To Have and To Hold (7 page)

Boyd patted Marshall's shoulder. “I doubt the fact that you've left will have much effect on them. A man and his bottle are hard to separate. Probably the best thing we can do is ask God to look out for them and for their families.”

Marshall agreed that God was the only one who could pull his brothers out of the revolting habit that had robbed them of their hopes, dreams, and dignity. But his prayers hadn't done much good for his father, and thus far, they hadn't helped his brothers, either. Maybe he hadn't been devout enough. Had it been Audrey's prayers that had saved Boyd from the demon in the bottle? If so, maybe he should enlist her help. Then again, one thought of her earlier greeting was enough to waylay such a plan. He doubted that even a hot Georgia sun could melt Audrey Cunningham's icy attitude.

“I know your pain runs deep where your father is concerned, but I need to pass along some things that may help.” Boyd massaged his forehead. “I should have talked to you before now, but I couldn't get you to answer my letters.”

That much was true. Marshall had wanted nothing to do with his father's old drinking buddy. On the day of the funeral, Marshall had attempted to bury his grief-stricken memories along with his father's coffin. But those memories continued to haunt him. Each of Boyd's letters had been a reminder of his father—a reminder he hadn't wanted. Yet as his relationship with his brothers continued to deteriorate, Marshall knew the time to put the past behind him had arrived. And putting the past behind him would be impossible until he let Boyd have his say.

“I don't know if you remember that I was at the hospital right before your father died.”

Marshall bobbed his head. He remembered. At the time he figured Boyd had hidden a paper-wrapped bottle in his pocket and had come to offer Marshall's dying father one last drink before he passed on to his just reward.

“Your father asked me to tell you a few things that he couldn't say to you himself. I think he figured you wouldn't believe him.” Boyd hesitated and looked Marshall in the eye. “Your father was proud of you—thankful that you have always been strong enough to avoid the lure of alcohol. He was truly sorry for the way he treated all of you, especially your mother.”

“He should have been sorry. It was his drinking that sent my mother to an early grave. It was worry over him that killed her.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled his mother's death.

“That may be true, but it can't be changed. The only thing that can be changed is you. If you're going to find any peace in this lifetime, you're going to have to forgive him and shed the past. 'Course, whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you. But I know he spoke the truth when he told me he was proud of you and all you'd accomplished, Marshall. A man doesn't speak lies on his deathbed.” Boyd pushed to his feet. “You think about what I've said. It may take some time and prayer, but eventually I think you'll come to believe the truth of what I've told you.”

Marshall wasn't certain he wanted to know that his father had spoken well of him. He'd harbored nothing but ill feelings toward the man. To think otherwise went against the grain. Still, he couldn't deny the twinge of pride he experienced upon hearing the words of praise. Perhaps Boyd was right—maybe in time he'd come to a place where he could set aside the past. But not now. First, he needed to digest what Boyd had told him.

“Come on and walk a ways with me. My bones ache if I sit too long, and there's something I want to show you.” Motioning Marshall forward, Boyd turned to the left when they approached a fork in the path.

Marshall didn't know where they were headed, but he followed along, willing to explore the island before he departed. There was no denying the beauty of the area. The aged oaks with their festoons of moss provided the perfect place for birds to conceal their nests, and several winged creatures sang for them as they passed beneath the long, low branches. The beauty of Bridal Veil couldn't be denied, but not as a permanent home—at least not for him. Marshall preferred dramatic changes of season: leaves changing color on a fall day, the smell of damp grass and budding flowers in the spring, the warmth of sunshine on a summer day, and the sight of snowflakes in the moonlight on a cold winter night. He hoped to one day find all of those things in Colorado. Although these balmy winter days along the southern coast were a pleasant change, it wasn't a climate he'd want to embrace for a lifetime. Still, he wasn't unmindful of the advantages of a pleasant year-round climate, especially for a man in the construction trade. There'd be no delays because of snow or sleet, and no problems with frozen ground.

The sound of men's voices drifted toward them as they approached a large clearing. A few of the men picked up their tools when they arrived, but their appearance didn't cause much of a stir among the workers.

Boyd glanced over his shoulder before he pointed to an area where the men had been working. “This is where the clubhouse will be located. There will be a number of amenities on the main floor, including an elegant ballroom, and hotel rooms on the upper floors. I think this setting far outshines what they've got planned over at Jekyl. Folks will have a much better view of the Argosy River from this site, and on a clear day guests will have a fine view of the mainland of Georgia from the clubhouse balconies.” He chuckled. “'Course some folks might say I'm a little biased in my opinion.”

Marshall stepped forward and surveyed the area. “Well, I'd say you're right about having an excellent view, but I can't compare it to Jekyl, since I've not yet been over there.”

Boyd gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder. “And there's no need for you to go over there, either. I know Victor Morley and his investors would be more than pleased to have someone of your ability come to work for them. Mr. Morley is returning later today to check on the progress, and it would be an excellent opportunity for you to meet him. He and his partners can use a man with your experience, and I'm hoping you'll agree to stay here and work for them. There's no need for you to even consider the Jekyl project.” Boyd pointed at several men who'd settled beneath a live oak in the distance. “Looks like these men need someone who can persuade them to keep moving, and I'm sure you're just the man to fit the bill.”

“You may be sure, but I'm not. Personally, I prefer to hire workers who don't have to be watched over like young children.”

“Exactly! And you can instill those values in these men. They just need a bit of guidance, and you'll have them on the straight and narrow in no time.” Boyd leaned a bit closer and grinned. “Besides, I could use another man around the house to take my side when Audrey or Thora gets a bee in her bonnet.”

Marshall doubted he'd be much help on that account. After the reception he'd received from Audrey, he imagined she would do her best to see that he was on the next boat to Jekyl Island. Thoughts of the young woman and the unruly brown locks that framed her delicate features caused his heart to quicken for a moment. He couldn't deny Audrey's appeal. Nor could he deny the aversion she'd exhibited toward him.

Boyd nudged him from his thoughts. “Say you'll at least give Victor a chance to argue his case and make an offer before you go looking for a job over on Jekyl Island.”

Marshall nodded. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt me to hear him out. After receiving your last letter, I had planned to remain a night or two before going on to Jekyl.”

Besides, staying a couple extra days would give Marshall an opportunity to figure out what he'd done to offend Miss Cunningham. Her hostility was truly a mystery. A mystery he'd like to unravel before he left the island.

“Thank you, Marshall. Once you talk to Mr. Morley, I think you'll be glad you decided on Bridal Veil.”

“Whoa! I didn't say I'd decided to remain more than a night or two. Mr. Morley hasn't even offered me a job, so let's don't make this more than it is.” As they continued to walk, Marshall waved toward the surrounding landscape. “Looks like there's plenty to be accomplished before this place will be prepared to welcome guests.” Although the workers had begun grading roads, draining a nearby pond, and cutting a canal, all of those jobs would need to be completed before they began construction of a clubhouse and homes that would suit wealthy inhabitants. The project presented complex challenges, especially in light of the fact that promises had been made to ensure the preservation of the land. A fact Boyd had earlier indicated, and one that he didn't hesitate to mention.

The older man nodded. “Most of the island has been set aside for preservation, but there's no getting around some of the necessary changes that come with the construction of a clubhouse as well as many new houses. I've already accepted the fact that portions of the island will be changed, but I plan to hold Mr. Morley and his fellow investors to their word about the remainder of the island—I've got it in writing.” His deep-set eyes glimmered with a spark of humor. “As for problems, we're not having near the troubles they're having over on Jekyl.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “The investors over at Jekyl want to make the place into a hunting paradise, not just a place to relax with their families. To do that, they've first had to clear out the cattle and horses already on the island. They were able to sell the cattle, but rounding up some of those wild stallions proved to be more of a challenge than those fellows expected. And they still haven't gotten rid of all the wild boar.”

“What?” Marshall glanced over his shoulder. “These islands are inhabited with wild boar?”

“Not here on Bridal Veil. But years ago the king of Italy presented a pair of wild boars to a friend of J. P. Morgan. When J.P.'s friend couldn't find a suitable home for the animals, J.P. offered Jekyl Island. Naturally, the boars mingled with the wild pigs that were already on the island. After a number of years, a herd of those wild, mean creatures was roaming the island. Read in the newspaper last week that a boar had killed some fine hunting dogs. Open season has been declared on the boar, and there's no telling how that will turn out. Just hope no one gets killed in the scuffle.” Boyd removed his hat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

Though dank, the temperature remained seasonably mild, and the older man's gesture surprised Marshall. After living in the South for the last several years, Boyd should be accustomed to these humid conditions. Then again, Marshall thought it would take him more than a few years to become used to the humidity. “You need to rest, Boyd?”

“No. I'm just feeling a little warm.” He fanned his hat in front of his face. “As I was saying, you wouldn't have to contend with a wild boar population here on this island. Although we have enjoyed some of the fine meat. We have the benefits without the danger.”

“Well, that's an argument in favor of Bridal Veil, for sure.” Marshall nodded toward the path. “Maybe we should head back to the house.” Although he would have enjoyed viewing more of the island, he noted that Boyd continued to perspire, and his complexion had turned a pasty hue. No doubt Miss Cunningham would take him to task if her father became ill while in his company. And that old woman they called Aunt Thora would likely agree.

Boyd didn't argue against returning home. “Maybe Mr. Morley will be there by the time we get back. I know you'll like him. He's a good, honest man. In fact, he was Audrey's employer back when we lived in Pittsburgh.”

“Is that so?” Marshall didn't know what type of business Mr. Morley operated back in Pittsburgh. Although Boyd had mentioned having completed a construction project on his home, the older man hadn't mentioned Mr. Morley's line of business.

“What work did she perform for Mr. Morley?”

A hint of color had returned to Boyd's cheeks, and he picked up his step. “I guess I misspoke. She actually worked for both Mr. and Mrs. Morley. She was their assistant housekeeper and also helped with their children. She's missed the youngsters since moving down here.” He tipped his head to one side and glanced up. “She enjoys children.”

Marshall ignored the remark about children and moved on to more familiar ground. “So is Mr. Morley in the steel or coal business?”

“Neither one. He's strictly an investor and banker, but I'd guess he owns some interest in the steel and coal industry. Seems as though all of the money men in Pittsburgh have some kind of ownership in the steel mills, don't you think?”

Marshall shrugged. He assumed Boyd was correct, but Marshall's personal involvement with “money men” had been nonexistent. Though he'd worked on projects for men such as Andrew Carnegie and Henry Frick, there had always been project managers and architects layered between Marshall and the wealthy men who signed the checks.

When they arrived back at the house, Boyd declared they should both rest until time for the noon meal. Though Marshall wasn't in need of rest, his options were limited. If he rejected the idea, Boyd would likely forgo a much needed nap, for he wouldn't want to be considered a poor host. And if anything happened to Boyd, Aunt Thora and Miss Cunningham would likely point a finger in Marshall's direction.

After brief consideration of his options, Marshall followed Boyd upstairs and settled into the room Boyd directed him to. Needed or not, he'd rest until time to eat.

When he descended the steps an hour later, Boyd appeared a bit sprightlier. The old woman walked into the dining room and was placing the dinnerware on the table as Boyd slapped Marshall on the shoulder. “You're in for a real treat—we're having shrimp and rice croquettes. They're one of Thora's specialties, aren't they, Thora.”

There was a glint in the old woman's eyes as she turned and looked at Marshall. “That's what everyone tells me, so I got no choice but to believe it's true.” A smile slowly spread across her lips. “You Northern boys like shrimp, Mr. Graham?”