Promises to Keep (24 page)
Sometime before sunrise, Travis found a small and ugly knot inside himself, a person he didn’t want to recognize, wondering if his mother could help him gain his son. She had power and the financial influence necessary to win in court. If Annie tried to run with Hank, his mother would find them. As the day lightened outside, he broke out in an actual sweat when he replayed his thoughts. He sat up in bed and dropped his head into his hands.
What the hell was the
matter
with him? Had he learned nothing from watching the way his mother operated, the way she took over and manipulated? Did he honestly think she’d let him obtain custody of his child, without controlling everything herself? He had to be out of his mind.
Feeling an overwhelming need to be away from Quincy Hall, he’d sprang from his bed and hurriedly dressed. If he stayed there any longer, he’d go insane.
Now, hours later, Travis parked across the street and killed the engine, staring at the weathered old house. For all its air of outer neglect, the yard was raked and nicely green, and there was no clutter on the old porch. Flowers bloomed along the front and sides, a mixture of lingering tulips and budding columbine, clumps of primroses. Lilac bushes, Mary’s pride and joy, dotted the borders of the lawn area.
He’d spent so many wonderful hours in that house. All the meals he’d eaten there, devouring Mary’s delicious cooking. Surrounded by Annie and her brothers, with Susan trading insults and jokes, as she’d do with any other member of her family. Henry would wink at him as they bickered over the last spoonful of peach cobbler. Mary would slide a piece of corn pone from her plate to his with the insistence she was too full to eat it.
And Annie would hold his hand, laugh with him, her brown eyes glowing with happiness at how easily her family accepted him. They gave him what he’d been starved for. Not necessarily home-cooked meals, but love. He’d enjoyed those meals, but he’d needed the love, and they’d been more than generous to him. They made him an honorary Turner, and he’d pushed them all away, just as he’d pushed Annie away through his own cowardice.
And now she might lose Hank. With a groan of despair, Travis leaned his head on the steering wheel.
“Travis?” The voice and the knock on his partially open window startled him. He sat up and blinked at Henry Turner, who stood next to the car with a concerned look in his eyes. “What’s wrong, son?”
Travis stifled a sigh as he opened his door and stepped out. He hadn’t a clue what excuse to offer as to why he’d been in effect staking out the house.
Dressed in old, loose-fitting clothes, Henry was as dear and familiar to him as his own father. And when he curved an arm around Travis in a hug, he felt as if he were fourteen years old again.
Suddenly Travis was holding on with two hands fisted in Henry’s shirt, soaking it with hot tears.
“Travis, whatever it is, it’ll be all right. Come on in. Have a cup of coffee and a piece of Mary’s apple pie, and then you tell me what’s wrong, okay?” Henry urged him across the street while Travis blotted his damp face on his sleeve.
Once they stepped onto the porch, Travis hesitated. “Annie might not want to see me.”
Henry took his hand and pulled him inside the cool interior of the small foyer. “She’s not here right now. Come sit at the table. You look pretty rough.”
He pushed Travis toward the kitchen and settled him at the table. He reached into a cupboard for a plate and a mug, poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of him, then found a knife and unwrapped the pie. Two generous slices were already missing and Henry cut another wide slab and laid it on a plate for Travis. He added a fork and a paper napkin. “Here, eat.”
The pie, packed with apples and brown sugar syrup, had a light, flaky crust. The fragrance of tangy fruit and sweet spice called to him like a siren song. Travis recalled many times when he’d eaten his share of one of Mary’s pies. Slowly, he picked up the fork and cut into the pie, lifted a chunk of it to his mouth and almost broke down again when the familiar taste exploded on his tongue.
Travis ate four large bites before he set down his fork and gulped half his coffee. He had to tell Annie’s father what he suspected would happen as soon as his mother found out about Hank. He had to warn them to expect serious trouble up ahead. And he had to decide fast what his role in the upcoming battle would be.
He parted his lips to speak, but before he could say a word, there was a commotion at the door. Susan darted into the kitchen, her blue eyes ablaze with fury. She skidded to a halt in front of Travis and swung her fists up in a defensive pose. Her voice lashed out, cold and rough.
“What the hell are
you
doing here, Quincy? Haven’t you caused enough trouble for Annie?”
“
Susan
!” Henry’s voice snapped, uncharacteristically firm, and Susan lowered her hands and pressed her lips together. She continued to glare at Travis, who paled and got to his feet, preparing to flee. Henry gripped his shoulder in reassurance. Susan huffed out a last warning growl as Henry pointed at her with the index finger of his free hand. It was enough to make her subside. He pointed to the empty chair next to him, and she flopped down on the seat.
“I should go.” Travis tried to ease out from under Henry’s hand and found out just how strong the older man was.
“No, I think you should stay, Travis. You drove over here for a reason. Judging by the state of your emotions when I came up to your car, I’d say you need to talk. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“But, Daddy—”
Henry sent Susan a quelling glance. “Quiet. If you don’t want to hear, you can always go up to your room.”
“I’m not a three-year-old any longer! You can’t send me to my room.”
“Oh, can’t I?” His voice deepened, low and silky. Even Susan could surely hear the command behind it. She slumped in the chair and offered no further disruption.
“Now, then. Travis, why don’t you tell us what’s going on? Whatever it is, son, it can be dealt with. You know that, don’t you?” Henry urged Travis back into his seat and sat beside him, his eyes steady and warm.
Travis couldn’t hold that loving gaze. “I know about Hank. I know he’s my son. And if I know, then it won’t be long before my mother finds out, too. I think she’ll take Annie to court for custody, and if she does, she has the kind of legal counsel to assure she’ll win.” He kept his eyes averted, afraid of what he’d see in the face of the man he’d considered his second father.
Then Henry knocked him sideways when he calmly replied, “Annie told us. She’s worried about the same thing, that your mother will find out and do everything she can to declare Annie an unfit mother in hopes of taking Hank. It’s not going to happen.” Henry clasped his shoulder and gave it a comforting rub. “We just got back from our attorney’s office, and—”
“Daddy, don’t
tell
him that. He’s the enemy!”
“Susan, hush right now, or leave the room. I mean it.” Henry turned back to Travis. “As I was saying, we have legal counsel too, and she’s assured us we have nothing to worry about. Your mother can’t take Hank.”
“Yes, she can. I promise you, she can. She knows things, she’ll make terrible trouble—” Travis couldn’t sit still any longer. He spun away from Henry, and his agitated steps brought him right into Annie’s path. He stopped short at the sight of her. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen with Hank in her arms, her eyes wide with worry.
“What does she know, Travis? What could she possibly know that would make a judge agree to let her take my child from me?”
“I’d like the answer to that, too.” Mark came up behind Annie and stood next to her with one arm around her shoulders and his free hand curved over his nephew’s back. Hank snuggled his cheek into Annie’s neck as he yawned. He spotted his grandfather and with a sleepy chirp, held his chubby arms out to Henry, who rose and silently took him. Henry sat back down with Hank on his lap as Travis looked on with longing.
“Travis, I think you’d better start talking.” Mark’s voice jerked his attention from Hank, and he met Mark’s stern look with something akin to panic. Mary stepped into the kitchen and took up a position next to Henry, running a gentle hand over Hank’s tousled hair. She gave him an affectionate smile.
Annie’s chin lifted as she faced him. “I don’t know what you could say to make me think your mother has any sort of case for taking my son, Travis. Our lawyer says she doesn’t.”
He wanted, needed to touch her. “Annie, my mother will think she can get Hank just because she’s Ruth Quincy. She knows high-powered people all over the state. A lot of them have been family friends for years, and they’ll go for anything she tells them.” Travis dared to reach out for one of her hands, relieved when she allowed it to rest in his.
He gripped her fingers and turned his attention to the room in general. “I came to see Annie and Hank. When I got here, I sat out in the car and all I could think of was how much you all gave to me when I was a kid, how much you all cared about me. You made me a part of your family, and I’ve missed it like crazy.”
“If you miss it so much, then why did you push it aside?” Annie pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Why did you let your mother dictate to you like that? You said she’d never tell you what to do once you became of age. Well, from what I’ve seen, she’s doing just that, isn’t she?”
“But there’s a reason, Annie. There’s a reason I let my mother have her way—”
“Oh, yes.” Her voice held sharp sarcasm. “Your schooling. I’m sure that was most important, having the Quincy money backing your Yale education. For your information, Travis, you can get scholarships to any school if your grades are good. Including Yale. You could have worked hard to improve your grades and then gone there on your own.”
“It wasn’t just college tuition that she held over my head. I wouldn’t have done what I did only because my mother threatened to take away Yale.”
“Then what else, Travis? You can tell us.” Mary moved to his side and took his shoulders in her hands. He could feel his body start to shake. Under her steady regard, Travis buckled. A part of him admitted one of the very reasons he’d driven down Spring Street in the first place today was to get it all off his chest once and for all. He was so afraid of losing Annie and Hank forever. Someone needed to stop his mother and warn the Turners of what was coming, though they were smart enough to take action themselves.
But it might not be enough, not unless they had all the information he could give them. And that was going to be the hardest thing for them to hear.
When Mary urged him back to his chair, Travis slumped there. Henry patted his knee. Annie leaned against the counter closest to where Hank dozed in her father’s lap, keeping a watchful eye on the baby.
Travis took a deep breath and scanned the faces surrounding him. Susan and Mark. Mary, on one side of him, Henry on the other, holding his son. Annie stood with her arms crossed and a worried frown on her face. He saw how two years had changed her, how motherhood and responsibility had molded her into a beautiful young woman. Yet for all her newfound maturity, she was still so innocent.
God, they all were, these gentle people. He’d never known a family more innocent of the uglier side of life. And he was about to disillusion them in the worst way. At that moment, Travis felt so damned old.
His voice came out in a low croak. He cleared it, and tried again. “Two years ago I had a horrible fight with my mother, the morning after our annual Christmas party.” At Annie’s sudden intake of breath, he flicked her an apologetic glance and nodded slightly. “Yeah, that one. She’d said some rotten things about you, Annie—and your family. I couldn’t take it any longer, and I demanded to know why she felt this way about all of you, why she had always hated you so much. I told her I’d leave and never come back, if she didn’t tell me why. I must have gotten across to her how serious I was because she finally told me.”
He blew out a shuddery breath. “She said a lot about her past, things she’d always kept hidden from me. How she grew up dirt-poor in West Virginia, the oldest daughter of an alcoholic mother and an abusive stepfather. How, when she was only fifteen years old, her parents sold her in a poker game. Her stepfather had played and lost, and the man he lost to would have killed him if he hadn’t offered my mother as payment for his debt.”
“Oh, Travis. Oh, my Lord. Poor little girl. What a terrible way to live.” Mary’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. She took one of his hands in comfort and winced when his fingers latched onto hers in a bruising, needy grip.
Everyone in the kitchen gaped at him in horror, no doubt trying to imagine people so heartless and inhuman as to sell their own child to pay off a gambling debt. Travis dreaded what he needed to say next, for he knew it would hit them worse than anything else ever could.
“The man who took my mother, who won her in that game . . . was Franklin Turner. Your father.” Travis held Henry’s gaze as he spoke, and watched fresh horror spill into his eyes.
“My father? I don’t—how could—” Shock robbed Henry of his breath as he stammered.
Surprisingly, Susan came forward to reassure Travis first. Rising from her seat, she moved to his side and knelt in front of him, took hold of his free hand. “Finish it, Travis. There’s obviously a great deal more. Say it, and then we can deal with it.”
He nodded, grateful, and he clutched her hand as well as Mary’s. Searching for enough inner courage to get the rest of it out, his eyes locked with Annie’s compassionate gaze. He found all he needed, there.
He turned back to Henry. “Franklin Turner took my mother as his winnings that night, and he . . . he raped her several times.” He heard gasps around the table and gritted his teeth, determined to purge it all out. “He would have kept her locked up somewhere and done it to her again and again. But she got away from him and she ran for miles, until she found the driveway to Quincy Hall. My father and grandmother took her in.” Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, but he couldn’t let go long enough to dash them away. “They took care of her, and a year after it happened, Dad married her.” His voice reduced to a whispery croak. “She never reported it to the police, never spoke of it again until the day she told me. The same day my father had his second stroke.”
His face white and drawn, Henry stood and handed Hank to Mark, who balanced him on his hip and let him play with the ID tags he wore around his neck.
Mary wiped at her wet cheeks and eyed Henry with helpless concern. Travis could imagine what went through her mind: how could anyone related to her wonderful husband have been so plain evil?
“My God, I can’t process this,” Henry rasped. “My father was a bastard and treated my mother abominably. He drank almost every day of his life that I can remember, gambled away all of our savings, sold off Mama’s few pieces of good heirloom jewelry. He sold my valuable rare stamp collection for whiskey and gambling at the track. But
this
—” He looked sick to his stomach.
“There’s more.” Travis broke into Henry’s pained reverie with reluctance. What he had to say next was the very worst. Henry seemed to almost brace himself, and the room got deathly quiet as Travis admitted, “My mother told me she’d found a hammer on the floor of the car’s backseat. She got the hammer in her hand, and when the car swung around a curve, she hit him in the head. The blow knocked him out, and the car crashed into an embankment. That’s how she got away. My father said Franklin Turner was found dead in his car the next morning. An autopsy revealed he’d had a heart attack, too. They were never able to find out if he’d died from that, or from the hammer.”
Henry sank slowly onto his chair again and groped for his wife’s hand, then wrapped an arm around her hips when she hastened to his side. She stroked her palm against his nape soothingly. Henry’s breath caught in a choke before he could speak coherently. “Travis, your mother . . . I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry, that my—my—that he would have committed such a terrible crime against her—”
