To Honor and Trust (6 page)

“The accident was my fault. I shouldn't have been blocking the path, but I wanted a better look at this live oak.”

Daisy edged near. “I know 'bout live oaks. We learned from Miss Callie. She's teaching us about indignant stuff.”

“Indigenous,” Thomas corrected. He rested Daisy's bicycle against a pine tree. “What's so different about this live oak?”

“I don't know that there's anything particularly different, but I stopped to examine the grooves where the dust and leaf mold are accumulating.” Wes pointed to a deep groove in the bark of the tree.

“Yeah? So what's so good about that?” Thomas leaned forward to take a closer look.

Wes laughed. “That turns into a type of mulch that provides
a good spot for seeds or plants that are blown near the groove to make a new home. That's why you see resurrection fern lining the lower branches of most of these live oaks.” He motioned Thomas closer. “And see here? That's a palmetto trying to set up housekeeping.”

Lottie shook her head. “Trees don't live in houses.” She walked around Thomas and peeked at the groove in the tree. “Did you know live oaks stay green all year?”

“I did know that.” Wes glanced at Lottie. “Would you like to know more about these giant trees?”

“I would.” Daisy jumped up and down while clapping her hands.

“What about you, Thomas? Are you interested in botany and studying plants?”

“Some of them, but I'd rather look closer to the water. I think there's lots of interesting plants in the marshes around here.”

“That's true, but there's a lot to learn about these huge old live oaks, as well as the pines and palmettos on the island. What do you find interesting about these live oaks?”

Thomas studied the tree for a while. “I like seeing the moss that hangs from the branches, but I wonder if it hurts the trees—like a parasite.” He smiled at Callie. “Miss Callie taught me about parasites last year in my classes.”

“That's an excellent observation. You're obviously thinking, Thomas, but the Spanish moss on these trees isn't a parasite. It doesn't kill by extracting food from the tree. The moss gathers moisture and minerals from the air and dust, and then it manufactures food with the aid of chlorophyll and sunlight.”

With that comment, Wesley had gained the children's complete attention, and he gestured for them to sit on one of the
thick branches of the live oak that hung low to the ground. All three of them lined up on the sturdy limb while he explained that the moss only borrowed the tree as a place on which to grow. “It just needs a place to hang out.”

Thomas chuckled and nodded. “Kind of like we're hanging out on this limb.”

Wes grinned. “Exactly, but you won't stay on that limb, and the moss will remain on the tree.”

“But what if the tree gets sick and dies?”

“I don't think you need to worry about this tree dying for a long time, Daisy. There's an old saying that a live oak tree takes a hundred years to grow, lives for a hundred years, and then takes another hundred years to die. And did you know there are lots of plants that are used to make medicine and help us become well?”

Daisy touched a finger to the tree. “Does the tree make its own medicine? Is that why it lives so long?”

Wes chuckled. “No, but I'm sure your teacher will agree it's important to know about plants, because while some of them help heal, some are poisonous. You need to learn which ones to avoid and which ones are helpful.”

When he looked in her direction, Callie nodded. “That's very true.”

“Do you know about the good ones to make medicine?” Daisy drew closer to Wes.

“I've studied a lot about plants, and I do know some that help. Butterbur helps with headaches and coughs.” He touched the tip of Daisy's nose. “And there's a plant called aloe vera that can help heal burns.”

Callie listened as the man she assumed to be a groundskeeper continued talking to the children. His knowledge of plants
surprised her, but it was his quick smile and vibrant blue eyes that drew the children in. As he reached toward the tree, his shirt stretched taut and revealed broad, muscular shoulders. He glanced over his shoulder, and she looked away—but not quickly enough. He'd seen her staring at him, and her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. He would think she had no manners.

Though it proved difficult, she forced her thoughts away from the handsome man and back to the welcoming ball coming up. If she could think of a good excuse, perhaps Mrs. Bridgeport wouldn't insist upon her attendance. On the other hand, she knew Mrs. Bridgeport was intent upon Callie meeting a proper young man, marrying, and having children of her own. And Mrs. Bridgeport was very aware that the best place for Callie to meet one of those proper young men was at the various balls and parties hosted in the clubhouse.

Callie tried to envision herself in the arms of various unknown strangers, being led onto the dance floor in her cream-colored satin and chiffon gown, but the moment the picture became clear, fear grabbed her in a choke hold. Perhaps if she could skip this first ball of the season, she would feel more comfortable about attending the next one.

But that wouldn't happen. Mrs. Bridgeport would never relent. Callie sighed. She'd simply have to don the dress and make an exit at the earliest opportunity.

She only hoped she could do so before any man asked her to dance.

Wes looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. If he could have his way, he'd forgo these formal dining room dinners with the family, but living in the clubhouse didn't permit him that opportunity. The clubhouse kitchen provided room service, but he dared not attempt to miss the family gathering each evening. It would be a little easier once his brother Daniel returned to Massachusetts. He would be delighted to see Richard leave, as well. It seemed that Daniel and Richard took great sport in finding fault and making him the brunt of their jokes.

The only pleasant time he'd encountered since arriving had been his time alone exploring the island—and meeting that young woman and her students that afternoon.
Callie.
Lovely name. Lovely girl. Probably has a line of suitors a mile long. He strode out of the room and down the hallway.

How he disliked this shallow style of living. He wanted his life to count for something more than owning textile mills and trying to outdo his competitors. The businessmen who frequented these private resorts came to impress their rivals or to make deals with them. And their wives arrived with the idea of wearing more expensive clothing and jewels than their
peers. It was all a game of outclassing one another. And whether his father liked it or not, Wes didn't intend to play the game. He might not be prepared for a return to treating patients, but perhaps his love of botany and experience in the laboratory in New York would lead him back to research again—just so long as it didn't take him back into the field where he would be required to actually work with patients. The thought caused his hands to tremble, and he rushed from the room before he could dwell on the idea.

The family was already gathered in the foyer outside the dining room when he walked down the staircase. His mother was fanning herself, as if overcome by an oppressive heat wave.

The moment she caught sight of him, she hurried to his side. “We've been waiting for ten minutes, Wesley. They have a dinner schedule in the dining room. The headwaiter isn't particularly happy that we weren't all here at the appointed time. Your father isn't pleased, either.”

He steered his mother back toward the rest of the family. “I'm sorry, Mother, but you should have had the waiter seat you. I could have located the table.”

“That's the problem. They won't seat people until their entire party has arrived.” She held her fan in front of her lips. “It has to do with creating difficulty for the waiter assigned to a particular table or some such thing.” She lowered the fan long enough to flash a smile and signal the headwaiter. “Do express your regrets for keeping the others waiting, Wesley.”

“I may have been living away from home for a number of years, Mother, but I still possess a few good manners.”

His father stood by the door leading to the dining room with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. “Good of you to finally join us, Wesley.”

“My apologies, Father.” He glanced around the group. “And to all of you. Time got away from me, and I didn't return as early as I had planned.” Wes nodded to the headwaiter. “I'm sorry for any inconvenience to you and your staff.”

“We are here to make your stay as pleasant as possible. No explanation is necessary, sir.” The waiter straightened his shoulders. “If you will all follow me, please, I'll see you to your table.”

Walking single file, they made their way between tables draped with crisp white tablecloths and set with gold-rimmed china and sterling silverware. Candlelight glistened in the crystal goblets like starlight in a midnight sky.

Wes cringed inwardly when he realized he'd be seated between his brother-in-law, Richard, and his father. “I'd be happy to change seats, if you'd like one of your daughters over here by you, Richard.”

“No need. They'll be eating their dinner upstairs with their nanny. They raised such a fuss that Helena agreed they could come down for a short time, although I didn't think she should reward their bad behavior.”

Helena squared her shoulders. “They'll be here only long enough to eat a fruit cup, Richard. They need to learn to behave properly when we're dining out. This is a good experience for them.” She unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “If you care to discuss this further, I'd be happy to do so in our rooms—after dinner.”

Wes sighed with relief when their waiter appeared and broke the uncomfortable silence by detailing the dinner offerings for the evening. After they had completed their order, Richard nudged Wes. “Exactly what were you doing that caused you to be late this evening? An extra game of golf? Or were you availing yourself of the tennis courts provided for the guests?”

“I haven't seen the golf course or the tennis courts, Richard. I haven't seen stables or the racetrack, either. Have you?” Wes immediately regretted his retort. He didn't want to get into a petty argument with Richard. There was already too much tension around the table.

“I did check the racetrack, and I must say it is quite impressive. I didn't believe it could compare with Churchill Downs, but it does.” He leaned in and kept his voice low. “Unfortunately, the races won't begin for another week.”

“I'm sure Helena and the girls will enjoy having you with them to picnic and explore the beach.” When Wesley reached for the water pitcher, a waiter rushed forward and filled the empty goblet.

As the evening progressed, talk among the men became focused upon the textile mills and the increasing price of wool, labor, and machinery. Meanwhile his mother and the other women discussed the latest ladies' fashions. Wesley soon discovered he had nothing to offer to either conversation, so he let his thoughts wander toward the charming young lady he'd met earlier in the day.

“So what do you think, Wesley?” His father, Richard, and Daniel were all staring at him when he looked up from his plate.

“About what?” He forked a piece of baked redfish that had likely been the catch of the day.

“You haven't heard a word we've said, have you?” His father's voice was laced with condemnation.

“No, I must admit that my thoughts were elsewhere, but I'm listening now.” He swallowed the bite of fish and wiped his mouth.

“We were discussing the expansion and your coming on board as manager.” His father glanced at Daniel. “Daniel has
agreed to spend some time showing you the ropes so you'll be prepared by the time we open the mill. I'm sure he'll assist you with hiring procedures and the like, won't you, Daniel?” Their father beamed at Daniel.

“Whatever you decide will be most helpful, Father. We all want the family business to flourish, don't we, Wes?”

Daniel lifted his glass to the gathered family members, but Wes ignored the gesture. His stomach had tightened until he felt as if a vise had been clamped around the center of his body. The delightful fish swimming in buttery garlic sauce no longer held any appeal. Instead, the sight of his remaining dinner caused his stomach to lurch. Why did his father think it necessary to discuss this matter now? Surely his father already assumed Wes wouldn't join the family business, but once again his father had donned imaginary blinders.

The same thing had happened when Wes went off to school. His father had expected him to take courses in business. To the family patriarch, the idea of becoming a physician was nonsensical. After all, physicians didn't command much respect, and they certainly didn't make much money. For someone of the lower class, becoming a physician might be a step up, but not for someone among the upper class. With a jovial pat on the back, his father had remarked that one day he'd end up in the family business. Apparently his father had decided that time was now.

Leaning back in his chair, his father patted his midsection and looked at Wes. “I assume I can take your silence as agreement.”

Leaning toward his father, Wes kept his voice low. “No, Father, you may not. I have no intention of ever joining the family business. And it might be best if we discussed this privately.”

“We are talking about the family business. Why would we discuss it privately? Your decision affects all of us.” His father spoke loudly enough to capture the attention of the women at their table.

His mother patted his father's arm. “Do keep your voice down, Howard. The people at the other tables aren't interested in your conversation.” She glanced over her shoulder, clearly wondering if anyone was looking toward their table. “Remember we are guests of the Wades. They were most kind to offer the use of their apartments for the season, and we don't want to do anything that would create embarrassment for Josiah or Margaret.” She pinned him with a warning look. “Even though the Wades won't be here during the season, you can be sure the regular guests will be delighted to notify them of any impropriety on our part.”

“For the love of heaven, Blanche, quit worrying about Josiah and Margaret Wade. It's your son who should be causing you concern. Did you hear him say he has no intention of ever joining the family business?” Before she could answer, his father turned to face Wesley. “You best give this more thought, son. Even though I didn't approve of you becoming a physician, I paid for your education. And even though I thought it was foolhardy, I didn't argue when you went off to New York. And I held my tongue when you decided to go to Texas. Beyond that, and at your mother's behest, I agreed I would give you the rest of the winter before insisting that you settle down.”

Wes leaned back and nearly toppled his chair. “Settle down? You make it sound as though I've been doing nothing but having fun since I finished medical school.”

“As far as I'm concerned, you haven't been doing anything that's going to secure your future, and now it's time to get to
work. If you don't join us at the textile mills when we return to Lowell, don't plan on the family supporting you.”

Wes could feel the heat climbing up his neck. He needed to keep his temper in check. His jaw twitched when he caught a glimpse of Richard's smirk, and he purposefully pushed back from the table. “Excuse me. I believe I'm through for the night.” Weaving among the tables, he strode from the room, his anger mounting with each step.

“Wesley! Do stop—I can't run after you in these shoes.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh. Why had his mother followed him? Surely she knew that it would only make matters worse. Didn't his father always accuse her of taking Wes's side? Her actions would add fuel to the already raging fire. He continued outside to the porch and waited for her.

“Do come back inside, Wes. He doesn't mean it. You know your father sometimes speaks without thinking.”

“That may be true, Mother, but I believe he has given this a great deal of thought and he means exactly what he says. However, he need not worry about supporting me. I may not find a job that he will think praiseworthy, but I won't look to him for support.”

“Promise you won't do anything rash, Wes. Just give me time to speak to him.”

Wes shook his head. “Please don't, Mother. I don't want either of you to concern yourselves about my future.” He smiled at her. “I have an education and good health, and I know that with God's help, I'll find the answers for my future.”

Callie waited alongside Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport in the foyer outside the dining room of the clubhouse. “I do wish we
could have secured early seating for the season. They always give preference to those living in the clubhouse, and most of them don't have children. I doubt there will be many evenings when Lottie and Daisy can join us. They'll fall asleep before dessert. Of course, Thomas would have no problem, but he dislikes having to dress for dinner every night and will use any excuse to avoid eating in the clubhouse.”

“Perhaps I could have the girls take a nap in the afternoon if there are evenings when you want to bring them along,” Callie suggested.

The headwaiter, Mr. Hall, approached with a broad smile. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport, Miss Deboyer.” He bobbed his head. “It is always a pleasure to have you dine with us. Please follow me.”

Mr. Hall turned on his heel and came nose-to-nose with a group of departing guests. “Excuse me, Mr. Townsend, I didn't realize you were approaching. Are you acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport?”

“I don't believe I am.” Mr. Townsend extended his hand to Mr. Bridgeport, and the men exchanged pleasantries. “I hope you'll have an opportunity to meet my wife, Mrs. Bridgeport. She had to leave dinner early this evening, but I'm sure you'll see her at some of the social events you ladies share at the clubhouse. We have another son, but he departed earlier, as well. It's a pleasure to meet you folks.” He clapped Mr. Bridgeport on the shoulder. “If you have any desire to extend your investments, I'm always interested in gaining the right investors for our woolen mill expansion.”

“I'll give it some thought.” Mr. Bridgeport glanced toward the waiter. “I believe we're holding up dinner seating. Nice to meet you, Mr. Townsend.”