Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (32 page)

J
ulia didn't go to church the next day. She couldn't bear even the thought of seeing James, let alone perhaps having to talk to him and Anthea. The children were glad of a chance to stay home and play, so she let them run out in the backyard while she sat in the kitchen, keeping an eye on them and thinking.

She couldn't stop thinking. James said he had truly loved her. He said he would have married her She wondered if he really would have, or if it was just the rosiness of memories speaking, untempered by the force of reality. Would he have stood up to his mother and father, risking their wrath and perhaps endangering his medical career? Would he have accepted her pregnancy without anger or resentment or suspicion? She wasn't sure he would have, that the boy would have done then what the man would now. And yet. . .

What if he would have married her? What if she had thrown away a life with James? Her life would have been so different. She would have worked with James, been the loving wife waiting up for him when he came in worn out from saving or losing a life, as she had dreamed about. She would have known his kisses and his searing, loving touch instead of the brutal pawings of Will Dobson. There wouldn't have been hunger and want for her children. There wouldn't have been loneliness and emptiness for her. Pamela might even have lived ...

But no. She pulled herself back from the direction her mind was taking. Things had happened the way they had, and there was no use wondering what might have been. She had to remember that she wouldn't have had Bonnie and Vance if she had married James, and she couldn't wish for that. She had done what she did, and her life had taken the course it had. She couldn't go back, and it was too late to cry over it.

Still, Julia couldn't get rid of a feeling of guilt about what she'd done to James. She had never thought about what had happened from James's point of view. She hadn't considered that he might want to know about the baby, that he had a right to know. She had deprived him of a family for all these years. She hadn't realized it at the time, of course; she had assumed that he would forget her quickly, that he would marry and have children. But now she realized that she had wronged him. He hadn't gotten to see Pammy; he'd never known the joy and pride of watching her crawl or walk or talk for the first time. She had given him pain and sorrow; she had robbed him of his daughter. That had been cruel and unthinking of her, and she regretted it bitterly.

Poor James. Her eyes filled with tears, thinking of him and his loss. She couldn't undo what she had done; she could never make it up to him. He must despise her for it. He probably would never want to see her again. Tomorrow, when she went to work, she would make it easy for him and tell him that she was quitting.

❧

James, too, couldn't stop thinking about Julia's revelation last night. He was in a black mood all day, not accompanying Anthea to church and barely speaking to her at dinner after she returned. They sat in the front parlor, as they usually did on Sunday afternoon, but they had little conversation. James was either restlessly moving about the room and staring out the window or sitting in his chair, brooding. When Maida McPherson and her daughter came to call, he jumped up and left the room.

After the callers left, Anthea sat for a moment, thoughtfully working on her embroidery. Finally she stuck the needle into the cloth and went up the stairs to James's room. He was sitting in his room with the door open, a book lying unread in his lap, and staring blackly at the' floor.

Anthea tapped tightly on the door frame. "James?"

He glanced up. "Hello, Mother."

"May I talk with you for a moment?" She had been a formally raised woman. She wouldn't have dreamed of going uninvited into his room and, indeed, she felt a little awkward being in a grown man's bedroom at all, even if he was her son.

"Of course." He stood up politely.

"Why don't we go into my sitting room?"

He followed her down the hall into the small room adjacent to Anthea's bedroom, where she liked to sit most of the day. She took a seat beside the window where her frame of needlepoint stood, and James sat in the straight-backed chair opposite her. He looked restless and resigned and as if he'd rather be any place but there.

"I like to think that I am not the sort of mother to pry," Anthea began. "I suppose that's always what one hears right before a person pries."

James smiled faintly. "No, you never pry."

"I've held my tongue for quite awhile, but I—I'm worried about you. You seem unhappy."

"I'm in a black mood today. It happens. Nothing for you to worry about."

"You forget; I've known you for thirty years; I know your black moods. This is more. It's been building up for weeks. It's something to do with Mrs. Dobson, isn't it?"

He glanced at her, startled. "What makes you think that?"

"Come now, James," she returned tartly. "Do you think I'm blind? Or simply stupid? How could I not see that there is more between you and your assistant than a working relationship?"

"There is nothing going on between us. Julia is a good woman."

"How quick you are to jump to her defense. I wasn't implying anything bad about Mrs. Dobson. Quite the contrary, I rather like her. But I've seen the way you look at her, and she at you. I've watched you mooning about ever since she came to work here. Last night you hustled me home obnoxiously early, then returned to the park to dance with Mrs. Dobson."

"I'm sure that inveterate gossip Mrs. McPherson was happy to report to you on each dance, too."

Anthea's lips quirked up. "She did happen to mention that you danced four times with Mrs. Dobson and with no other young woman. She also pointed out that you left early to take Mrs. Dobson home."

"I hope you put a scotch to her rumors."

"My dear boy, of course I showed not the least interest or concern, but it would take a force far stronger than I to shut Maida McPherson's mouth. But I'm not interested in Maida's gossip. I'm merely pointing out that it's obvious (and not just to me) that you have a particular interest in Julia Dobson. What I want to know is why is it making you so unhappy? I hate to see you like this. I want to help you."

"No one and nothing can help me."

"Not even a listening ear?"

James sighed. "No. It's not the sort of thing—"

"I'm sure that I have heard things that would make your hair curl, and I haven't fainted. Gentility is not the same thing as ignorance."

"I don't want you to—think badly of Julia."

"Why would I think badly of her? Did she break your heart?"

He glanced up, startled.

"I have had some experience with the world, James, and I'm not stupid. I saw your sadness years ago, and I've seen the way you act around Julia. It didn't take much to guess that they were connected. Have you loved her all these years?"

He made an impatient gesture with his head. "I don't know. I swear, I don't know. I thought I had recovered from the heartbreak long ago, but when I saw her again—" He sighed. "I don't know whether I never got over her or if I just fell in love all over again. I don't even know if it's love. I feel such anger toward her, such sadness and such—" He stopped, his gaze flickering away from her. "Er, other things."

"Yes," Anthea put in dryly. "I can well imagine what 'other things.' Yet, despite this anger and sorrow, you want to protect her. You're concerned that I might think ill of her."

"She had a hard life. She wasn't raised as you were. Her family—"

"I know what the Turners were like. Yet even the youngest boy didn't turn out so badly."

"They're good people inside. Luke had his reasons, that time he hit me."

"His sister?"

James nodded, not looking at her.

"Was she—"

"Yes. Yes! And I was the father."

"Oh, James."

He looked at her entreatingly. "It wasn't like you think. She wasn't bad or easy. I was to blame. She—well, she loved me. Or so I thought."

"Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you marry her?"

"I didn't know!" His eyes widened with shock. "Can you honestly think I'd desert a woman who was carrying my baby? A woman I loved?"

"No. I don't think that. But I don't understand what happened."

"I didn't, either, until yesterday. At the time I had no idea Julia was... with child. One day I went to her farm, and she wasn't there. Her father told me she'd married Will Dobson."

"I see."

"She didn't tell me! I had no idea. Even when Luke beat me up I just thought he had found out about Julia and me and was furious with me for leading her astray. I was naive. It never occurred to me that that was why she married Dobson. Or maybe I was simply too full of my own hurt to think about her."

"Why didn't she tell you?"

"I don't know!" His voice was agonized. "Last night I asked her why she left like that, why she had married Dobson, and she told me about the baby. I couldn't believe it; I couldn't understand it. She said she knew I wouldn't marry her. She said you and Dad wouldn't have let me, even if I'd wanted to. She was afraid I would think she was trying to force me to marry her. She didn't trust me! She didn't believe in me enough to know that I would stand up to my parents for her. I loved her; I wanted to marry her, and she didn't trust me. She didn't love me enough."

Unshed tears glinted in his eyes, and he stared down at his hands, locked together "How could she have done that, Mama? I loved her. She yanked my heart right out of me. All these years, and I never knew I had a little girl."

"A little girl. But who—where—"

"She died." His voice rasped. "She died when she was little more than a baby. If only Julie had married me."

"Stop it! You aren't God; you don't know that the child would have lived if Julia had married you. Perhaps it would have, and perhaps not. That's too hard a burden to lay on Julia. Too easy for you to say,"

James closed his eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't say it." He sighed. "But I feel betrayed by her all over again. Betrayed in a different way."

"I'm sorry." Anthea reached across and laid her hand on her son's clenched hands. "The mistakes we make always seem to come back to haunt us."

"Why couldn't she have trusted me?"

"James, I'm going to say something to you, and I hope you won't get angry. But did you ever think that maybe Julia had reason?"

His head came up and he stared at her in shock. "Reason not to trust me?"

"Reason to think you wouldn't marry her. To think you would be angry with her for getting pregnant. Now, before you blow up, listen to me: Julia came from a family that no one in their right mind would want to marry into, and she knew it. She knew what her place in society was, and what yours was, and there was very little hope that the two of them could ever meet."

"But I loved her! She knew how much I loved her."

"A lot of young men love easily. You know the reputation her brothers and father had. I suspect that Julia knew a lot more of the cold, hard realities of life than you did at that time. She didn't know any romantic, worthy young men like you. I'm sure she never dreamed that there was any way that she could have you, except in her bed. And what did you do to change her mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you slept with her without benefit of marriage. That didn't show respect for her. You kept her a secret from your father and me, and that didn't show respect for her, either. Maybe she knew that you desired her, that you even thought you loved her But you gave her no reason to think that you respected her enough to marry her. You didn't show her that you thought she was good enough to be your wife. All you showed was that you thought she was the kind of woman you could sneak around and take to bed."

James stared at Anthea, horrified. "It wasn't because I didn't respect her! I wanted her so much I didn't think about anything else. I was crazy in love with her; I was—you can't understand."

"What? That you were a young man whose blood was so hot you didn't think about what was right or what was best for Julia? Oh, I understand that, all right. Maybe it's even excusable. But can't you see why it would make Julia think you wouldn't marry her? A young man introduces the girl he wants to marry to his parents; he doesn't hide her from them."

"I wanted to keep her to myself! I didn't want to have to share her. I didn't want to spoil it. Hell, I just didn't think!"

"Tell me truthfully, James, weren't you at least a little bit ashamed of her?"

"No! How can you say that?"

"It seems to me that there must have been more reason than you said for carrying on a secret affair. You must have been embarrassed or scared to tell us, or something."

"I loved her!"

"I know you did."

James rubbed his hands slowly over his face and up into his hair. "Oh, God. I did love her. I wasn't ashamed of her. I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world." He sighed. "But I didn't want you to know. I was afraid you would disapprove of her. If I had told you and Dad about Julia, I figured you would argue with me and try to keep me from seeing her. I didn't want you all interfering with Julia and me. It was so beautiful, so easy."

James rose and walked to the window. "That was awful, wasn't it? I never realized it until now. I didn't think about it then. I just acted. I was a coward. I guess Julia saw that more clearly than I."

"You weren't a coward," Anthea retorted staunchly. "You were simply young. It was a natural reaction for any boy your age. You were afraid we wouldn't approve, and you were probably right. At that time, no. I can't imagine my thinking that the Turner girl would be a proper mate for you. I would have raised a huge fuss and probably forbidden you to see her. Infatuation, I would have called it, or perhaps worse. It's not unusual for a nineteen or twenty-year-old boy to hide something like that from his parents. But remember that Julia was even younger than you. Yes, she was wrong to withhold that information from you, but you weren't entirely blameless, either. She probably did the best she could, just as you did. It doesn't mean that she didn't love you or that she wanted to hurt you. But she was no doubt frightened and confused; she didn't know what to do."

"And I hadn't given her any reason to think that I would help her, had I? I'd acted like any rich boy from town, out looking for a good time."

"Don't be too harsh on yourself."

"How can I not be?" James leaned his head against the window frame. "She must have felt so alone and scared. I was furious with her, and all the time she was in trouble. I didn't even think about what she might be going through, what sort of pain she might be in. Last night, when she told me, I blew up at her. Once again, all I could think about was myself."

He turned away from the window. "Excuse me, Mother. I have to go see her. I have to apologize." He strode across the room and paused at the door. "Thank you."

Anthea smiled. "Once I would have wanted only a girl from a proper family for you. Seeing your loneliness the last few years, now all I want is for you to be happy."

James shook his head. "I don't know if that's possible."

"It is, if you want it enough."