To Love and Honor (20 page)

“That would be wonderful, Janie,” was the only answer Violet could give because she didn't want to raise the girl's hopes and then have her disappointed if her father couldn't take her. She wished they had some way to know what had happened to Janie's mother. “I'm praying for you, dear.”

Violet spent the rest of the evening contemplating Janie's future to forestall any thoughts of her own paternal heritage, for she couldn't dispel the feeling that Josiah Conley wasn't finished with her yet.

 

Since they were considering the purchase of a new house, Roger and Violet decided to put Violet's house up for sale and use the proceeds from it as a down payment on a new house when they selected one. On Saturday morning, they were showing the house to a real estate agent, when Violet looked out the window to see a sleek limousine pulling gingerly into her driveway.

Her muttered, “Oh, no,” brought Roger to her side immediately.

“Josiah Conley?” he said. Violet nodded.

“Are you going to talk with him?”

“I might as well—he won't leave me alone until I do, and maybe not then.”

“The real estate agent is about finished anyway, so I'll ask him to do some figuring and telephone you on
Monday with his proposed sale price. Do you want me to leave, too?”

“No, I won't talk with him alone. He intimidates me.”

When the doorbell rang, Violet murmured a short prayer for guidance before she opened the door. Her grandfather was accompanied by his secretary, Miss Whitaker. Violet unlocked the storm door and motioned for them to enter.

“Please be seated,” she said. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“No, we've breakfasted,” Josiah declined; but the secretary looked as if she might have welcomed something.

Josiah took Violet's chair, and she sat on the couch beside Miss Whitaker.

“Why have you been avoiding me? Why haven't you answered my calls?” Josiah said, putting Violet on the defensive immediately.

“After I notified you that I wasn't interested in the position you were offering me, I didn't consider that we had anything to discuss.”

“Did you really think that I would take your answer as final? I'm willing to negotiate with you—what more do you want?”

The kitchen door closed behind the real estate agent, and Violet sensed Roger's presence in the room. She turned in his direction.

Standing, she said, “Roger, let me introduce you to Josiah B. Conley. This is my fiancé, Roger Gibson.” She moved to Roger's side, and he put an arm around her waist.

Josiah looked Roger up and down, and Roger stood patiently under the sharp scrutiny. Since he was going
to work in an hour, he was wearing his uniform, and he presented an awesome bearing. “Well, you've picked a man,” Josiah conceded at last. “I was given to understand that you were interested in Larry Holland.”

Roger continued to stand, but Violet resumed her seat on the couch.

“Not any more. When my mother came here to live, he dropped me like a hot potato, and didn't show any more interest until he learned I was related to you. He doesn't want me—he's interested in your wealth.”

“Which shows that he's a wise man,” Josiah said, making Violet realize that this characteristic of Larry's elevated him in her grandfather's estimation.

Josiah turned to Roger. “Are you the one who persuaded Violet to turn down a handsome position as my granddaughter and sole heir?”

“No, sir—Violet made that decision alone, but I support her stand.”

“I've had both of you investigated,” Josiah said, “and as my heirs, you would make more money in a month than you do now in a year. Doesn't that interest you?”

“No, sir,” Roger said. “I have all I need now.”

“What if I told you that I have a nephew who is more than willing to step in and take what you're rejecting?” Josiah said to Violet, his eyes piercing in their intensity.

She smiled. “That would make me very happy, for I am sorry that I had to reject your offer—not sorry for myself, but for you because I thought you had no one else to turn to. Your nephew seems like a good solution to your problem.”

“Well, you've had your chance,” Josiah said, rising
from the chair. “I don't have to beg anyone to be my heir. Anyway, I doubt I would be happy having a murderess's daughter bear my grandchildren.”

Violet started angrily, and Roger moved swiftly to her side, his arm on her shoulder suggesting caution. She swallowed twice before she had the strength to ignore the insult.

“That is my opinion, too,” Violet said quietly. “And since you've brought up my mother, I want to tell you that there will be a documentary about her crime, trial, imprisonment and death on “Travesty of Justice” in two weeks. You may want to watch it.”

Anger changed his features. “How dare you! I will not have the Conley name sullied. I'll block that broadcast.”

“I doubt you can do that,” Violet said. “All of the information they use is available to the public, except for some court documents, which I have authorized them to use.”

“How dare you!” Josiah repeated, and started toward Violet, his hands clenched at his side. Roger stepped in front of her.

“It's time for you to leave, Mr. Conley,” he said quietly and firmly, but his eyes glittered dangerously.

“Violet has made her position plain. She doesn't want to have any further contact with you.”

“I'll sue to stop that program, or anything else I have to do.”

Feeling that Josiah had conquered his desire to harm her, Violet stood beside Roger again. “My lawyer is William O'Brien, in Kansas City. You can reach me through him if you have any further need to contact me,” Violet said. “You've spent almost a quarter of a century without recognizing me, and I really don't
feel that it would have worked out. I now have the full facts of what caused Mother to kill her husband and how you railroaded her into prison, and I can never forget that, although my Christian beliefs have led me to forgive you. When I was a child, I would have welcomed some attention from you, but it's too late now. I believe we will both be happier if we continue as we have in the past.”

“You'll be sorry,” Josiah said, as he headed for the door, curtly motioning for his secretary to follow him. Miss Whitaker gave Violet a compassionate glance before she left the house. Violet turned into Roger's arms and put her head on his shoulder.

“Will he leave us alone now?”

“I think so,” Roger answered slowly. “I read defeat in his eyes when you said you would have liked some attention when you were a child.”

“I only hope I can put all of this behind me. I don't want anything to interfere with our chances for a happy marriage.”

“I'm not worried about that, nor should you be. Don't forget our Lord's words when he cautioned, ‘Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.' I've given a lot of prayerful thought to our marriage, searching the Bible for assurance that we've made the right decision, and over and over I keep returning to the incident in the Old Testament when Joshua challenged the Israelites to serve God, and more than once, I've made the same pledge Joshua did, ‘But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.'”

“You're right, of course, and I do trust most of the time, but I have my moments of weakness, and the overwhelming personality of Josiah Conley causes my
courage to dwindle. When I worry about what he and the Hollands might do to us, I keep reminding myself of the Apostle Paul's words to the Romans, ‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'”

“That's the way to believe,” Roger assured her. “I'm not anticipating a carefree future, and we can expect to face difficulties, but we need to hold on to the truth that with God on our side, nothing will come our way that we can't handle together.”

“That word
together
is a powerful antidote for trouble,” Violet agreed. “Only a short time until that's a reality.”

R
oger and Violet had agreed upon a simple wedding with only Misty and Jason as their attendants, and on Thursday night, Violet invited the three Gibsons for supper, and afterward, they would make plans for the ceremony. She prepared a large pan of lasagna, a garden salad, garlic bread, and tried her hand at a blueberry pie, which she would serve warm with frozen vanilla yogurt. Her hands trembled as she extended the dining room table and laid four place settings, realizing that this would be the normal eating arrangement when she acquired her new family. She had seldom prepared a meal for more than two people, although she had learned to cook under Aunt Ruth's tutelage. What if the children didn't like her cooking?

By the time the Gibsons arrived, she was edgy, to the extent that she caught herself nibbling on her fingernails. She took a deep breath when she heard the pickup pull into the driveway. Misty and Jason breezed into the house in an argument over the merits of their favorite soccer teams.

“Smells good in here,” Jason commented. “Pie!” he said, when he spied the pastry cooling on the cabinet.

“Put your jackets in the closet,” Violet instructed. “The food will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Okay if we turn on the television?” Misty asked.

“Sure.”

Roger entered the kitchen, and she turned frightened eyes toward him. He put his arms around her and bent for a kiss, and she darted anxious eyes toward the living room. He had never caressed her in front of his children.

As his lips hovered over hers, he murmured, “They might as well get used to seeing me kiss you. I intend to do it quite often.”

She was rigid in his arms, and he said, “Is something wrong?”

“What if they don't like the way I cook?”

He laughed at her. “They've eaten my cooking for years, and I haven't heard many complaints. You're going to make a great mother—stop fretting about it.”

Violet looked toward the living room where Jason's developing frame filled her lounge chair. “I hope so, but it's intimidating to become a mother to someone who's only six years younger than I am.”

“He's still a kid at heart, believe me. Want me to help you?”

“The salads are in the fridge. You can put them on the table, and put ice in the glasses. I have pitchers of fruit punch or tea—you can have a choice.”

But Violet stopped worrying about her culinary abilities when Jason scraped the last of the lasagna out of the baking dish and said, “Dad, you surely do know
how to pick 'em. Not only did you choose a beauty, but she's a great cook, too!”

“Well, if you want me to give you some pointers on finding a girlfriend, you only have to ask. You haven't been doing so well on your own,” Roger countered.

Jason groaned.

“It was a good meal,” Misty said when they had finished their pie. “Dad is a good meat and potatoes cook, but he won't try his hand in the bakery department.” She stood up. “Now, it's my turn to work. The rest of you guys go into the living room—I know how to load a dishwasher.”

“All right,” Violet said, at Roger's nod. “The dishwashing liquid is under the sink. Let me know if you need any help.”

By the time Misty finished, the evening news was over, and Violet turned off the television. She brought a notepad from her desk and curled up on the couch beside Roger since Jason was comfortable in her usual chair. Misty took a cushion from the couch and sat on the floor near them.

“Roger and I thought that the two of you should be involved in planning the wedding service,” she said.

“Where do we start?”

The telephone rang, and Violet laughed. “That figures! I seldom sit down that the phone doesn't ring.”

As she started toward the desk to answer, Roger said, “If you think your phone rings a lot, wait until you live in a house with two teenagers. I gave up fighting with them for phone time and installed two phones. They aren't allowed to receive calls on my phone.”

“We like it that way, Dad,” Misty assured him.

When Violet lifted the receiver, Mrs. Grady's worried tones filled her ear.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Conley, but Janie hasn't come home yet. At first, I supposed she might be helping one of the teachers, although she usually tells me. But now that it's so late, I'm worried. Is she at your house?”

A wave of apprehension swept over Violet. “Why, no—I haven't seen her since she left my class in early afternoon, although sometimes she does stop in at the close of the day. Just a minute. Misty Gibson is here now, I'll ask her if she knows anything.” Violet lowered the phone. “Mrs. Grady says that Janie hasn't come home yet. Do you have any idea where she might be, Misty?”

Misty shook her head. “She was in last period class, and we left the school building at the same time. She started down the street as she always does—I assumed that she was going home.”

Roger came to Violet's side as she relayed the message to Mrs. Grady. Violet held the phone so he could hear Mrs. Grady's answer.

“I was gone at the time Janie usually comes home, for I had to pick up the little ones at their school. She apparently entered the house, for her book bag is lying on the table in the hallway.”

Roger took the phone. “Mrs. Grady, this is Roger Gibson. I'll be right over to talk with you. In the meantime, check to see if any of her clothing is gone.”

When he replaced the receiver, Violet said, “I'm going with you.” He nodded his head.

“Jason, you and Misty can go home in the pickup. We can use Violet's car.”

Misty eyes were worried. “Do you suppose she's run away again?” she whispered.

“I can't believe it,” Violet said, “but that's what most people will think.” Violet felt devastated. And confused. Since Clifford Skeen had started arrangements to assume custody of Janie the girl had been delighted. It just didn't make sense that she'd run away again.

Mrs. Grady, a robust, florid-complexioned woman, met them at the door, her eyes tearful, her face strained with concern.

“As far as I can determine, nothing is gone except the clothes she wore this morning. I know she came into the house because of the book bag, but there's no other sign that she's been here. Usually, she has a glass of milk as soon as she comes home, but there's no empty glass in the sink. I'm really concerned.”

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Grady,” Roger said, taking her arm and leading her to a chair in the living room, where the two small children were watching television. Without permission, he turned down the volume.

“Have you contacted any of her friends?”

“I telephoned a few of the people she's met at your teen group before I bothered Miss Conley, but none of them has seen her. As you know, she hasn't made many friends.” Mrs. Grady pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped her eyes. “I can't believe that the child would run away—she has seemed happy, looking forward so much to living with her father.”

Violet took Mrs. Grady's hand. “She has been contented, and excited over the prospects that she might find her father. I don't believe that she would run away—she hated living on the streets. But I shudder
at the alternative. If she didn't leave voluntarily, has she been kidnapped?”

“That thought terrifies me,” Mrs. Grady admitted. “I'm always gone for a half hour at the same time each afternoon to bring the children from school. If someone was watching Janie, they would know that she was alone here.”

“But there's no sign of a struggle,” Roger said. “She wouldn't have gone voluntarily if she didn't know the person.”

“Yes, but it could have been someone we know,” Mrs. Grady said. “Janie can be so trusting.”

“Perhaps it will relieve your mind to know that there's very little chance any serious crime has occurred here in Maitland,” he said. He rose from the couch. “You stay here by the phone, and I'll go to headquarters and see what I can learn. If we don't hear anything in a few hours, we'll put out an APB on her. We should also contact Clifford Skeen. Perhaps Janie decided to go to him.”

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Violet asked.

“No, I'll be all right. She may try to telephone you if she's in trouble,” Mrs. Grady said. “You should be near your telephone.”

Violet drove Roger to the police headquarters, and when he got out of the car, he said, “Don't worry too much. There may be a perfectly logical explanation.”

“But I'm devastated—just when it seemed that life was straightening out for Janie, this has to happen.”

Roger squeezed her hand. “I'll do everything possible.”

The night seemed long to Violet, and she couldn't imagine how long it must have been for Janie, wher
ever the poor child was. Since Roger hadn't telephoned, she knew he hadn't learned anything, and on her way to school, she stopped by Mrs. Grady's home.

“I've haven't had any news at all,” Violet said when Janie's foster mother quickly opened the door. She obviously hadn't slept, and her eyes were red from fatigue and crying.

“I heard something,” Mrs. Grady said. “My neighbor across the street is an invalid, and she spends a lot of time in her wheelchair by the window. She says she has noticed a strange car driving slowly along the street this week. She always naps in the afternoon, so she wasn't at the window when Janie came home from school. Do you think that could be important?”

“At this point, we shouldn't overlook any possibility. Contact Lieutenant Gibson today and give him the information. Did your neighbor note anything about the car?”

“Only that it was a red compact of some kind, rather old. But she didn't see the driver.”

“That isn't much to go on, but we don't have anything else.”

When Violet drove into the school's parking lot, Roger was dropping Misty off for classes. He strode toward Violet, and in spite of her worry about Janie, her heart somersaulted at the sight of him. What a man!

“I stayed at headquarters until midnight,” he said, “but we didn't have any information then, and I left instructions to telephone about any new developments. I'm on my way to work now. Ask kids at school about Janie, her mood lately, anything she might have said about living with her father. Try to learn anything you can.”

Violet did her best to check with anyone Janie had talked with the day before, but she didn't uncover any information that would have caused the girl to run away. Ironically, in Janie's absence, she received more attention than she did when she was present, and her name was on everyone's tongue before the day ended.

Violet's feet were dragging when she reached home at the end of the day. The light was flashing on her answering machine, and wanting nothing more than to stretch out on the bed, she considered ignoring the message until she had rested. Curiosity overrode her fatigue, and Violet slouched on a chair and punched the button.

“One message,” the automated machine sounded. “I-57 North. My mother—” The message stopped abruptly. Violet sat upright, fatigue forgotten. She replayed the message. Although the words were muffled, there was no doubt it was Janie's voice. Excitedly, Violet dialed the police headquarters and was heady with relief when Roger answered.

She repeated the message, and he said, “What time was the message received?”

“Twenty minutes after noon.”

“That's the interstate between Mount Vernon and Chicago, so no doubt they're in Chicago by now, but we'll find them. I was beginning to wonder if Janie's mother wasn't involved. I couldn't imagine anyone else that she would go with willingly.”

“Why would she wait so long to come for Janie if she wanted her?”

“She probably didn't know where Janie was until the social agency started making inquiries on Clifford's behalf—who incidentally didn't know anything and is quite concerned. I'll feed this new information
into the system, and we should know something soon.”

Violet placed a call to Mrs. Grady before she collapsed on her bed. Although still concerned about Janie's welfare, it could have been worse. At least, she didn't believe Janie's mother would intentionally harm her, but association with the woman would disrupt Janie's life again.

Violet was still asleep on Friday morning when Roger telephoned at six-thirty.

“We've found her,” he said. “Janie's mother has a record, and the Chicago police knew where she lived. They watched the area until Pat Skeen and a male companion showed up with Janie, who was taken and placed in the custody of a social agency in Chicago. I'm going after her tomorrow. Do you want to go along?”

“Of course I'll come. Janie is probably very upset, and she'll need a friend.” Violet felt so relieved that Janie had been found, but her heart went out to the poor girl who now had to deal with so many conflicting emotions.

“This is an official duty, so we'll go in a police cruiser. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock.”

 

Violet hadn't considered that she could have any greater regard for Roger, but on the trip to Chicago, her admiration increased. When they arrived in Chicago, he exuded an air of efficiency and confidence that commanded respect when he entered the headquarters of the troopers who had located Janie.

In a short time, they had received the necessary papers to return Janie to Maitland, and two local state policemen accompanied them to the social facility
where the girl had been housed overnight. Apparently Janie hadn't been told that they were coming after her, for when they entered the room where she was slumped in a chair, looking out the window, she stared in amazement for a minute before she ran toward Violet's open arms.

“Miss Conley! How did you find me?”

“Your call to me was the clue we needed. We've come to take you back to Maitland, Janie. What happened? Why did you leave with your mother without a word to any of us?”