At Every Turn (20 page)

 27 

I
drove back up our lane, past the garden, to the garage, doubting the breakfast dishes had even been washed and put away yet. Lawrence would come for supper tonight. We would approach Father together and reveal Lawrence as the mystery driver. I promised myself again that after the money left town in Mr. McConnell’s pocket, I’d spill the truth to Father.

I glanced up at Grandmother’s window as I killed the engine. The curtain swayed, but from a slight breeze or someone’s hand I couldn’t be sure. I climbed from the Packard, but before I reached the stand of trees guarding the garage, Webster’s familiar whistle drifted from far away.

With a quick change of direction, I reached the corner of the house and peered up the road. A jaunty figure in overalls strode closer. Had I whizzed past him without noticing? It again struck me as odd that a mechanic by trade wouldn’t motor to work. But every time I’d mentioned it, Webster’s lips shut tight. Or he changed the subject.

Hands on my hips, I tapped my foot as I waited. He turned in at the gate, walked up the drive. I crossed my arms, raised my eyebrows, and decided to try again. “Remind me why my father’s crackerjack mechanic doesn’t have a motorcar of his own?”

Webster grinned as he pulled open one of the garage doors. I followed him inside, but he didn’t offer any answer, just gathered tools and an oil can before sauntering to the other side of the garage and opening the racing car’s hood to expose the engine. His whistle resumed.

I charged across the garage. “Don’t ignore me, Webster Little. I’ll—I’ll—”

The whistling stopped. Languid eyes met mine. My fists clenched.

He leaned against the car, his palms brushing the sides of his trousers. “Why does it matter so much?”

“Because I—” I considered my words. Only Webster knew the location of my money—unless Lawrence had indeed spied the hiding place that day. But if he had, wouldn’t he have mentioned it to me by now?

Suddenly I feared I’d been too trusting. “I know Father pays you well, especially now that we are racing. So I just . . . wondered.”

He shrugged, returned to his work. “Owning an automobile isn’t important to me right now. I have other things to spend my money on.”

“Like what?” Not a car. Or clothing. Or a home—Lucinda had mentioned he lived in a boarding house with several of Father’s employees. Did he spend all his extra money on anonymous gifts? Was his mother ill? Did he spend evenings surreptitiously drinking or gambling?

Please, God, let him have some worthy cause.

“There are some things a man likes to keep private.”

“Even from his friends?”

“Yes, even from them.”

Why didn’t he trust me to keep his secrets as I trusted him with mine? Brushing back a curl that draped near my eyes, I determined to match his solemnity. “Then I doubt it can be anything honorable.”

He stiffened, then stepped closer, his breath warming my cheek. I stared at the stubble on his face, my heart battering my chest. He tipped my chin with one finger, put on his signature smile. “Don’t you trust me, Ally?”

I stared into his eyes. Clear and true. Not clouded by hard living and drink. I felt as if I were falling into his deep, dark gaze. I drew in a sharp breath. He backed away. I closed the distance between us again, my eyes locked on his. “I trust you, Webster. Really, I do.”

Warmth oozed through me at his nearness. I wanted to reach up, to smooth his unruly hair, but my arms remained pinned to my sides. I hardly dared to breathe.

Tenderness and frustration flickered across his face, as if he wanted to pull me into his arms and push me away all at the same time. Then he blew out a long breath and raked his hands through his mop of hair.

He focused on some point beyond me, his words softening. “Like you, I have a promise to fulfill. It takes all the resources I have—and then some.” He blinked hard, his eyes finding my face again. “I need these races same as you. For the money.”

My heart tumbled toward my toes. “But you . . . you let me drive. You gave up the chance at the prize money.”

He reached for my hand, ran his thumb over the skin just below my knuckles. “Please don’t ask me to explain. Not now.”

My spirit crumpled as if I’d been suspended over a chasm and then let go. But I pulled myself up quickly. I moved away from his touch, aching at the sudden coldness that engulfed my hand. “I found a way to get the race money from Father.”

The tension fell from his face. Suspicion replaced it. “How?”

Caressing the front fender of the race car, I avoided his gaze. “Lawrence Trotter is going to tell Father he’s the driver.”

“You didn’t.”

I pulled my shoulders back, wishing I could meet him eye to eye. “I did. He already knew anyway. I told you he recognized me at the race on Monday. Besides, it’s a good plan. Father will keep the car entered in Saturday’s Harvest Classic once he’s convinced there’s no scandal. And I’ll earn the rest of my money for the McConnells.”

Webster stared at the ground, hands low on his hips. “I never thought you’d do such a—”

I sprang toward him. “A what? I made a plan. And a good one, I might add. Lawrence will keep my secret. He and I have the same desire—to see that the McConnells have the money they need to return to Africa and tell people about Jesus.”

One of Webster’s eyebrows rose. “Whatever you say, Ally. If you trust me, I guess I’ll have to trust you. But right now I have to get to work.”

I bit my tongue and marched through the garden, into the kitchen.

“Coffee, please, Clarissa. In the morning room.” My head pounded with every step. I fell to the sofa and rubbed circles on my temples.

“Good morning, Alyce, darling.” Mother swept into the room and kissed my cheek, then her forehead creased. “Are you ill? And what happened to your new dress?”

“I’m fine, Mother.” I fingered a tear in the flimsy fabric. “Must have caught on one of the rosebushes. I’ll have Betsy stitch it up.”

Clarissa entered with the tray of coffee, left to retrieve a second cup, and returned to our burdened silence.

“Oh, please set another place at supper tonight, Clarissa. I’ve invited Mr. Trotter to join us.”

Clarissa nodded and left.

Mother’s head tipped to one side as she sipped her coffee. “At your father’s invitation or yours?”

I shrugged. “Mine.” I lifted my cup to my lips, but the coffee didn’t settle me as I’d hoped.

Mother stared into her lap. “I’m not sure you want to hear this from me, but be very careful, Alyce. I’m not sure you understand—”

“I understand more than you think I do.” Pushing to my feet, I banged my cup to the tray, hot coffee sloshing onto my hand. But as I left her there with a look of concern on her usually placid face, I swallowed down the fear that I’d jumped into a pool of water far exceeding my ability to swim.

“I demand he meet with me!” Father’s voice crashed through the closed door of his study before supper that evening. I cringed, knowing Webster stood inside. But I couldn’t hear his answer, no matter how hard I pressed my ear against the door.

The telephone jangled. I waited for Clarissa to answer, but it rang again. I charged through the hall and picked up the earpiece.

Long distance. Business. I exhaled. It would give Webster a moment of relief.

“I’ll fetch him now.” I set the receiver on top of the telephone, hurried back to Father’s study, and rapped on the door before pushing it open. “Telephone call for you, Father. Long distance.”

Father stomped to the telephone. Webster, still sitting in front of Father’s desk, wiped a hand across his face.

“I’m sorry.” I stepped inside the room, tension still thick in the air. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to endure another tirade before Lawrence talked to him tonight.”

One side of Webster’s mouth rose. “It doesn’t matter. And I never did tell you—you drove great yesterday.”

“Thank you.” My hands felt empty and large. I picked up a brass letter opener. My fingers slid down the smooth, dull blade as I leaned against the massive desk.

“I’ve never seen anyone take to the track as fast as you have. It’s truly a gift.”

My head sprang up. “Do you think?”

A lock of hair fell across his forehead. He swept it aside. “Most men wouldn’t take the chance. And even if they did, they wouldn’t know how to handle that machine as smoothly as you do.”

I glanced at the floor, suddenly shy in the presence of the only person who knew the whole me.

He looked into the hallway before standing. “Are you sure about this, Ally? I don’t trust Trotter.”

I ground top teeth into bottom, tired of lies and suspicions and doubt. Webster cleared his throat. I tapped the opener into my open palm as I rounded the desk. I stood near him now, so close I could hear him breathe.

“I know the two of you don’t like each other, but this is a good plan. You can trust me, remember?” With a playful look, I pointed the opener at his chest. “You’d better trust me. My father could fire—”

“What’s going on here?” Father’s bellow cracked through the room.

I jumped back, the letter opener pinging against the desktop before clattering to the floor. “Nothing, Father.”

His eyes flashed in Webster’s direction. “Is he bothering you?”

Webster paled.

A nervous laugh fumbled from my lips. “Webster? We were just talking.”

Father’s eyebrows scrunched toward his nose. “But you were pointing that—”

I bent down and retrieved the piece of brass. “Letter opener. I just . . . had it in my hand.”

Webster’s color returned as Father chuckled away his burst of anger, slapped Webster on the back. “Sorry, old boy. My little girl, you know?”

“Twenty-two,” I muttered. “I’m twenty-two, remember?”

“Not a problem, sir.” Webster kept his gaze on the floor. “I’d be protective of her myself, if I were you.” Then his head rose. “I’ll get things settled in the garage before I head home.”

“Of course. Of course. Have to be ready for that race on Saturday.” Father picked up his cigar. Webster walked away without a look back.

I hurried to the front door the minute the knock sounded, took Lawrence’s hat, and placed it on the table in the foyer. Father pumped his hand and led him into the dining room. I followed behind, relieved.