Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (8 page)

“Right is right,
Mr.
Lorant
! There's no sense making the matter more complex than that.”

Victoria cut in suddenly, as if she had heard nothing at all of the conversation. “Yes, I will be captain of my own ship. Just wait and see. I'll ask Father for one.” The awkward comment worked to silence all others. Mrs. Montclair's eyes fell in embarrassment, but she refused to rebuff her daughter.

In the afternoon, Beth alternated between reading her seafaring novel from a deck chair and playing with JW. However, promptly at naptime JW was snatched away by Miss Bernard. Margret's face fell, but she said nothing.

Julie set up her tabletop easel and dashed off the first sketch for Beth, translating Saguenay Fjord masterfully, almost effortlessly. It was pleasant to simply rest nearby and enjoy the quiet moment of creation—in the scene before them and on the painting. The colors spread across the whitewashed canvas formed the background. Patches were left where the breaching whales would take shape or where the trees would be added later. Julie could certainly find shades and tones in the sky and water that Beth missed.

Mrs. Montclair presented a new pair of binoculars to Victoria, and she now blissfully stood scanning the waters around their ship. The others continued to share the borrowed pair. It was a lovely, leisurely activity.

All too soon, Julie chose to go off alone in search of Jannis and Penny. Beth wondered if they would also try to locate the young man, Nick. She made up her mind to occasionally search out the trio—to affirm that Julie was using good judgment in her choice of activity. For the time being, at least, it seemed wise to Beth not to bother Mother with her apprehension. In fact, she found herself too relaxed at the moment to even
bring up some questions she wanted to pose in the hopes of conversing with Mother.

“Hi, everyone!” Julie's voice called before anyone had noticed her approach.

Beth looked up and gasped. “What . . . what are you wearing?”

Jannis put in, “Ain't it nifty? Don't you just love her new duds?” She and Penny grinned as Julie spun in a circle, twirling the short pleated skirt, obviously delighted with herself.

Mother's eyes swept over Julie's outfit. “Julie Camille, what on earth?”

“It's for tennis, Mother. We've been playing loads of games today, and I've gotten quite good at it. This will help me win! What do you think?”

From the top of her head to the soles of her shoes, Julie was decked out in new clothes. White leather walking shoes, silk hose, knee-length skirt, a breezy top with no sleeves at all, and a drop-waist sweater vest in pale green buttoned up the front. Around her dark curls she had wrapped a silk scarf striped in all shades of green.

Mother was incredulous. “Where did you get it all?”

“Oh, there's a store on the ship. It has lots of clothing. Isn't it perfect?”

Margret had a puzzled expression on her face. “How did you
pay
for it, darling?”

“I signed it to the room.” Somehow Julie managed to say it as if her feelings were hurt, as if doing so were an established practice which should not be questioned.

Beth noticed that Jannis was wearing identical shoes. She decided not to mention it.

Julie almost whimpered, “Is something wrong?”

Beth had her own list of issues. Mother held her response in check. “We'll discuss it later, Julie. For the time being, I think it would be best if we all retired to the room to change for dinner.”

Penny and Jannis excused themselves. Beth gathered her few possessions and fell in step with her mother and sisters on the slow parade through the halls. From time to time Julie would pose her question again, “What's wrong?” But Mother marched forward in tight-lipped silence. At the last moment, it occurred to Beth that she should retreat into Margret's room and wait until whatever discussion Mother chose to engage in with Julie had blown over. There was still plenty of time to dress for dinner, and JW should soon be waking from his nap.

Margret folded, then refolded a little blanket as Beth reclined on the sofa. “Beth,” Margret said slowly, pensively, as if she were still forming it in her mind, “how well do you know your new friends? The ones with Julie today?”

“Not well. They're from Buffalo. Julie says they're flappers.”

“Hmm.” Margret seemed to be struggling with what to say. “Be careful. I don't have a reason. Just a feeling. I'm sometimes wrong—and of course I would very much like to be. Nevertheless, I feel I must advise you to please be careful where those two are concerned.”

Beth frowned, shook her head. “Julie won't—it's not in her nature to use caution.”

“Julie is . . . well, she's passionate. She goes at things with full speed. But I know in her heart she just wants to be a good friend. I don't doubt her motives at all. However, I can't believe the same of those new girls.”

Beth encircled Margret in a tight hug and felt tears begin to swell, appreciating how strongly Margret guarded them,
had always watched over them both. She was certain her emotions were silly, and yet what she felt most was a deep love and respect for her older sister. Only two years separated them in age, with six between Margret and Julie. Yet Margret had always played a motherly role to them both.

Beth stood back a moment, regarding the familiar face. “You're so beautiful, Margret.”

A grim chuckle. “Don't try to flatter me, Beth.”

“What do you mean? I'm very serious.”

Margret pressed her lips together and pushed away. “Everyone knows that you two got the beauty in the family.”

It would be laughable if it weren't for Margret'
s serious expression,
Beth thought. “How can you say that, silly? Everyone says we all look so much alike.”

Her sister had gone back to fussing over the blanket again. “Yes, in the sense that we all have thick, dark hair and similar-shaped faces. But you both have
curls
—I just have frizzle. You both have bright eyes and mine are so plain, hardly any lashes at all. You both have high cheekbones and strong jawlines. I have no nice features at all. It doesn't really matter—I'm used to it. But let's not pretend.”

For a moment Beth stood dumbstruck, studying her in surprise.
There's some amount of truth here.
Her hair is
a thick mass, always worn piled on top of her
head, a style much the same as Mother's. But
it is soft and frames her face with gentleness somehow
. She's the picture of modest propriety—of goodness, even
. And, yes, Margret's chin is less pronounced, but it
gives her a sweetness, a softness.
Beth had never suspected any of the feelings Margret was expressing. “I truly don't see you that way. I don't even know how to reply.”

“You're just used to me.” Margret shrugged off the conversation. “It's fine. I've made my peace with how things are
long ago. And John seems perfectly satisfied with how I look.” Speaking his name brought a tremulous smile to Margret's lips. “But I could never be the life of the party the way you two are. Just look—two days at sea, and you're already the center of attention. Gracious, Julie has gone and decked herself out for tennis as if she's played it all her life. Moving in that modern crowd . . . I just feel, I don't know, Beth, I just feel so terribly plain. And I'm not as bright as you either. Compared to you, Beth, I'm just a dull, slow-witted—”

“Margret, you know that isn't true,” Beth interrupted firmly. “Not in the least! Why, I've always believed you are easily the
best
of us all, head and shoulders above us two. We're the
troublemakers
, the ones who upset what is supposed to be. I insisted on heading off to college, then to the other end of the country. Julie . . . well, Julie's just—”

“Don't gossip, darling. Let her speak for herself.”

“You see!” Beth almost ran across the room to where Margret had retreated. “What would we do without you? Who would we be?”

“You
have
a mother. And a very good one.”

Frustration was nearly overcoming Beth. “Look, Margret,” she said, grasping her by the arms, “I know you're beautiful—not just your spirit and your loving heart, but your face and everything you are. I said so a moment ago because I was overwhelmed by that very thought, how radiantly beautiful you are. I'm so sorry that's not what you believe, but you simply can't sway my opinion. I know the truth, that's all I can say.”

Bashfully Margret whispered, “Now you sound like John.”

“Well, I should hope so! And what's more, I
need
you in my life.” This time tears filled her eyes. “Sister darling, I've been away for almost a year. Trust me when I say that I know what it is to miss you, and I've suffered because of it.”

Margret was softening. Beth reached out again and this time the embrace was returned.

“It's so silly,” Margret said as she wiped at her eyes. “I don't know why I've been having such thoughts. I suppose being away from home has made me terribly moody. I haven't felt quite right for days. And all this tension with the baby seems at times to be more than I can bear.” She dropped her eyes again. “I'm afraid the truth is, I just want to go home.”

Beth laughed. “I surely know that feeling! I felt it so often when I was away. But I guarantee something to you, Margret. Trust me, because this time
I'm
the experienced one. The time is going to rush past, and then we'll all wish we could do this trip over again—though perhaps we'd bring John along next time.”

“Yes, that would change everything for me. But, Beth, aren't you missing someone too?” Margret had found her smile again at last.

Beth flushed. “Of course.”

“Come on then. Go dress for supper.” Margret straightened and drew her shoulders back. “We shall make the best of it—you and I. We shall enjoy our blessings rather than chafe against them.”

“Yes, let's.”

“And together we'll keep an eye on Julie, our darling little socialite.”

“Well, we shall certainly try.”

T
HE
EVENING
MEAL
ON
BOARD
was a splendid experience. Though her appetite had greatly improved along with her health over the last day, Beth could not keep up with the rich dishes served course after course—shrimp cocktail in tall stemmed glasses, jellied tomato-cream bouillon on thin salty wafers, Waldorf salad, mushrooms stuffed with delicate crab filling alongside buttery steamed lobster tails, tender lamb medallions and roast potatoes au jus with a serving of asparagus tips au gratin, and a dessert of raspberry mousse dolloped with fresh whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce.

“It's enough to feed a whole crew,” Margret gasped as her lobster—almost untouched—was whisked away in exchange for the next course.

Monsieur Laurent smiled. “You can be certain, Mrs. Bryce, that it is nothing close to what will be served to the staff.”

Julie, it turned out, was in a rather dour mood. As the main course was set before her, she complained, “I wish Jannis and Penny could dine with us. I can't imagine what they're eating in their drab little dining room—probably the same as the crew.”

Mother's spoon rattled against her teacup as she stirred rapidly. “I assume they're eating precisely what they have paid to eat.”

“Well, it isn't fair. Why should we have so much when others have so little?”

Beth blinked hard.
How can such a question be answered? Are
Julie's friends who are also enjoying the pleasures of
a cruise truly worthy of my sister's pity for
not also experiencing the . . . the extravagances Father is able to
provide for our family?

First came a long sigh, and then Mother responded evenly, “I'm very pleased to hear you voice this concern, Julie dear. I'm certain we can put your benevolence to work once we return home. There is always room for one more at our ladies' charity meetings at church. I believe that the poor in our area will greatly benefit from your deep concern for them.”

“You know what I mean, Mother.”

“Yes, Julie. I'm afraid I do.” She cast a warning glance at her daughter. Julie surrendered and started poking at her lamb.

“This is a lovely meal,” Mrs. Montclair announced, “though not quite as nice as what we ate last night. I wish you had been well enough to enjoy it, Elizabeth. The striped bass was excellent, and I do love spring peas. I'm told that tomorrow we shall be served duck. I don't mind telling you that I'd just as soon miss that meal. Duck has never been my favorite—”

“Mother,” Victoria interrupted, “are you going to eat the rest of your potatoes?” Already the girl's fork was hovering over her mother's plate. Mrs. Montclair seemed not to notice and continued talking as one by one the bite-sized pieces were whisked into her daughter's mouth.

“I had a discussion with some of the other passengers after lunch,” Mrs. Montclair sailed on with her soliloquy. “Several
of them have traveled on other lines as well, and they said that ours compares quite favorably with the CP ships—the Empresses. Ours is not as large, to be sure, but it is nicely appointed. What do you say,
Mr.
Lorant
? Surely you have traveled on a Canadian Pacific ship.”

“Why, yes, I have. I've gone both to the Orient and Europe aboard that line. I found them quite satisfactory.”

“You know what they say,” Mrs. Montclair added in a singsong voice, “‘See this world before the next.'” She laughed as if she had come up with the slogan herself.

“Yes, I've seen that in the brochure,” he responded. “I wonder, madame, how is it that you didn't select a CP cruise?”

“Of course that would have been my first choice. But, well, you know my husband, Charles—so dreadfully frugal. We were interested in a round-the-world cruise, but he put that idea aside very quickly, let me assure you. And yet I'm not dissuaded. I have every confidence that Victoria and I shall take a longer journey soon, and perhaps if we play our cards correctly, my son Edward and his new wife might be able to join us.” The woman looked meaningfully at Beth.

“Won't that be lovely, Edith,” Mother said. “Have they set a date for their wedding?”

“Oh, he isn't one to let the grass grow beneath him. I should think it would be very soon—perhaps even yet this fall.”

Beth turned toward their guide. “What does tomorrow bring, monsieur?”

“We shall disembark at Tadoussac in the morning,” he answered, no doubt just as pleased as Beth to change the subject.

“Tadoussac? I'm not sure I've heard of that before. Is that a town?”

“Yes, Miss Thatcher, one of the oldest ports on the St. Lawrence, mostly involved today with tourism. Many wealthy
Québécois
have built summer homes in the area, though the town has not grown much.”

“But will there be shopping?” Mrs. Montclair asked, her head quickly coming around.

“Why, yes. There are many items to be purchased. But for those who come to explore this part of Canada, there are also delightful trails, a beautiful hotel, and a very old wooden chapel built in the seventeen hundreds—not to mention that one can often see whales even from land.”

The thought of a hike, or even just a walk, on solid ground sounded wonderful to Beth. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “Could we bring Emma along, Mother? I'm sure she'd like to stretch her legs, and she could take photographs of us so that Father could appreciate this excursion too when we're home again.”

“That's a very good idea, darling. Yes, I'll ask Emma to come along. And what shall we do about our sweet little boy, Margret? Shall we bring him too?”

Margret stiffened. “Of course. I'd like him with us whenever it's suitable.”

“Are you going to ask Miss Bernard if she feels it is apropos?”

This time it was Margret's turn to force a careful tone. “I will inform Miss Bernard of my intentions, yes.”

Mrs. Montclair interjected, “Be careful, Margret dear. You don't want to lose your nanny for sheer stubbornness' sake. She would be painfully difficult to replace.”

Margret's face turned ashen.

Beth smiled uncomfortably at Monsieur Laurent. However, he did not seem distressed by the turbulent undercurrents on display during the evening meal.
Perhaps his even temper is one
reason he once was an ambassador,
she mused. How wise Father
had been to select a diplomat. Their little group certainly seemed to need one.

“Julie, are you going to add some color to the sketch tonight?”

They were exchanging their gowns for more comfortable garb. “I don't think so right now. Maybe in the morning.”

“But what if you forget how it looked, the colors and lighting and—”

“I won't forget.” Julie brushed aside Beth's worries with a tap on her forehead. “It's all up here.”

“Julie!”

“Don't worry. Somehow I do remember. Besides, I made arrangements to go to the lounge with Margret. She said she'd come along this time. But I'll be back soon enough.” And without further explanation she was gone.

Beth pulled on a warm jacket, gathered up an afghan and her book, and headed out on deck to read. Only one or two passengers walked past. Beth was certain some solace away from the others was just what she needed—and a book provided an acceptable excuse. It was a perfect place to read, particularly Father's novel about the young sailor.

“What are you reading, Beth?” a male voice asked out of the quiet.

She had been so absorbed in the novel, the question caught her off guard. She peered into the darkness just beyond the circle of deck light where she had placed her chair. “
Redburn
—by Melville.” She shielded her eyes and squinted to see who it was that knew her name.

Nick stepped into the light, hands in his pockets. He was still wearing a dinner jacket, though his bow tie dangled loosely. “Remember me?”

Beth cleared her throat. “Of course. We watched you play tennis earlier.”

“Can I sit down?” He was already drawing a second deck chair over and sat on the front edge of it, arms resting on his knees.

Beth closed her book and modestly drew her feet off her footrest. “I thought you claimed you were poor with names.”

“Gosh, I am—but we
have
already met twice.”

“Hmm,” Beth murmured.

“I like reading too,” he said quickly. “But I haven't had the guts to take on much Melville. He's a little preachy and wordy, in my opinion. I've read
Moby-Dick
, of course—at least some of it. And that was plenty for me.”

Another reader, even if it's this strangely forward
young man
. “So whom do you prefer?”

He laughed. “Well, I guess my tastes run pretty straight, what you'd expect from a fellow like me—Jack London, Jules Verne, H. G. Wells. Nothing surprising. I
do
like adventure. I don't like much else. What's happening in your story?”

Beth looked down at the book in her lap. “Redburn, the main character and an American, has arrived in Liverpool. And though he has always viewed Europe as superior in every way, he discovers great poverty and suffering.”

“And he's surprised at that?”

A smile. “Well, so far he's mostly taking it all in.”

“Now, that sounds like ol' Herman. And of course that alone can go on for chapters—and in great detail.”

“I don't mind.” Beth shook her head. “I like a quieter, more thoughtful story. Some of the modern authors don't slow down long enough for the reader to contemplate what's happening—it's all action. And then it's over far too quickly for me.”

“Then Melville's your man.”

There was a long, awkward pause. He stood slowly, and
Beth looked up at him. “I wanted to ask you a little more about yourself, Beth,” he said, “but to be honest, I don't feel right asking while we're alone here. Can I share a soda with you tomorrow when we're all in town? You and your sister maybe?”

Beth felt a flutter inside.
How should I
answer this young man, Lord?
“I'll be out and about in Tadoussac tomorrow with my family. It would be fine to share tea with you—or a soda if you prefer—but . . .”

“Yes?”

“I don't want to appear presumptuous, Nick. However I feel I should mention that I'm already keeping company with someone.”

“Of course.” He smiled but with a tinge of disappointment. “I should've guessed.” He started to move away, then turned back. “Just the same, I'd like to get to know all of you anyway—if that's all right. We'll be traveling together for a while, and it would be nice to have some friends on board.”

“Of course!” Beth offered a warm smile.

“Good night, Beth. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Nick.”
He seems a nice enough young man.
Though a bit of a chameleon—much less bold in
his approach just now than he was earlier in the
day or back in the scarf shop. Perhaps he would
be a good prospect for Julie
. Hardly aware of it, Beth reached to uncover the day's rose petal from the folds of her hankie. It had already begun to crumble. She lifted it up so she could smell the faint fragrance. “Jarrick,” she whispered, “I wish you were here.” It would not be the last time she so longed for his presence.

“If she makes us late this morning, girls, we shall leave without her.” Mother was putting her foot down where Mrs.
Montclair was concerned. They were standing in a long line of passengers waiting to be ferried to the mainland. A small tender had drawn up to the side of their ship and a large door through the hull allowed transfer onto it. Beth and Julie nodded in support of her announcement.