Promises to Keep (2 page)
As they got closer to his house up on Thompkin Hill, nerves churned in her stomach. His folks might kick her out for smelling like worms and fish. By comparison, Travis looked as if he’d lounged by some expensive pool all day. She envied him his spotless tee shirt and pressed jeans. Dirt was probably afraid to jump on his clothes. She sighed in resignation. Dirt always seemed to come looking for her.
A wide, white porch wrapped around the front of the house. Beyond double doors, the hallway they stepped into had a crystal chandelier that hung from what looked like the tallest ceiling in the world. Tables covered with vases of real flowers and silver-framed photos sat in the corners. She swore she saw her own reflection in the floor. She didn’t know where to look first.
As she paused in the massive hallway, sweaty with nerves, a low, cultured voice floated down a curved staircase. “Travis? Is that you? Where have you been? You were due home an hour ago.”
The voice grew clearer and Annie saw a tall, thin woman descend the staircase, one hand trailing along the polished banister. She couldn’t help but stare. This was someone’s mother? She looked like a model or a movie star!
Thick, black hair, drawn back into a smooth bun, crowned her head. She wore a sleeveless dress, formal enough for somebody’s wedding, and dainty pumps in the same shade of pale blue. As she moved closer, Annie saw her eyes were identical to Travis’s, but there the similarity ended, for there didn’t seem to be a drop of warmth in them.
“Travis, you smell of the pond. Your sneakers have dirt on them. And who is this. . .child. . .you’ve brought home?” The woman’s voice spiked sharply.
Travis wiped his feet on the thick runner in front of the door, before he caught Annie’s hand and pulled her forward. “We’ve been fishing. Annie, this is my mother, Ruth Quincy.” As he spoke, Travis inched her closer to his mother and her silky perfection. Annie saw her shrink back to avoid their grimy hands.
She stammered out a breathless, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Her voice echoed around the elegant hallway.
“Indeed.” With one word, Travis’s mother dismissed her and frowned at her son. “You are late for your riding lesson. Desmond can’t wait forever. He has other students to see to.” She eyed the string of bullheads he carried. “I suggest you dispose of those horrid fish and prepare for your lesson.”
“I can’t dump our fish. They’re some really large bulls. I’m going to give them to Martha, and—”
“You will
not
bring those foul things into my kitchen. Martha has more important tasks than dealing with slimy fish caught in a nasty pond. She’s already preparing dinner. Councilman Cabot and his family are dining with us tonight. I repeat, throw them out and attend to your lesson.”
Annie cringed to hear the way this woman spoke to her son. Her mama would never talk to her and her brothers and sister like that, even when someone broke a glass or one of her brothers walked through the house in muddy shoes.
She knew Mama would pull her into a hug or tickle one of her ribs when she came home with her load of tasty bullheads. Even when Mama made her help out in the kitchen, she found ways for everybody to have fun. This tall lady with the silky dress and the perfect hair probably didn’t know what the word “fun” meant.
Just before Mrs. Quincy turned away, Annie said, “It was nice meeting you, ma’am,” which she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore. Her back as straight as a steel pole, Travis’s mother walked toward the staircase. She paused when a side door opened and Mr. Quincy walked out, his pipe in hand and a folded newspaper tucked under his arm.
He reminded Annie of her daddy, tall and lean with twinkling eyes and gray speckled through his dark brown hair. He wore slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he spotted her, he winked, then turned to kiss his wife’s cheek. She smiled, but her eyes narrowed as she looked pointedly at his wrinkled shirtsleeves.
Mr. Quincy murmured, “Don’t fuss, Ruthie. It’s Saturday, remember?” To Travis he added, “Now, what’s that I see, Trav? Bullheads! My favorite fish in the entire world. I bet if you ask Martha nicely, she’ll cook them up for us later, what do you think?” He sent another wink toward Annie.
His wife glared at him. “Don’t encourage your son in his uncivilized behavior. Martha is
not
cooking a mass of vile fish. Travis, do as I say and throw them out.”
“Now, Ruth. Bullheads are to be savored, not tossed out with the garbage. I’m sure Martha won’t mind cooking them. And if for some reason she can’t, well then, Trav and I will man the kitchen and the fry pan. Won’t we, son?”
Travis nodded eagerly at his father’s suggestion. Ruth Quincy didn’t seem to find the idea worthwhile, though. To her husband she accused, “You let the boy run wild in the summer, and I won’t have it. Spending a valuable Saturday flipping about in a dirty pond isn’t part of his weekend schedule. Desmond has now waited thirty minutes, and Travis has yet to clean up and present himself for his riding lesson.”
She might have said more, but when Mr. Quincy laid his hand on her bare arm and squeezed gently, she stopped talking. The tight look on her face was probably due to lots of anger.
“Ruth, this is Thompkin, not Newport News,” he admonished. “It’s summertime and of course a boy wants to hare off and have some fun, especially when he has a cute little friend like... I’m sorry, we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Ronald Quincy, Travis’s father.” He held out his big hand to Annie.
She grasped his fingers. “I’m Annie Turner. I really like your house.” Her admiring words just popped out, but Mr. Quincy chuckled.
He whistled at the number of fish Travis still held. “Fishing must have been good today. I used to go all the time when I was your age, Annie. Sometimes I’d catch the biggest, wiliest old bullheads. And the ones that got away? Why, they were huge!” With both hands he measured a longest bullhead anyone could imagine, and made Annie giggle over his silliness.
She smiled at him happily. “Can I go fishing with you someday?” Ruth Quincy gasped in horror. Annie winced at her own boldness, but Travis and his father laughed, sounding almost identical.
It was obvious to her Travis had inherited his father’s easygoing personality. Mr. Quincy beamed. “Well, of course. Nice to meet you, young lady. You come back anytime. Travis, take those fish into the kitchen and clean them for Martha, there’s a good boy. And don’t worry about Desmond and your lesson. I’ll call down to the stables and send him home.”
When Travis’s mother growled under her breath, his father continued, “Ruth, before I dress for dinner, I need your advice on a very urgent matter.” He took her arm and led her away.
Travis let out a relieved sigh. “I hope Mother didn’t upset you. She can be sort of strict. And Dad likes everyone. He’s really friendly. Let’s go get some lemonade now, and then we can gut and clean the fish before I give them to Martha. She’s our cook,” he explained.
Annie’s nerves, having melted away during Mr. Quincy’s reassuring presence, flooded back with a vengeance at the word “cook.” God, it was like another world here. A huge, fancy house, a fancy mother, and now a cook. Riding lessons, too. Annie trailed along after Travis as he headed toward the kitchen.
How on earth they could ever be friends when their lives were so very different?
Shuffling her feet, Annie walked down Spring Street. For some reason, today she paid attention to the shabby neighborhood where she’d lived all her life. Railroad tracks ran behind their house and rattled with freight trains every day. Smelly Crum Creek churned through the narrow ravine alongside the old tracks. Crabgrass grew through the cracks and gaps in the sidewalks on both sides of the street. Their house needed paint, and three broken boards out on the back porch should have been repaired years ago. Her brother, Danny, fell through them last summer right after his fifteenth birthday. He busted up his left leg, which sent his twin, Frankie, running off in a panic for help. The rest of the kids got stuck with Danny’s chores while he lay in bed and complained about everything.
Mark, the oldest, chose to enlist in the Air Force right after graduation. Bobby, fourteen, lived just to irritate everyone. Annie’s twelve-year-old sister, Susan, liked to boss her around and lord it over her because of their two-year age difference.
Susan, blond and pretty, already had tiny breasts growing underneath her tee shirts. When Annie drifted into the bedroom she shared with Susan, she caught her sister staring at her own body in the mirror and hesitantly touching herself in awe.
Annie gaped at her. Whirling around, Susan pointed at her bare chest and exclaimed, “Look, aren’t they simply fabulous?”
“I don’t see anything. You’re dreaming, Suze.” Annie wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Don’t call me
Suze
! You know I hate it. And I do so have them. You’re just jealous ‘cause you know it’ll be
ages
until you get anything on that flat, bony chest of yours.” Susan ducked the pillow Annie lobbed at her, snatched up her shirt, and ran for the door, yelling, “Mama, Annie hit me!”
Annie sank down on the edge of her bed and stared at her own reflection. She didn’t want to be mean to her sister, but lately she’d been wishing for more. She wanted to look like Susan, with her curling blond hair and big blue eyes. Instead, she got stuck with boring brown eyes and hair as straight as a stick.
She’d soon be eleven whole years old, but she still looked like a little kid. Annie held up her hands. She wanted to take piano lessons, but her hands were small and so narrow. Well, it wasn’t as if her parents could afford such a luxury. With a sigh, she tore her eyes away from the mirror.
She prowled around the room she shared with Susan, poked at the faded curtains at the window, scuffed her toe on the threadbare carpet. Being poor was no fun at all. Her daddy worked hard, long hours for what money he earned at the Interbake factory, fifty miles away outside of Harrisonburg. Every night he’d come home, worn out, and fall asleep in front of the television in the living room.
It took Mama most of the summer to can all the vegetables they grew, spending her time in the kitchen with the old pressure cooker. Sometimes she burned her fingers when the rusty gauge acted up. Mama worked hard, too.
Impatient with herself, Annie forced her thoughts away from where they’d wandered. She wasn’t ashamed of her large family, not one bit. They did all right. So what if she had to wear Susan’s hand-me-downs? At least her sister took decent care of her clothes.
Annie knew why everything bothered her today, the way she looked, her house, and her life: it was Travis Quincy.
Not only were they the richest family in Augusta County, they’d also founded Thompkin. Everyone knew the history, of how Duncan Quincy made a fortune in the silver mines during the Colorado Territory Rush, then came back to the Shenandoah Valley and built himself a town. He’d named it after his bride, Lilah Thompkin.
It seemed a long way from her old house on Spring Street to the Quincy mansion on Thompkin Hill. And Travis came from that local royalty.
Get a grip, Annie
. She made a face in the mirror as she walked past it.
Travis had talked to her, laughed with her. Invited her to his house, treated her like a friend. Her mouth curved into a smile when she realized she had something her dopey sister didn’t have. With a lighter heart, Annie headed downstairs.
That evening, while Mary Turner supervised kitchen cleanup, Annie asked, “Mama, do you know Ruth Quincy?”
“Well, not really. I know of her, though we’ve never actually met.” Mary glanced at Annie, who carefully stacked plates in the cupboard. Curious, she queried, “Why do you ask?”
“I kind of met her, today. Well, first I met Travis.” While Susan squealed in disbelief, Annie rushed on, “And we were fishing together and then afterwards he asked me to come to his house for lemonade and I met Mrs. Quincy. Their house is like a
mansion
, Mama.”
The dishes abandoned, Annie spread out her arms in as large a circle she could make. “They had a light hanging in their hall
this
big. And the hall is lots bigger than our living room
and
kitchen together.”
“You’re lying,” Susan hissed. “You didn’t go over there. Why would Travis Quincy want to fish with you, anyway? He’s so gorgeous, and you’re a flat,
skinny
thing.” She flung her dishcloth into the sink as she faced Annie. Only Mary’s quiet admonishment kept her from saying more, and she subsided into a fuming silence.
Mary watched Annie’s cheeks bloom red from Susan’s angry words. “Annie, tell the truth. Were you at the Quincy house today? Did you really meet Travis?” It wasn’t that Mary didn’t want to believe her daughter, but it seemed far-fetched a boy like Travis would pay any attention to a ten-year-old girl from the wrong side of town. Oh, the Quincys weren’t any better than her family, she knew this. But they
were
rich and, because of that, probably unapproachable. In all her years living in Thompkin, she’d rarely seen Ruth Quincy in town.
Annie rubbed away her tears. “I’m not lying, honest. I was at the pond trying to fish, and my line was all knotted up. Travis was there, too, and he tried to help me, but we couldn’t get the knots out. He forgot to bring worms so I shared mine with him, and he let me use his pole. We caught lots of fish.” Suddenly crestfallen, she added, “Only I left mine at the pond. I bet they’re all dead now.”
She brightened again as she finished her story. “Then we went to his house and I helped him clean his fish, and their cook Martha gave me lemonade and a brownie, and I got to meet Mr. Quincy, too. He’s a lot nicer than his wife,” she confided.
Susan grumbled, “I can’t believe you got inside their house. I’ve wanted to see it forever. What’s Travis like? Is his voice as dreamy as his face? Did you tell him about me?” She fired rapid questions at Annie, who only blinked at her, while Mary hid a smile behind her hand.
Annie stammered, “He’s cute and all. You know he is, Suze. You’ve seen him around town. And why would I tell him about you? That’s so dumb.”
“
Don’t call me Suze.
And it is
not
dumb!” Susan screeched. “I bet you didn’t meet Travis Quincy at all. Why would he want to hang out with a bratty kid like you? You’re such a liar—”
“Susan,
enough
. Apologize to your sister right now.”
As Susan mumbled a resentful apology, Mary scolded, “I don’t know what gets into you sometimes. You know better than to say such hurtful things. I think you should finish up in here, and Annie can get started on her bath. And I want you in bed early tonight.” Mary pulled Annie toward the stairs when Susan protested about how life was so unfair. Mary rolled her eyes as she herded Annie upstairs.
In the bathtub, while Annie scrubbed herself, Mary brushed the tumbled hair back from her daughter’s forehead. More and more, she resembled her daddy, and Henry Turner was the love of Mary’s life. It thrilled her to see his wonderful features on Annie’s delicate face. Mary also knew Susan, as the older sister, enjoyed feeling superior.
Unfolding a towel, Mary wrapped it around Annie and patted her thin shoulders dry. “Honey, you know not to let Susan make you feel bad about yourself. Don’t you?” She cupped her hand under Annie’s chin, raised the wounded brown eyes to hers.
