Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (15 page)

“The operator is trying to connect you now. Please hold.” It was the third attempt to set up the call with Lethbridge.

“Hello? Jarrick? Are you there?” Beth pressed the handset against her ear but heard only crackling over the line. “Jarrick?” No response. “Operator?”

A singsong voice answered, “I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm afraid we keep losing your connection. We'll try again in a few minutes.”

“May I send a message to the party on the other end?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. There's no way for us to send a message if they can't get a line through. I can only advise you to wait for a few minutes while the operator reconnects the call from the other end.”

“Thank you,” Beth said, looking across the lobby to where Margret waited with JW. Beth placed the receiver in its cradle and smiled weakly at the hotel receptionist. “I'm afraid they couldn't get through again.”

“That's too bad, honey,” she said. “But don't go far. I'm sure they'll try again in a bit. Those telephones can be finicky things. I'll bet they fix the problem soon.”

“Yes, thank you. I'll wait right here.”

“No need, miss. I'll send a page to find you if they call back. I'm sure it'll work eventually. Don't give up.”

“Thank you. That would be very kind.”

Margret rose and hurried over, JW at her heels. She had opted out of shopping during the morning, complaining once more of nausea. So the two sisters had stayed behind and entertained JW, lingering around the lobby as the appointed time drew near. Margret had purchased a little toy ship with wheels for the boy, and he had spent the time on his tummy, pushing it across the tiled floor, making noises that no doubt sounded to him like the ones their own ship made. Miss Bernard would surely have shushed him because of it being a public space, but Beth had been rather delighted to observe his playing.

Margret touched Beth's arm. “I guess your telephone call didn't work again. I'm so sorry, darling. I know you're disappointed.”

“You could try to call John,” Beth offered dejectedly. “At least one of us should be able to speak to our . . . should get to talk with . . .” Beth couldn't find a single word with which to finish the sentence. She wasn't sure how to refer to Jarrick.

Margret moved nearer, searching Beth's face. “It's sweet of you to think of me. But John and I have arranged to speak tonight after dinner. I do empathize with how you feel. I'm so anxious to hear John's voice I can hardly think of anything else.” Margret's eyes misted as she spoke the words. “I feel as if it's been years since we've been able to talk together, and I was able to call him at Tadoussac.”

JW had followed Margret across the wide checkerboard tiles. He watched their conversation, Beth's face drawn tight with sadness, tears rimming her eyes. He lifted his arms. Beth pulled him up. “Annie Bet cwyin'?” The little hands patted her face with rough affection.

Beth pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Yes, Auntie Beth is crying. And Mommy too, a little. But it's all right.”

“Hug?” He circled her neck with his pudgy arms. “Luf you.”

“Oh, darling, I love you too.”

“Let's get a table in the dining room,” Margret suggested. “I'll let the woman at the desk know where we'll be so the page boy can find you easily. We'll get a cup of tea.”

“I suppose.” Beth was fighting for composure, painfully aware of the many others moving around the room. When Margret returned, they crossed together through the lobby to the hotel's quaint bistro.

Soon they were settled in a corner table, a wooden high chair pulled close so that JW could pick up the oyster crackers Margret scattered on the tray.

“I'm sure he's just as anxious as you—probably more so. Men want to fix things, to be in control. He's probably pacing around, trying to get something to work out.”

Beth pictured Jarrick in the station, surrounded by all the other officers. She hoped he wasn't being pestered. “I don't feel there's any privacy at all. There are always people watching, and it's such a complicated endeavor. I feel as if the whole world knows we're trying to speak with each other. Surely someone could come up with a better way.”

“Yes, that would be nice, darling. But remember, he's clear across Canada.”

“Oh, I know,” Beth sighed. “I'm just being unreasonable.”

Margret settled her teacup back in its saucer. “I'd certainly like to meet him. When do you suppose that will be possible?”

Beth shook her head. “I don't know. I can't even tell you when
I'll
see him again. Everything's so uncertain right now—so many unanswered questions.” Beth dabbed her napkin at the corners of her eyes and breathed in slowly. “You would like him, Margret,” she said with a wobbly smile.

“Of course I would. You're a fine judge of character.”

“I wish I had a picture I could show you. There just wasn't time.”

Margret placed a few more crackers on the baby's tray. JW scooped them up greedily and shoveled them into his mouth. “Perhaps you could ask him to send one to you in one of his letters. He might have a photograph he can give you.”

“Maybe. I'll ask.” A movement nearby caught her eye. Beth steeled herself. But it was only the waiter, approaching with their tea. After the cups were on the table, she composed herself once more.
Perhaps I should simply change the
subject.
“How are you feeling now, Margret? Any better?”

A brooding expression fell over her sister's face. “I feel much better. I'm fine, but . . .”

Beth studied her. Margret was choosing not to lift her eyes, instead fussing with the silverware on the table in front of her.

“What is it? What are you thinking?”

She cleared her throat. “I'm almost afraid to say.”

Beth reached a hand across the table. “You're not coming down with something, are you?”

“No.” A tentative smile. “Well, maybe. But not what you think.”

“What?”

Margret's eyes rose just enough to meet Beth's. Her face was flushed. “I think I might be . . . with child.”

Beth's mouth dropped open.

Margret laughed. “It's not such a surprise, is it? It's not as if John and I weren't planning on another child sometime soon.” She looked at JW tenderly. “And my J-bird needs a little sister—or a brother. He's ready. Don't you think?”

“Oh, Margret! That's wonderful!”

“Now, you must know I'm not certain of this,” she hedged,
giving Beth's hand a squeeze. “And that's precisely the problem. How do I see a doctor here—so far from home?”

“If that's what you want,” Beth declared, “I'm sure we could find someone. And we've got two days here in Charlottetown. You could probably get an appointment for this afternoon or tomorrow.”

Margret raised a finger in warning. “I plan to talk to John about it tonight—that is, assuming
I
can get a line through. There's no reason to act rashly. I'll see what he wants me to do. But, yes, it should be possible to see a doctor here. It's just that . . . oh, just what you said earlier—such a complicated endeavor, drawing so many people into our personal business. I have half a mind to just wait and see.”

“Oh, Margret—another baby!” Beth slipped from her chair and drew her sister into an awkward hug. “What a blessing!”

“Yes,” she whispered back, leaning her head against Beth's side. “I'm so happy.”

It was a great boost for Beth to be chosen as Margret's confidante, to share the wondrous possibility together.

B
Y
THE
TIME
THE
OTHERS
RETURNED
from their afternoon shopping trip, no page boy had appeared to call Beth's name for the telephone. She had gradually accepted the fact that there would not be a conversation with Jarrick that day. Margret, a most beneficial distraction along with her little son, suggested that there was no need to tell the family about Beth's great disappointment. With a nod and a sigh, Beth agreed.

“We found the best millinery shop,” Julie called as she rushed over. “I bought a lovely wool cloche to go with my brown suit. Mother bought a delightful white beaded number with the fluffiest feathers! And I think Mrs. Montclair must have bought at least half a dozen new hats. Wait till you see them. You'll just die.”

“Julie,” Mother scolded mildly, “please temper your words.”

“Yes, Mother.” Julie shrugged. “Girls, you'll be just
green
with envy. Is that any better?”

Mother just shook her head.

Beth surveyed the group. “Where did you put everything?”

“Oh, Monsieur Laurent arranged for them to be delivered
to the ship. Except for this one.” Julie held up a hatbox. “I thought I might wear it to the show tonight.”

“There's a show?” Margret asked.

“Why, yes. We found a dinner theater out in Cavendish. The play is
The Enchanted Cottage
. It sounds like it's quite good. So we're going out in the early afternoon to spend a little time at the beach first.”

“How are you feeling, Margret darling? Any better?” Mother went to her daughter, arms out.

“Yes, much better.”

“Well, we have to hurry so we can catch the train.”

Margret's eyebrows drew together. “I'm sorry, Mother, but I made arrangements to speak with John tonight by telephone. I'm afraid I'll have to miss again.”

“Oh, no. Must you?”

Margret nodded. “Yes, and actually I'm rather set on it.”

Mother paused and eyed Margret, but Julie caught her attention, and they both turned toward the elevator.

As the others followed, Margret drew close to Beth. “Perhaps you should stay with me,” she whispered. “What if Jarrick tries to call again?”

Beth shook her head mournfully. “Then I suppose you'll get to speak with him instead. I can't stay back this time just in case he calls. I know that's what he'd say if he were here.”

“I understand. But I can also understand your frustration and sadness.”

“Thank you, Margret.” Beth touched her sister's arm. “And I'm glad that you do.”

A short time later, they were settled on the train and headed to the other side of the small province. Beth enjoyed the farm scenes whisking past and especially the surprising ocean views. She thought through a description of what she would ask Julie
to paint, if only her request would be well received. The dramatic colors, the tidy farmyards, the peekaboo ocean bays . . . Soon the missed telephone conversation and even Margret's news had drifted to the back of her mind.

Past clusters of other sunbathers, they carried their bags and borrowed folding chairs to the water's edge. Beth looked around a bit uneasily. She still felt uncomfortable in her new bathing suit. The flounce at her knees was whipped in one direction, then another in the gusty wind, at every moment her fabric hat threatening to take to the skies. She reached down to pull her stockings higher and winced as the sand began to accumulate inside her beach slippers.
If this is necessary in order to
enjoy an ocean swim, it seems like a lot of
fuss.
Beth shaded her eyes to look out over the horizon.
And yet the vast ocean, the salty wind
, the beach—it's all so picturesque and inviting.

Julie was already leading the charge. “Look at the waves! I had no idea they'd be so big. Come on, Victoria. I'll race you!”

Victoria skipped along close behind. Halfway to the water she stopped to roll her stockings down to her ankles, seemed to consider for a moment discarding them entirely, then hastened in after Julie. With a whoop the teenager tossed her hat onto the sand behind her.

“That girl,” muttered Mrs. Montclair. “She'll be the death of me yet.”

Beth watched the two for a while, then settled into a chair, marveling at how Julie's short hair danced in the breeze, appreciating the energy with which her sister attacked the tumbling surf, and anxious whenever the two swimmers disappeared for any length of time among the waves.

“All right, ladies,” she finally said playfully to her mother and Mrs. Montclair, “let's join them in the water. We might not have another chance, and this will be a great anecdote when we return home.” She motioned them to their feet, and the three, laughing and arm in arm, made their way to the water. They called out in unison as the cold, foaming ripples swept against their feet and ankles.

Julie and Victoria soon noticed them, shouting and coaxing them to venture farther. Mrs. Montclair firmly motioned them off. “No, no, this is quite enough,” she called back. But the woman was smiling, obviously enjoying the new experience. Beth and Mother advanced a few steps, and Julie came rushing up to cheer them on.

“Oh, Mother, isn't this so much fun?” she enthused, grabbing her by the arm.

But Mother laughingly pulled back. “You, my dear, look like Jonah on the shore,” she said, taking in her youngest's dripping hair and soaked bathing outfit.

The swells felt chilly, contrasting perfectly with the warm sunshine on Beth's arms. Soon she was knee-deep in the water, the sand beneath her feet washing away from around them, a totally new experience. The panoramic view beyond the rows of incoming waves seemed to go on forever.

This is glorious,
she thought as she listened to Julie and Victoria shouting as another wave pushed them toward shore. But by the time Beth had gotten up her courage to face one of the waves herself, Mother was calling and motioning them in.

They slipped one at a time into the dressing tents provided. Donning her regular clothing again was a struggle—there seemed to be grains of sand trapped between every layer of clothing. Beth wished for a good soak in a tub.

As she pushed back the stiff canvas and emerged from the
tent, Beth cautioned, “Don't step off the mat, Victoria darling. If you get sand on your feet, it's bound and determined to spread itself through everything else you own.”

Victoria only laughed and stepped into the tent, her clothing bundled in her arms.

Just then Beth heard Julie call out, “Nick! Hello, Nick!” They all turned to look where her finger pointed.

“I'm sure I saw him—over there by the ice-cream stand. Did you see him too, Bethie?” She shook her head. “No? I guess he's gone,” Julie said. “Or maybe it was someone else. But I thought I saw him.” Julie was clearly disappointed.

“You're just imagining things,” Beth teased. “We aren't nearly as exciting as the crew you're used to running with these days.”

“To be certain,” Julie laughed.

Mother cleared her throat. “May I ask, dear, who is Nick?”

Beth and Julie exchanged glances. “Just a young fellow, someone Beth and I met. But it wasn't even him.”

“Hmm. You haven't mentioned him. Perhaps you can point him out. I'd like to meet this young friend of yours.”

“Oh, Mother . . .”

“I'm going to make a request, Mother, but I don't want you to be alarmed.” Margret kept her voice low enough that the others who were eating breakfast at the table could not hear. Beth, who was seated at Margret's elbow, leaned forward to hear and see both Mother and Margret.

Mother put her roll back on her plate. “What is it, darling?”

Margret whispered, “I would like to visit a doctor.” She hurried on, “I hate to be any trouble, but I spoke with John last night, and he'd prefer that I see someone today, if possible.”

“You're still feeling nauseated?” Mother placed her hand on Margret's, studying her face. Beth watched her skillfully reading for signs with practiced eyes.

Margret smiled faintly. “Actually, not as much today. But it would be wise to confirm or disprove . . . a notion I have.”

A meaningful pause, and Mother sat back in her chair with a little smile. “I couldn't help but wonder, my darling. I have experienced certain—well, indications myself, four times over, you know.”

Margret returned a shy smile. “So you wondered . . . ?”

“Yes, it did cross my mind, Margret darling. And we must get you to a doctor as soon as possible. I'll see to it immediately.” She stood, excused herself with a smile at the group, then hurried out of the bistro toward the front desk.

Mrs. Montclair looked around in bewilderment. “What's gotten into Priscilla? Are you ill again, Margret? Can I be of any help?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine—truly I am.” Her modest sister shrank away from the unwelcome attention and pretended to wipe JW's mouth.

“Gracious. I've not seen your mother move so quickly.” Mrs. Montclair shook her head but mercifully let the matter drop.

In the end, secrecy was rather pointless. Julie certainly was not one to “let the matter drop,” and by the time they returned to the room, the fact that Margret was hoping for a doctor's visit had made the rounds in excited whispers. Margret was duly fussed over, advice raining down upon her from all sides as they crowded into the Thatcher suite.

“Put your feet up, dear,” directed Mrs. Montclair. “You'll want to keep your legs from swelling.”

Mother added, “I hope there wasn't a great deal of salt in
your eggs and ham this morning. I'm still convinced that salt was the culprit last time. You'll know to watch that now.”

Even Julie had her tidbit to add. “I can get you a cold compress. That helps whenever my ankles feel puffy.”

“I'm fine,” Margret insisted. “No part of me is puffy. Honestly.”

But the morning excursion for the day was canceled. Through the concierge, Mother had discovered a doctor's office nearby, and soon Margret and Mother were in a taxicab on their way there. Monsieur Laurent made no comment, but his eyes held a knowing glint. Beth, Julie, and Victoria decided on taking a stroll past the little shops adjoining the hotel, not remembering they had no money with which to make purchases. But it felt good just to window-shop and stretch their legs in the fresh air. They had whisked JW away before the nanny could remind them of his nap time. When he saw a little puppy in a pet-shop window, they could hardly cajole him into returning to the hotel.

They found that Mother and Margret had not yet appeared. Beth tried to read but found it difficult to keep her mind on the story. Victoria was sketching again in her notebook, and Julie had merely collapsed into a padded armchair, her feet resting on the bed in rather unladylike fashion.
I don't suppose
I could get Julie to paint for me right now
any more than I can focus on reading,
Beth thought wryly.

At last there was a sound at the door, and Mother entered first, followed by Margret, her cheeks pink.

Beth was at her sister's side in a flash, her silent question between them as she looked deeply into Margret's eyes.

Margret nodded quietly. “Yes, he's quite certain I am.”

The room erupted into a frenzy of hugs and laughter. “And I predict a
girl
this time,” Julie shouted. More laughter and opposing predictions filled the air.

“The doctor warned me, though,” Margret admitted when finally things had quieted down, “I do need to stay off my feet in reasonable measure, get enough rest.”

“Oh, we'll take care of you.” Julie leaned down to pat Margret's still-flat abdomen affectionately. “We'll take care of both of you. Don't you worry one little bit, little
girl
.” And the merriment started up again.