm match at best. But would she also reject a man she truly loved because she feared another failure? Her defenses were too strong for love to crack open her heart. Poor Katherine was sentencing herself to a lonely life she might regret someday.

He folded her small hands into his own and was pleased when she didn't pull them away. “Katherine, hear me out. I think you're making a terrible mistake shutting yourself off from genuine love. You'll get through this if you open yourself to what the Lord has in store for you. You're a warm, caring woman. Don't settle for the appearance of love when you can have the real thing.” Blood rushed to his face. He hadn't meant to divulge his feelings. Yet he couldn't stay silent.

She shot him a searching look. Then, clearly panicked, her eyes pleaded for understanding. “Please, Andrew, it's all too much. Let's not speak of this again.”

He drew out a frustrated sigh. “All right, as you wish.”

“I'm sorry, Andrew. I need your friendship most of all. Will you kindly pray for me?”

“Of course I will.” A lump the size of a rock wedged in his throat. Pray for her? That was easy. He'd do anything she asked. The problem was that she seemed unready to do the one thing he needed from her—love him in return.

Chapter Twelve

S
tartled, she stood, and Andrew rose with her. It was as she feared; Andrew had developed true feelings for her, beyond friendship. Much as she cherished him as a friend—her dearest friend—she couldn't offer him love, at least not the kind he apparently wanted.

In Andrew's eyes she found genuine passion, unlike the selfish lust she'd often seen in Charles's face. In Andrew she saw real affection and kindness. No half-curled, mocking lips. No anger sizzling just beneath the surface. But acknowledging the stark differences between them terrified her.

She'd never love anyone again, even a man as thoughtful and deserving as Andrew. No matter how much the romantic yearnings still smoldering deep inside threatened to flare up. No matter how much she desired him now. She shouldn't indulge herself by offering a kiss, even a platonic one. Her heart, rubbed raw from Charles's treachery, would never completely heal. No one else should suffer because of it. Harriet's emergence was merely the latest rap of the judge's gavel, wasn't it? She'd made her decision long ago. And she'd need to learn to live with the consequences.

Dear Lord, don't let me do this to Andrew. He deserves better. Give me strength to resist
.

Charles had deprived her of love for so long, she craved heartfelt intimacy. But she shouldn't use Andrew's interest for her own selfish benefit.
This isn't fair to him; this is wrong
. Numbly, she stepped back from him and took a deep breath. Her heart continued to slam against her ribs. Years had passed since she'd experienced such emotion.

“I should go, Andrew,” she whispered, glancing up at him. “I needed you . . . and you were there for me. You're a dear friend.”

His smile slipped at the word
friend
. Her heart ached for him. He didn't want friendship anymore, and who could blame him? He wasn't a flirtatious boy enjoying the antics of a precocious schoolgirl.

He was a grown man falling in love. Unfortunately, with a woman left with little more than a shriveled heart. Andrew deserved love in his life. A kind, generous, wide love. And that just wasn't something she could offer.

Andrew excused himself and headed across the lawn. He shouldn't have pressed her, especially at such a vulnerable moment. He couldn't berate himself. What was done was done. Yet from now on he'd behave properly and not endanger their friendship—or his career—any further. That would please the Wainwrights and his Aunt Georgia. And Randy, of course.

Andrew sighed. He hoped Katherine wouldn't feel awkward about this, or even worse, avoid him. He returned to his bedroom, still reeling, and wrote a short letter to Marston Voyles. Marston had opened his detective agency a few years before and sent notices to his classmates advertising his services. Andrew thought it odd a fellow graduate of Columbia from a prominent family would settle on police type work. But Marston had laughed when Andrew mentioned his surprise.