Diane T. Ashley (4 page)

As she reached the nursery door, Lily heard footsteps coming up the staircase and turned to see who was coming.

Blake appeared at the top of the stairs, their daughter, Magnolia, in his arms and Noah walking as close to his father as possible.

The sight of her family warmed Lily’s heart. God had blessed them so.

Her husband’s teasing blue gaze met hers. “I can’t believe you abandoned me and two of your children to a homily on the waywardness of today’s young people.”

“Benjamin was growing fussy.” Lily stepped into the nursery, depositing her youngest son on his bed while she gathered clean clothes and a fresh diaper. “Besides, you seem to have escaped unscathed.”

Blake followed her into the room, handing their daughter over to the nanny, who would watch all of the children. He settled Noah at his desk with a lesson on mathematics while Lily readied Benjamin for his nap in a wicker bassinet. Magnolia and her cousin Amaryllis played with their dolls in one corner of the room under the nanny’s indulgent gaze.

Listening to them was almost like traveling back in time to her own childhood, when Lily and her sisters had played together in this very same room. After a few moments, her husband put his arm around her waist and pulled her from the nursery. “How long before we can leave?”

“I just have to put on a cap and get my parasol.”

Blake dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll go get the buggy ready and meet you downstairs.”

By the time Lily had gathered her things and stepped out into the warm morning, Blake was sitting in the buggy with the reins in his hands. She climbed up beside him and settled herself as he guided the horse down the lane to the main road.

“I wonder if Jean Luc and Anna will stay in Natchez or if they plan on taking his mother back to Cape Girardeau.” Lily glanced at her husband’s face. What a boon it would be to have both of their families living in the same town. Of course, given the number of trips they took to deliver people and goods up and down the Mississippi, they were sure to see all of their relatives from time to time. But she rather liked the idea of getting to know Blake’s sister better, which was more likely to happen if she and Jean Luc remained in Natchez.

“I hope so.” Blake spared her a quick glance before returning his gaze to the road ahead. “I doubt it would do his mother much good to be uprooted from the home she’s lived in all these years.”

“And Jean Luc could take over his father’s shipping business.” Lily caught her breath as an idea burst on her with the suddenness of a summer thunderstorm. “Maybe we could even help to make sure he’s successful.”

“Perhaps.”

Lily looked at her husband again, noticing the tightness around his jaw. He could not be worried that Jean Luc was still the malicious person who had once tried to wreck their first boat, the boat that had brought the two of them together. That had been more than ten years ago. In the intervening years, Jean Luc had proved his trustworthiness again and again. Besides, he was the father of Blake’s only nephew. “I know you’ve forgiven him, Blake, but have you put the past behind you?”

“Of course I have.” Blake moved the reins to his left hand and put his right hand over hers. “In fact, Jean Luc and I have talked several times over the past few years about the future of river traffic.”

His tone of voice was ominous, striking a chord of fear in Lily’s heart. “What do you mean?”

Blake’s hand squeezed her cold fingers. “You must have noticed how the number of boats has decreased for the past year or so.”

“People are just recovering from the war.” Lily refused to accept his interpretation of the reduced traffic. Sometimes they might go an afternoon without seeing another boat, but it was unusual. They didn’t see as many of the smaller vessels, but that was because the larger boats could navigate better and transport merchandise more economically. “River traffic is going to come back. It has to. It’s only been a few years. Think of all the boats we see every time we go to New Orleans.”

He pulled back on the horse’s reins and turned to give her his full attention. “I know how much you love the river, darling. And I’m sure we can continue to move cargo in
Water Lily
. But you have to realize things are changing. The railroads are a good alternative for a lot of businessmen. More and more bridges will crisscross the river as people out West demand better service. The flaw in our waterways is the difficulty in reaching all destinations. Railroads will always go places that riverboats cannot.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Lily as she listened to Blake explain his logic. Hadn’t she just been feeling sorry for Aunt Dahlia because she would not accept the inevitability of change? Was God trying to tell Lily that she should deal with the log in her eye before trying to remove the mote in her aunt’s eye? She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sure we can make a life for ourselves anywhere, Blake.”

“That’s my practical Lily.” He loosened the reins once more, and the horse picked up speed. “People will always want to seek a better life in new places, and they will need more supplies shipped to them no matter the method of transportation.”

Lily bit her lip as she tried to imagine making a home on one of the smoking, belching beasts that threatened her lifestyle. She didn’t much like the rumble they made crossing the tall bridges the
Water Lily
glided under. Could she trade gentle breezes and swift-flowing water for hot cinders and soot? Could trains even accommodate a family like their riverboat could?

Yet the idea of visiting new destinations was somewhat intriguing. Perhaps looking into a different mode of transportation was a good idea. With a lift of her chin, she decided that she would first trust God and then her husband and follow … no matter the destination.

David took a battered envelope from his breast pocket and studied its limp edges. He knew the contents of the note inside. Had memorized the words months earlier when he’d first received the letter originally addressed to his deceased mother.

“What do you have there?” Marguerite Trahan, the assistant at Mercy House Orphanage stepped into the parlor, her dark gaze full of curiosity.

He tucked the letter back into his pocket and turned to the girl who had become his friend when both of them lived here as children. “Nothing of importance.”

Marguerite was a sweet young woman, with the dark hair and eyes of her Cajun heritage. Even though she had spent many years on the Mississippi side of the river, her voice still held a hint of an accent. “Is that so,
cher?
Then why the long face?”

David met her stare with one of his own. The air in the parlor thickened as the silence between them lengthened.

She cleared her throat but did not drop her gaze. “You look like a man with a heavy burden.”

Part of him yearned to confide in her. More than anyone else in his life, Marguerite understood what it meant to have no family. Perhaps if he talked to her, he could move past the pervading feeling of aloneness that had stalked him for the past months. Not that he felt this bad all the time. Last night’s encounter with Jasmine and her sisters had brought back his feelings of inadequacy. A wall stood between him and her family, a wall that he seemed unable to scale. She tilted her head to one side, making him think of a bird. “Does this have to do with that father of yours? Did you find him?”

Her questions pierced him, bringing the grief of loss crashing down on him. He tightened his chin against the tears that threatened. If his father had taught him anything before leaving, it had been that men had to be strong … always. David pulled the note from his pocket once more, turning it over in his hands. “I was too late.”

Children ran past the doorway, talking and laughing, their voices filling the air as they clattered outside to play in the yard.

Inside the parlor, silence dominated the room. He dragged his gaze from the door to look at Marguerite. He was surprised by the comprehension in her face.

She stepped toward him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

David wondered why it had to be Marguerite who showed him such sympathy. Why not Jasmine? She had known about his father’s death, but where was her concern over his loss? His heart twisted. Jasmine was too caught up in her plays and dramas. Playacting was her answer to all of life’s questions. Would she never grow up?

“Thanks.” David summoned a smile for Marguerite’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to hurt this badly. Not for a father who hadn’t cared anything about him. “It’s probably just as well. He was pretty sick when he sent this note. I doubt he would have wanted me to see him that way.”

“It might have been easier for you if you could have made your peace with him.”

Shamed by his roiling emotions, David wondered what he had expected from his father. He shook off Marguerite’s hand and walked to the window, his gaze looking past the children outside as his mind piled up all the reasons he could never have made his peace with the man.

Pa had abandoned him and Ma years ago. Sure, he’d promised he would come back for them as soon as he made a fortune digging for gold. But like so many who had followed the lure of easy riches, he’d failed. And he had failed those who relied on him—the only people in the world who loved him. “All my Pa was ever good for was empty promises.”

Marguerite sat down in a narrow chair on the far side of the room. “At least you had a father.”

The wistfulness of her words was not lost on him, but David knew there were worse things than not having a father.

“If you could call him that. I had to pay off his debts once I finally tracked down the house he lived in.” David heard the hatred in his own voice. It stopped him for a brief instant, but then he realized that he should hate the man. Jeremy Foster had not been a father. Or a husband, for that matter. He’d been a selfish, foolish man who knew nothing about love. “He deserved to die all alone for the pain he caused me and my mother.”

Marguerite sighed. “I know he hurt you, David. But you need to forgive him.”

He rounded on her then. “Forgive him? Why should I forgive him? His desertion changed my life.”

“Yes.” She unfolded from the chair, her movements graceful. “But if you don’t forgive him, you’ll never be free.”

“I know that the Bible agrees with you, Marguerite. But God couldn’t mean I should just forgive Pa. My mother had to—” He choked, unable to continue for a moment. “She had to make a living in Natchez Under-the-Hill. If not for the Anderson girls—for their acceptance of me—I don’t know what would have happened to me.” The words were bitter in his throat. Talking about his past was hard, but he wanted Marguerite to understand. He wasn’t a bad person. His pa was the villain.

She smiled at him, a world of knowledge and peace in her gaze. “If you don’t find a way to forgiveness, it will kill you. Your Pa is already dead. He can’t feel your wrath. Who will it hurt if you forgive him?”

The heat trying to consume him ebbed a little. David yearned for the same peace she had found. Was forgiveness the only way to get it?

“I know you’re a Christian, David.”

“Of course I am.” He had never let his parents’ poor decisions get in the way of his beliefs. He knew God loved him. He knew Christ had been born a man and died on the cross to save all sinners.

“God gave so much so you and I could spend eternity with Him. He’s your real father. He’s the one you can turn to.” She smiled at him, a radiant smile that offered promise and hope. “I’ll be praying that you let Him show you the way to forgiveness.”

He wanted to grasp the promise in her words. But something held him back. Some inner spirit that whispered he shouldn’t have to forgive a man who had wronged him to such an extent.

“Why don’t you talk to Lily and Blake?” Marguerite’s voice seemed to come from far away even though he knew they were still standing in the parlor. “They’ve been like family to you.”

David shook his head. “It’s not the same. I know you understand the hope that one day you and your parents can be together again. No matter what they’ve done, as long as they’re out there, you can’t abandon them. Lily and her family are special to me, but on some level, I’ll always be the discarded kid they felt sorry for. I’ve never been one of them.”

“I think you’re wrong, David. They love you. Talk to them. Tell them how you feel. Maybe they’ll help you understand what I’m having a hard time communicating to you.”

Understanding was not the problem. David understood that his father had been a worthless bum and that he and his mother had paid the price for the man’s shiftlessness. While his father had chased the illusion of easy wealth, David had depended on the charity of others for food and shelter. “Lily and Blake took me in. I owe them a debt of gratitude I’ll never be able to repay.”

She frowned at him. “Then what about Jasmine?”

“What about Jasmine?”

Her laughter was musical. “Come on, David. You’re not fooling me. You’ve always been sweet on that girl.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You are a hopeless romantic. Please don’t read anything into my association with Jasmine except for a childish infatuation. Jasmine had all the things I did not—wealth, security, and a family who cared for her. She cannot understand my feelings.”