Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (3 page)

“Oh, you must!” His insistence was surprising. “It's such a good opportunity for you. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time with your mother and sisters—and you deserve a good, relaxing vacation. No one knows that more than I do.”

“You're very kind, but . . .”

“No, you
should
go, Beth. You really must.” He seemed to be searching for the proper words. “It might be the last time that you can travel with them. I mean, well . . .” He hesitated.
“I don't know if I can be so bold, but since I've already introduced myself to your father, and it might be some time before we speak again by telephone, it seems necessary.” He cleared his throat, and Beth pressed closer to the handset, squeezing her eyes tight to conjure up an image of Jarrick's face.

His words came slowly. “I wanted to leave no doubt with him that my intentions toward you could be trusted. Though, of course, any future plans would require that we grow to know one another better—and it all would include much prayer as well as counsel from those who know us. But I wanted your father to know that my ultimate intention is . . . well, it's marriage.” Another pause, and while sounding flustered, he persisted. “I assured him that although my employment as an officer will undoubtedly be a strong influence on the future, it also provides me with an adequate and steady income so that I'm able to support a family. I've been careful with money, have already been saving.”

He hesitated again, then amended his words suddenly as if an afterthought. “That is, I didn't say it only for your father's benefit. I want you to know this too, that I believe I can care for you—or I wouldn't be pursuing this relationship at all. I doubt I'll ever provide for you at the level of your family's standard, of course. But I believe we could have . . . have a comfortable life together.” He was rushing his words but clearly was hoping for her to respond. “I hope I haven't spoken too boldly, too quickly.”

Beth could hear herself drawing in a slow breath.
He'll have heard it too.
She finally whispered, “I didn't realize you had laid it out quite so plainly to Father.”

“I felt it was necessary. I wanted to be—to be honest and forthright. Particularly since the possibilities for meeting are in the distant future.”

For a moment the only sound was the crackling over the telephone line.

“Please don't let that trouble you, Beth. It was meant to give you assurance. Maybe I've said too much or been too outspoken. I'm afraid I do that sometimes. And I've probably been aware of my feelings—been interested in a relationship with you—for longer than you might have known. If it hadn't been for Edward's ungrounded claim, I wouldn't have waited until you were ready to leave Coal Valley before revealing any of this to you.”

Beth's mind was spinning with more questions than she could quickly address.
How did Father respond to such a declaration? What
did he say to Jarrick?
Her mind worked back through Jarrick's words, struggling to process all the implications. She wondered if she dared allow herself to anticipate a future . . . with Jarrick.
Things are moving too quickly. I haven
't been offered the job yet. What if it's
given to someone else?
It was all rather overwhelming, even frightening.

“Beth?”

“May I . . . could we take one step at a time, please?” She pushed away from the desk and sat back in the chair.

“Of course, of course, Beth.”

“I'm very fond of you, Jarrick. And I admire your character. I'm honored by your words, and I do appreciate your candor. I do. But I can't say that I know just yet if it's the right thing for me and for you. I need time to hear what God is saying. I want to be very careful with something so important. I need to pray, wait for an answer, one that goes beyond my feelings. Is that fair? Please don't be upset.”

“Of course,” he agreed, yet the energy had drained from his voice. “It will be difficult in your absence, but I can be patient—even if it's not what I do well.” She heard him try
for a chuckle and could sense his struggle to regain some confidence.

“I know the summer will be an obstacle. But it won't last long, not really. It will provide time to pray about the future, to consider all the implications. But, God willing, I truly would like to be back in the West with you again soon.”

“Are you sure?” Jarrick asked.

“I'm sorry—what do you mean?”

This time his playful tone was easy to detect. “It must be a very different world for you there. Dressed to the nines in fine clothes, eating elegant meals, going to fancy places. And now a cruise as well—living the life of the wealthy aristocrat. Nothing like Coal Valley! We don't have nearly as much to offer, I guess.”

“Nonsense.” Her answer sounded rather coquettish. She didn't know whether to be dismayed or glad but continued anyway. “There
are
other considerations, Jarrick.”

“Such as?”

“You're rather good company. Do you suppose that if I come back, you might take me to that same lovely restaurant for dinner—on an evening when I'm not worried about a sick little boy?”

“It's agreed,” he said, sounding relieved. “
When
you come back, I'll plan to take you there.”

W
HEN
A
SHOPPING
TRIP
WAS
ANNOUNCED
over breakfast, Beth cringed inwardly. Shopping with Mother was difficult. Shopping with Margret and Mother was taxing. But shopping with Julie and Margret and Mother would be nearly unbearable. She steeled herself to endure the day.

“And we have barely a week to get everything we will need,” Mother was saying. “Let's finish up quickly here and be on our way.”

Last night's telephone call had not been mentioned—at least not yet. Father's questioning expression was all Beth had encountered when he had returned to his office afterward to find her curled up in his office chair, the receiver already resting in its cradle. She had smiled up at him and nodded. The questions raised during her conversation with Jarrick had already turned to tears, still visible. Father, of course, had understood about happy tears.

“And your plans for summer?”

She had merely nodded again.

“I shall inform the ladies.” And he'd left her beside the
silent phone, her thoughts swirling with joyful anticipation of Jarrick's letters.

Beth was not aware of exactly what information Father had relayed to the others upon his return to the parlor. However, she was certain about one instruction he had given—neither of her sisters was to pester Beth with questions at this time about her telephone call. It was the only possible reason for Julie's utter silence on the matter. And as for Mother, just to have learned that Beth had agreed to travel with them seemed to have been enough that she also held her tongue.

While waiting for her sisters and mother to assemble for their shopping excursion, Beth pulled on white gloves, which Mother insisted were still necessary. Beth caught herself thinking once again,
Why on earth does a trip for clothing require one
to be dressed to the nines?
Although she knew how Mother felt about keeping up appearances, it remained an odd bit of irony, particularly after life in Coal Valley, where a roof over one's head and food on the table were far more important than the latest fashions.

Four women with feathered hats and ample handbags crowded into the back seat of Father's spacious car, chattering about all the particulars of their travel needs. Julie recommended they seek out breezy skirts and billowy white blouses—perhaps even something in the sailor style so in vogue. Long gowns for lavish dining, sensible shoes for sightseeing, and hats of every shape to protect from the sun were also on the lists. And, at Julie's further insistence, bathing suits for the pool and for the beach. Beth wondered if she would ever dare wear such scanty clothing in public. However, to her surprise, Mother seemed perfectly agreeable so long as they were appropriately modest. She even declared that she would purchase one for herself. “After all,” Mother explained,
“I'm not a prude. And I have every intention of enjoying our adventure to its fullest.”

Beth was quite certain she caught their driver's discreet smile in his small mirror. In fact, Beth was equally amused. Mother was one of the most modest women she knew. Mother still wore a corset, though most women her age and all of those younger had long ago discarded the unpleasant undergarment. When pressed on the subject, she claimed to be so accustomed to wearing it, she would feel brazen and unprotected without it. Her daughters merely smiled behind their hands. Mother was still slender and petite without such apparel.

Stepping out onto Toronto's busiest shopping street, Beth clutched at her hat in the breeze. She looked around with some bewilderment at all the activity, moving quickly to avoid being run over by a lad on a bicycle, a leather messenger bag across his shoulder. She followed the little group into the first shop. Mother was already searching out a salesperson to help them.

“Mrs. Thatcher,” called a young woman, hurrying over to greet them and take their jackets. “So pleased to see you here with your daughters. With what might I help you today?”

Mother glided ahead, listing off items needed. Beth sighed. Then she felt Margret's arm slip through hers. Leaning close, she whispered, “Heavenly Father, please give my sweet sister the courage to endure all her blessings!” It was said with an encouraging smile, but the intent was clear.

“I'm being dreadful, aren't I?” Beth admitted.

“Not at all. Perhaps just wishing for some other moment and place than this.” Margret patted Beth's hand. “Do remember, though, that we'd like to have you
here
with us today. We love you, darling, though it may be shown at times in strange and inconvenient ways.”

“Oh, Margret,” Beth laughed self-consciously as the pair moved to catch up with the others.

Late afternoon found them returning with a car full of parcels, having spent what Beth finally decided had been a lovely day together in the city. The larger boxes would be delivered to the house in the morning. Smaller parcels were placed on the dining table while Margret hurried off to the nursery to check on JW. Father could only shake his head in mock distress as Julie and Mother showed him their treasures arrayed on the dining room table. Beth noticed his true pleasure was in seeing his family so animated and happy.

After dinner, he reminded them, there would be guests. Father had arranged for a traveling companion, deeming it appropriate for these cherished women to have the kind of assistance this gentleman could provide. He would conduct their travels, but more importantly, he would keep them safe and make certain all their needs were met. The Montclairs would join them for the meeting with Monsieur Emile Laurent, who arrived at precisely seven in the evening.

“Emile, so good to see you after so many months,” Father welcomed him in a friendly manner. “
Ça
va?
”

“I am well, my friend.
Et toi?
”

“Very well. Very well indeed.”

Father directed him toward the others in the parlor. “Please, I'd like to present my family.” He gestured toward each as he spoke. “Emile Laurent, this is my lovely wife, Priscilla Thatcher. Our eldest daughter, Mrs. Margret Bryce, and her husband, John. Middle daughter, Elizabeth Thatcher—known as Beth—and our youngest, Julie Thatcher.”

“I'm so pleased to meet you all,” he answered with almost no trace of an accent and a gracious bow toward Mother.

He was older than Father, tall with a lean frame and receding hairline, gray-white waves of still-thick hair combed back. Beth guessed, looking beyond the weathered wrinkles and into the bright blue eyes of the distinguished man, that he had once been rather dashing. It was impossible to know for sure, but Beth sized him up quickly as someone she would likely find agreeable.

The Montclair family arrived before the Thatchers had even seated themselves again. Mrs. Montclair burst into the parlor first, her fan busy keeping her cool. “Priscilla, thank you ever so much for hosting our little bon voyage event tonight. I'm simply overcome with excitement about our upcoming tour. Only four more days! How will we ever be ready in time? Oh, and look! It's Elizabeth—back with us from the western wilds. Did you have a nice time, dear?” But she was already sweeping over to Monsieur Laurent. “And this must be the brave gentleman who has agreed to escort us.” She held out a hand, palm down, and the gentleman stepped forward and bowed low over it, murmuring graciously. She drew small glasses from her round face, folded them importantly, and smiled all around.

“Emile, may I present Mrs. Charles Montclair,” Father quickly introduced them. “And Edith, this is Monsieur Laurent.”

Mrs. Montclair drew back a step. “You are French?”

“I assure you, madame, that I am
Canadian
. And I have spoken both French and English since I was a child.”

Father rushed to intervene. “Emile will be an invaluable help, Edith. He has traveled extensively along the St. Lawrence, much of which is in Quebec.” He continued, “Also through the maritime provinces. He is familiar too with the
places you'll travel in the United States. Indeed, he served for some time as one of Canada's ambassadors before the Great War. We would be hard-pressed to find a place in the world where Emile has not visited.”

Mrs. Montclair nodded, looking mollified, and took a seat on the sofa next to Mother, though not for a moment ceasing her flow of comments. Mr. Montclair, Father's business partner and longtime friend, quietly found a seat. Beth wondered if this husband had found it the better part of wisdom to let others enlighten the woman during the awkward encounter.

Mrs. Montclair perched her glasses on her nose once more and peered at Monsieur Laurent. “Now, please tell me how you say your name, sir. I've never been able to pronounce all these French names correctly.”

Father leaned forward, but their guide answered quickly, “Eh-meel Loe-rah, Madame Montclair,” he said with a smile and just a bit of French flair when pronouncing her name.

“Spell it, please,” she insisted, not picking up on his clever little touché.

“E-m-i-l-e L-a-u-r-e-n-t.”

“Well, isn't that just like the French!” She chuckled and shook her head. “You're pronouncing only half the letters!”

Mother had heard quite enough. “Monsieur, would you care for some tea—or coffee? We'll be serving dessert shortly.”

Mrs. Montclair's glasses were hastily removed once more, folded, and tucked away. “Priscilla always serves the best teas,
Mr. Lorant
. You really must try some.”

He nodded to both women. “Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher. I would enjoy a cup of coffee, please.” He seated himself again, poised and unruffled.

Mother addressed each of the others by turn. “Edith? Charles? Victoria?” Only then did Beth notice Victoria Montclair.
Edward's younger sister had entered behind her parents and slipped quietly into a seat near the piano. She was holding a music book from the stand nearby. Beth tried to smile warmly in her direction but could not catch the girl's eye.

Once Mother began overseeing the tea service, all conversation was directed to the delicacies on her dessert tray and the quality of her teas and coffees. Beth took a seat near Victoria.

“How old are you now, Victoria?” she began. “If I remember correctly, you've just had a birthday.”

Not raising her eyes from the book of music, the girl said flatly, “Yes, I'm sixteen.”

“That's nice!” Beth congratulated. “I remember when I was sixteen. There were so many exciting things I was able to do that I hadn't been allowed to before—concerts in the city with Father, and staying up late at Mother's parties. How did you celebrate your birthday?”

Victoria turned the page before responding. “This cruise” was all she said.

Beth cleared her throat. “Very nice. A special celebration. Well, happy birthday, even if I am a little late.” After a few sips of tea and a bite of a scone, she tried again. “Are you excited about the trip, Victoria?”

The girl shrugged, rising from her chair and taking a seat on the piano bench. “Mother says I'll enjoy myself, but I'm not so sure.”

“I wasn't certain at first about going,” Beth said with a nod. “But I do think it will be a nice break from ordinary days—and a lovely way to travel together.”

For a few moments, the girl simulated playing the chords of the song she had been examining in the piano book. Her long fingers skillfully danced over the keys without making a sound. “Perhaps it will be nice—so long as I don't get seasick.”

Beth hadn't considered that possibility. “Well, we won't be out in open sea for some time, not until we've left the St. Lawrence.”

Finally Victoria turned to face Beth, declaring plaintively, “There are plenty of storms on Lake Ontario, and on the St. Lawrence too. Ships go down all the time, Elizabeth.”

Beth tried to smile. “I'm sure we'll be fine, dear.”
I
suppose that sounded just like what Mother would say,
she thought ruefully. Beth lapsed into silence, the reticent teenager still “playing” through the piece in utter silence.

The conversations elsewhere seemed to have divided into two groups, the women gathered around Mrs. Montclair at the sofa, with Father, John, Mr. Montclair, and Monsieur Laurent on the other side of the room. Beth smiled at such an odd collection of traveling companions.
It might even have potential for a bit of
friction,
she mused, gazing at Victoria's mother dominating the female conversation. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the lone man among the travelers.

She noticed the men begin pulling their chairs over toward the sofa, and Father announced, “We'd like to spend a little time discussing some of the more functional aspects of the trip. Is this an opportune moment, ladies? Beth and Victoria, would you please join us?” Beth set her cup and plate aside and waited for Victoria.