Promise me tomorrow (27 page)

"Come on now," Rusty urged her young charge. "Just pull it off your bed."

Quintins eyes were saucerlike, but he was doing as he was told.

"Do I fold it?"

"No, I've got my counterpane, and Mrs. Whit gave me two more blankets."

"Why do we need them?"

"For our fort. You cant build a fort without lots of blankets and bedspreads."

He looked completely at sea.

"I'll show you," she said, but he didn't reply, following her in silence as they moved into the upstairs hallway and toward the stairs, yards of cloth trailing in their wake.

They were conquering one room at a time. As the days had passed, Rusty had been showing Quintin that his home was to be lived in, not worshiped. She hadn't used those words, of course, but by her actions it was slowly dawning on him. He had always been at ease in the breakfast room and his own bedroom, but now he was coming and going into the library, touching books, and even leaving things a little out of order. The kitchen was also a place of comfort now, as right along with Rusty he "stole" cookies and asked for food between meals if he was hungry.

They had made splendid headway in the bathroom, splashing the walls and getting suds on the floor, all of which they cleaned up before leaving. Quintin looked forward to bath-time as he never had before. They had even played hide-and-seek in the drawing room twice. In one way this game was the most helpful at teaching him to enjoy his home, since it always spilled over to the rest of the house. Today they were headed into the dining room.

Rusty had never in her life seen a dining room table the size of the one at Briarly. Her brother and sisters would be mad with envy if they could see the fort she was planning to build. They had built forts under their tables at home on almost a weekly basis, but none of them could compare to the size of this one.

"We're going to the dining room?" Quintin asked when Rusty turned right at the bottom of the stairs.

"That's right/' she answered in a singsong voice. "We're going to make the best fort in the whole wide world."

"In here?"

"Yes, it's perfect!"

Quintin's look was more than dubious, so Rusty just laughed.

"Now, we'll need to cover both ends of the table and this whole side," she instructed, referring to the side nearest the door, "but we'll leave the other side open so we can look out onto the veranda and the garden. Won't that be great?"

As had been happening for almost two weeks, Rusty's enthusiasm was contagious. In moments Quintin's hesitancy fell away, and he was helping Rusty throw the spreads over the top of the table and position them just right. Moved gently so as not to scratch, the chairs helped hold things in place, and with the aid of a few more blankets, all was in readiness. Rusty scrambled beneath without a word and waited for Quintin to join her.

It took a few seconds, but the
look on his face was worth every moment. With the light coming from the French doors off the veranda, Rusty could see she had delighted him yet again. Short as she was, Rusty sat nearly upright, and as soon as she giggled, Quintin flew
into her lap.

"I love you, Aunt Rusty."

"Oh, Quin," Rusty breathed. "I love you. Aren't we great fort builders?"

"Yes." He looked around. "It's dark in here." His voice was hushed.

"Yes, it is. Don't you love it?"

He nodded, his eyes big and bright with wonder.

"Now, you go up to my bed and your bed and gather all the pillows you can carry. I'll find the
book we're reading and tell Mrs. Whitley that we
must
have lunch in the fort today."

"Okay." He scrambled out and dashed off to do as she bid. It did Rusty a great deal of good to hear him run up the stairs. Such a thing had been utterly forbidden as she was growing up and also at the orphanage, but this situation called for new rules and standards. Moving a bit more sedately, Rusty made her way to the kitchen. As she hoped, she found Cook and Mrs. Whitley.

"Mrs. Whit," she said, "May Quin and I have our lunch under the dining room table today? We don't expect you to wait on us." She always said that. "We'll come and get everything, but we don't want you to outfit the breakfast room when we're not going to be in there."

"That's fine, Rusty," Mrs. Whitley always enjoyed saying. "Cook and I will bring everything to you. Sandwiches might be easiest."

"I think so too, and those short round glasses that won't tip so easily."

"Lemonade?"

"Perfect. With lots of sugar please."

"Cookies or some of the cake?"

"Cookies, so we won't need forks. Oh! Would you please ask Whit to bring the Gramophone to us? I think we need a little music."

"Certainly."

Rusty thanked them as she always did, making them feel as if they'd made her day, and went on her way. The two older women smiled at each other.

"Have I mentioned that I'm glad she's here?" Cook asked Melinda.

"I think just about every time she comes into the kitchen."

"Did you think it was boring around here before she came?"

"No. We were never out of things to do, but I guess it was pretty quiet."

"You must be speaking of Rusty," Whit said as he came from the small porch off the kitchen.

The women laughed at how obvious it was. Melinda took great pleasure in telling her husband that Rusty needed the Gramophone under the dining room table. They laughed all over again at the stunned look on his face.

***

"Chase, come in!" Pastor Jeremy Radke stood with a smile. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, Pastor."

"What brings you by today?"

"I just thought I'd say hello," Chase replied, but Jeremy thought there might be something on his mind.

"How
are things with Rusty and Quintin?"

"Fine," Chase told him, but Jeremy wondered why he wasn't convinced. He'd only been with this church body for two years, and it was taking some time to get to know Chase McCandles. The affluent businessman was a very private individual, and sometimes Jeremy was at a loss as to how to get close to him. Many times Chase had come to him with questions concerning the Scriptures—he was very open to learning—but nothing personal was ever mentioned. He certainly traveled a lot and that made fellowship even harder.

"Well, good. Quintin certainly seems to be enjoying her."

Chase looked at him and wondered how he knew that, but before he could ask him, Jeremy surprised him.

"I'm starting a men's Bible study, Chase. There are four of us right now, and we hope to get started in about three weeks. I'd like it if you could join us." Jeremy could see that his words had stumped him but did not back down. "Right now it looks as though we'll be meeting on Tuesday nights. We're going to study the book of Mark. You think about it, and I'll check back with you."

"All right," Chase finally managed. He wondered if maybe trying the study might not be a good idea; however, he did not commit himself. "Thank you," he said, standing.

Jeremy saw him to the door, and Chase was on his way just a short time later, his mind only half on what the pastor had said. As had become the norm, he was once again thinking of Rusty, and this time Quintin was on his mind as well. Pastor Radke had known that Quintin and his companion were getting along well together, but Chase hadn't checked with Rusty nearly as often as he'd planned. Tonight he would rectify that.

31

As soon as Chase left the church and pastors office, he posted a letter to a man in Boulder and headed for home. At Briarly he came through the kitchen, and since he had mail for the staff, left it with Cook.

"Are Miss Taggart and Quintin indoors or out today?" he asked of her.

"They're in the dining room, sir," Cook filled in.

Chase thanked her and moved in the direction of his office, planning to say hello on his way past. His mind was still moving back and forth between his son's companion and his conversation with Pastor when he entered the dining room and stopped short. Protruding from what looked like every blanket in the house was a small pair of high-buttoned shoes. The lacy edge of a petticoat and the hem of a dark checked skirt could also be seen. Chase watched as the shoes crossed, uncrossed, and re crossed at the ankle.

Staring in fascination, Chase suddenly realized someone was talking.

"Will you read that part again?"

"The part about the bear?"

"Yes. He's so big."

"Yes, he is! I think he scares me."

Quintin laughed. "I'll protect you."

"You're so brave, Quin. What would I do without you?"

There was more giggling, and the feet disappeared altogether. A moment later, the sound of music drifted out from under the table. Chases head came up and he stared out across the veranda at absolutely nothing. Some moments passed before he heard a noise behind him. He turned to find Mrs. Whitley standing out in the hall. She was smiling at the stunned look on his face.

"It looks as though you're having fun around here," he said as he joined her and saw the sparkle in her eye.

"If the giggles coming from under that table are any indication, you're right."

"How long have they been under there?"

"Since an hour before lunch."

Chase looked back into the room. "How can she see to read to him?"

"The front is open to the veranda. They've been in and out all day."

Chase shook his head and looked back down at the table.

"You could go under with them," the shrewd housekeeper said.

Chase looked and saw that she was serious, but he didn't respond. Mrs. Whitley made no further comment. Neither did she stay to see what he would decide. Chase watched her walk toward the kitchen and then looked back to the table. Only a moment passed before he turned, went through the drawing room, and into his office. He needed to tell his son that he was leaving for a few days, but that could wait. He opted to spend some time on the papers that showed the land he wanted to develop in Pueblo and not to interrupt them. Since he had to leave the next afternoon, his trip was the more pressing matter at the moment. Just seconds after the plat map was open in front of him, he forgot all about wanting to say hello to Rusty or speak with his son.

***

"Okay now, put your hands here and pull yourself up." Quintin put his hands on the tree, but he didn't really try to climb. He picked at the bark a little, plucked at a low leaf, and finally dropped his hands.

"I've never climbed a tree," he said, picking up a stick from the ground to fiddle with.

"But wouldn't you like to try?" Rusty asked him. "I'm coming up right behind you."

Quintin looked at her in uncertainty.

"You'll like it," she coaxed him. "You can see for miles. We can pretend we're sailing on the high sea." Rusty watched him carefully. 'There might be a nest," she encouraged, but he was having none of it.

Quintin dropped onto his knees and began to write in the dirt and leaves on the ground. Quin?

"I'm hungry."

Rusty saw it for the stall tactic it was but decided to let it go for the moment.

"Let's go get something to eat. We'll come back and climb the tree later."

He seemed a little easier with this suggestion and gladly raced her back to the kitchen door when she challenged him. When she'd first come, his racing gait was nothing short of pathetic, but his stride was lengthening now, and he was holding his own very nicely.

Cook was not at all surprised to see them when they tumbled in through the back door and proclaimed they needed food. She immediately went for the tray that she had learned to keep handy. Without even bothering to wash their hands, they feasted on fruit, nuts, and a tin of crackers. Cook also had ginger water that she kept cool in the pantry. They were just partway through this sumptuous snack when Kimberly, one of Briarly's parttime workers, came in and saw them.

"Oh, there you are, Rusty. Mr. McCandles wants to see Quintin."

"Oh, all right. Thank you, Kimmy." This request was not new to her, so she simply said, "Did you hear that, Quintin? You can go see your father, and then we'll finish our snack."

"All right."

Rusty rose to move from the room, but Quintin held back.

"What is it, Quin?"

"I'm not clean."

Rusty stared at him. He had a little mud on his chin where the ginger water had mixed with the dust, but to Rusty he looked like a typical little boy.

"You're fine," she said at last.

"My face and hands aren't clean," he reiterated, his eyes growing worried.

"Quintin." Her voice was very gentle, but she was not going to panic as he was. "Your father wants to see you. He wont care how you look. Come now."

He followed, but his
eyts
had taken on the panicked look she'd seen whenever they broke the old rules. Rusty led the way to the drawing room, but she had to stop twice and wait for him. Once they had covered half the distance of the long, elegant room, Rusty stopped.

"I'll wait for you in the library, Quin. Just come for me when you're through." Rusty thought this was the end of it, but she was wrong. She began to turn in the direction of the library, but Quintin stood stock still. At that point Rusty wished she had washed him. It seemed so silly when they were going right back out, but at the moment Rusty wished she'd taken a rag to him in the kitchen. She knelt down in front of Quintin and tried to explain.

"Do you remember that day your father told you we could get dirty? We were right in the library, and he said not to worry about it."

Quintin was miserable. He couldn't even nod and agree with her. Young as he was, he well remembered this as one of Mrs. Harding's firmest rules.
You must be on your best behavior and look your best when your father calk you into his office.
Now Aunt Rusty was telling him none of it mattered. What should he do?

Neither Rusty nor Quintin was aware that Chase had been watching them. He'd seen them stan across the room, and he'd watched as Rusty knelt on the floor. His son looked very upset, and he debated whether to get involved. He knew that Rustys authority was of little use if he as the parent undermined her. When they continued to talk in the middle of the drawing room, however, he felt he had to step in.