Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (5 page)

“Tyler!” his mother admonished.

“You look like you’re about the same age as I am,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table and fixing his stare on Christina, all the while ignoring the glares he was getting from his relatives. She felt a bit uneasy having him look at her in such a way. “With the war and all, I’d expect that to mean your nursing probably took you out of state, if not out of the country.”

“I was in Michigan.”

“Then that means you got to see more of the world than what you grew up around,” he continued, leaning way back in his chair and folding his arms across his expansive chest. “Having experienced more than your own backyard, you should have developed a taste for something more, something better. Why would you ever consider settling for so little?”

Listening to Tyler Sutter speak to her in such a way irritated Christina. She’d never been the type of woman who would fly off the handle or angrily lash out, giving someone a piece of her mind, as Charlotte was more likely to do. But there was
something
about this man that riled her, and she found herself wanting to wipe the smirk off his face.

“If you’re so set on running down anyone who would willingly return to small-town life, then why are
you
here?” she asked, growing bolder. “My grandmother used to say that anyone who talks from a pulpit should practice what they preach, so why don’t you?”

Christina didn’t know what reaction she expected; more than likely, she would have imagined Tyler would continue to talk wise, easily laughing off her barbs and proceeding with new ones of his own. Or that he might argue the point further, maybe even becoming crude with his comments. But what
did
happen surprised her; his mouth swung shut, his jaw clenched, and he stared at her with a barely suppressed anger. When he finally found his voice, it was through clenched teeth that he said, “It’s Holden’s fault.”

“Watch what you’re saying, boy,” Dr. Barlow warned. “That’s no way to talk about your brother.”

“Would…would anyone like some pie?” Clara asked, anxious to move the conversation away from a topic that clearly unsettled her.

“Why is everyone in this family so damned afraid to admit to something we already know?” Tyler snapped, tossing his napkin into his plate. Veins stood out on his neck as he spoke, his voice rising. “Over and over we act as if nothing is the matter, setting a place at the table like he’s going to come down those stairs and join us!”

“But it…it is possible,” Clara said weakly.

“No, it’s not!” Tyler barked. “It’s been more than a year since he came home and it hasn’t gotten any better! In fact, it’s gotten worse. We all walk around worried that we’ll say or do something wrong, but the fact is that Holden is never going to be the man he was. Expecting him to be so is just wishful thinking.”

“He’ll get better!” Clara protested.

“He’s a grown man who doesn’t want to leave the house!”

“Because of what happened to him during the war!”

“Why are you so set on defending him, Mother?” Tyler argued, a frustrated, ironic smile on his face. “The last time he sent you away in tears, didn’t you say you were through trying to persuade him to leave the house? Didn’t you swear that you’d done all you possibly could for him? Uncle Samuel.” He turned and asked, “Didn’t she say that she had had enough?”

Dr. Barlow gave no answer, a reply in itself.

“I can’t give up on my son and send him back to the veterans hospital.” Clara finally answered.

“Even if he’s given up on himself?” When no one responded, Tyler snarled, “And you wonder why I spend so much damn time in the garage.”

When the back door to the kitchen slammed hard enough to cause her to flinch, Christina wondered, not for the first time that day, if coming to Longstock had been a mistake.

C
HRISTINA PICKED UP
the last of the empty bowls from the dining room table and took them to the kitchen, still trying to understand all that had happened before her eyes. While her thoughts remained a jumbled mess, Dr. Barlow and his sister seemed unaffected by Tyler’s outburst.

Clara hummed softly as she washed silverware, handing each piece to her brother to dry, neither saying a word about the earlier confrontation. Christina was amazed by the extent of their denial; even as Clara’s son angrily slammed the back door and stomped off to the garage, she just smiled and asked if either of them was ready for a piece of pie; but Tyler Sutter had ruined Christina’s appetite.

“Is that everything, dear?” Clara asked as Christina entered the kitchen.

“Only the platter with the rest of the chicken is left.”

“Could you bring it to me?”

“Of course.”

On the counter beside the sink was a plate on which Clara had placed some of every item that had been served at dinner: mashed potatoes, creamed corn, salad, as well as an enormous slice of apple pie. An empty spot remained. Christina did not believe that the food was being saved for the icebox; it was to be taken to Holden.

Though Tyler’s older brother, Holden Sutter, had been thrust into the dinner conversation, he remained a mystery to Christina. All that she knew was that something terrible had happened to him and that his family strongly disagreed about how it should be handled. Eventually she
would
find out; someone would tell her in confidence or accidentally let it slip, but the thought of waiting was not appealing.

She wanted to know right there and then, but how?

One possibility was to approach Dr. Barlow and ask for the truth; given Tyler’s tantrum, she doubted that her employer would deny her an explanation. But demanding things was not something she was comfortable doing; her sister, Charlotte, wouldn’t have had any reservations, but she did. After all, she’d be working for Dr. Barlow and didn’t want to get off to a bad start.

Clara was putting the last of the clean dishes into a cupboard. Dr. Barlow sat at the small kitchen table; he pulled a well-worn pipe from the pocket of his coat and began filling it from a pouch; when it was lit, the sweet smell of tobacco filled the room. From outside came loud banging and clanging, the sounds of Tyler getting back to work on his car.

Clara placed a large piece of chicken on a platter next to the food she had already set aside, just as Christina had expected. She placed the plate and a large glass of milk on the tray and headed toward the stairs that led up to the second floor.

Christina took a deep breath, steeled herself, and proceeded with her plan.

“Are you taking that food to Holden?” she asked boldly.

Clara froze. “…I was,” she replied, curious yet cautious.

“Then I would like to be the one to take it to him.”

Clara didn’t blink, even in surprise. Slowly, her jaw opened but no sound came out. Searchingly, she looked at her brother.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Dr. Barlow ventured.

“And why not?”

“Well…w-w-well, I j-j-just…it’s that…,” he stammered, never managing to establish a solid footing for his argument.

“One of the reasons that you asked him to join us for dinner was to introduce him to me, wasn’t it?” Christina asked, turning her attention back to Clara.

“Yes, it was.” She nodded.

“Just because Holden chose not to come downstairs and join us at the table doesn’t mean that we still couldn’t meet,” Christina explained patiently.

“Sometimes Holden can be…,” Clara said, “he can be…difficult…”

“I’ve spent the last couple years of my life dealing with people who were far more difficult than you could imagine.”

“She’s does have a point there,” the doctor agreed.

Christina felt elated, even a bit triumphant that her reasoning was solid enough to earn an acknowledgment. Clearly, Clara was more skeptical, but she evidently could be swayed.

Truthfully, Christina didn’t know why she wanted to meet Holden Sutter so badly. Maybe it was because everyone had acted so out of sorts about him. Tyler had reacted so intensely, had become so upset, that it only strengthened her desire, urging her to push on. Maybe it was because of how…
interesting
Tyler had proven to be that she just had to meet his brother. She knew that she was being forward, assertive, and even a bit presumptuous in making her request, but she’d already asked. There was no turning back.

“Just let me take him his supper,” she pressed on. “Once Holden meets me, he may feel comfortable to join us next time.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of his being shy.” The doctor frowned. “His reasons for staying in his room are complicated…”

“So tell me what they
are
.”

Dr. Barlow stared at her as smoke drifted lazily from his pipe up toward the ceiling, weighing her request. He glanced at his sister, but Clara only nervously chewed on her lip, keeping her thoughts to herself. Sighing deeply, he answered, “When Holden was serving with the Fifty-first Army Infantry in France, he…he…there was…”

Involuntarily, Christina held her breath, waiting.

Dr. Barlow swallowed and said, “Holden was caught in an—”

“Just let her take the plate up and she’ll find out for herself,” Clara suddenly interrupted, her voice nearly cracking with emotion; it was such a surprise that it made Christina jump. “It wouldn’t do any good to explain something she’ll have to see with her own eyes.”

“Are you sure?” Clara’s brother asked. “There’s no telling if…”

Clara nodded.

Christina took the plate and glass from her hands and moved to the stairs. Stopping, she looked back.

“It will be all right,” she tried to soothe them. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Neither of them gave an answer, looking at each other with concern.

Christina paused at the top of the stairs.

The hallway before her was short, with two doors on either side. Each of the doors stood open except for the one on the rear right, the one she had been told was Holden’s room. Starlight streamed through a window at the other end of the hallway; Christina could see only a sliver of the moon at the bottom of the lowest pane, as if it were a child peeking in from outside.

Well…this is what you wanted.

Suddenly, Christina found herself unable to move forward. She wanted to forget her ridiculous plan and go back to the kitchen and apologize for her rashness. Surely she would be forgiven. Eventually, she would learn what had happened to Holden Sutter and she would sympathize with his family’s plight. Life would go on.

But it was then, just as Christina was about to give in to her fears and retreat, that she felt an overwhelming shame at her weakness, at her willingness to surrender. After being bold enough to ask to deliver Holden’s meal, she had to see it all through to its conclusion; she just had to. Steeling herself, she pressed onward, tray in hand, determined not to turn back.

Slowly, Christina made her way down the hallway, wincing every time she caused a floorboard to squeak. Silently, she scolded herself for worrying about the noise; it wasn’t as if she were trying to sneak up on Holden. Finally, she found herself standing before his door, light leaking out from beneath it. She took a deep breath, steadied the tray, and knocked.

“Just leave it outside,” a man’s voice said from behind the door.

Undaunted, Christina knocked again.

This time there was a longer pause, followed by the sound of a chair’s legs scraping across the floor. Christina froze, bracing herself; she expected the door to the room to be swung open and to find herself face-to-face with the man she so desperately wanted to meet. But nothing happened.

“Just bring it in and set it on the nightstand, Mother,” he said again, sounding annoyed.

Trying to keep her fingers from shaking, Christina felt for the knob and turned it, pushing the door open.

Holden Sutter’s room would have been considered neatly furnished and orderly, in most respects. There was a bed, framed by a pair of outdated nightstands with matching lamps; a shelf over the bed crowded with handcarved figurines; a well-used dresser with one drawer missing an ivory knob; and a desk with an ornate hutch of beveled glass and birds carved into the wood. It
would
have been neat and welcoming if it were not for the hundreds of books that covered almost every surface. They were stacked in piles on the nightstands and desk, spread out across the bed, and lay open on the floor; they were even leaned up against the closet door in such a way that it looked as if they were a barricade meant to keep something inside. They came in all shapes and sizes, all colors and decoration of spine, spilling everywhere.

And there, standing in the middle of it, was Holden Sutter.

Before she had opened the door, Christina had attempted to steel herself for what she would see. With the way Holden’s family had spoken, she expected to find him disfigured by fire, unmistakably scarred as her father had been, missing a limb, or suffering from some other form of trauma similar to those she had treated as a military nurse. No matter what she found, she knew she would not betray her emotions, that no shock would fall across her face.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Holden Sutter was a strikingly handsome man. His hair was as black as coal, longer and curlier than most men wore, in stark contrast to his brother’s. Stubble darkened Holden’s square jaw. He wasn’t as broad shouldered or thick of chest as Tyler, but Holden’s wiry frame showed a clear strength. He was dressed smartly, wearing a button-down shirt and a pressed pair of trousers, hardly the ratty pajamas she would have expected. Past a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, Holden regarded her intently with his wide, dark eyes.

But what truly surprised Christina was that there seemed to be
nothing
physically wrong with him.

For a long moment Holden looked at her with a mix of surprise and confusion written across his face, but slowly his gaze narrowed, growing in annoyance.

“Who are you?” he asked with a deep, confident voice. “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Christina Tucker,” she introduced herself with a pleasant smile. “I was invited to dinner by your uncle, Dr. Barlow. I’ve come to Longstock to be his new nurse. This is my first day here.”

“You’ve only answered half of my question,” Holden snapped, clearly unmoved by her attempt to disarm his displeasure. “What are you doing
here in my room
?”

“Your mother asked if I would bring you your dinner,” Christina replied as she raised the tray. “Where would you like me to put it?”

“My mother did no such thing,” Holden answered, shaking his head firmly and stepping out from behind the bed; when he did so, Christina saw that he did so without a limp or artificial limb, another sign he had no obvious handicap. “If there is one thing I have learned in the years I have spent under her roof, it is that my mother does not like to have
anything
interrupt her daily routine. Because of that, she is the only person who has brought me my dinner since the day I returned. Even when my brother or uncle has volunteered to do it for her, she’s denied them, so pardon me if I don’t believe your story.”

Christina sighed. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” she admitted, “but because you didn’t come down to dinner, I volunteered to bring it since I hadn’t had a chance to meet you.”

“I never come down to dinner.”

“Why not?”

Though he was clearly surprised at the boldness of her question, Holden chose not to answer.

“Your mother invited you to join us,” she pressed on.

“She invites me to every meal,” he explained. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every teatime in between.”

“And yet you never accept.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well then, I suppose I shouldn’t take your slight personally.”

A whisper of a smile rose at the corners of Holden’s mouth but quickly disappeared.

“Doesn’t it get lonely eating every meal alone?” Christina asked, refusing to allow his silence to stifle the conversation. “In my family, getting together around the dinner table is the absolute best part of the day, talking, laughing, and catching up.”

“Well, I choose not to have my mother hovering over my every bite.”

“It can’t be
that
bad.”

“You’re wrong,” Holden said. “When she brings me my meals, she can’t help prying. She asks if I’m all right, if I need something, if there’s anything else she can bring me. Over and over, day after day, she never stops asking. It’s gotten to where I can’t stand to be in the same room with her.”

“Which is why, when you thought that I was her, you asked me to set your dinner outside your door.”

Again, Holden didn’t answer, but Christina knew she was right.

Standing there, still holding the tray with his dinner, Christina found that there was so much more she wanted to know about Holden Sutter. If anything, having met him made him even
more
mysterious. No matter how hard she looked, she could see no outward signs of what afflicted him, of what kept him in his room and his family on edge. His bad manners and annoyance could be explained by many things, but Samuel Barlow had said that it was a result of something that had occurred while Holden had been with the Army in France.

There has to be a reason.

“Well then, now that you’ve brought me my dinner, it’s time for you to go,” Holden said abruptly.

“Where would you like me to put the tray?”

“Just hand it to me.”

Christina tried to think of a reason to stay but couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t seem forced or contrived. It didn’t help matters that Holden showed no desire to have a conversation; in fact, he seemed quite intent on getting rid of her. Resigned that her meeting with Holden would be brief, she handed him the tray.

“Thank you,” he said without any gratitude. “I’d say that it was nice meeting you, Christina Tucker, but—”