Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (28 page)

“What threat could my mother possibly present to you? Your husband is the firstborn son, the heir. His inheritance would have been secure whether my mother returned or not.”

“Don’t insult either of us by playing stupid. Your mother was always Richard’s favorite. Libby could do no wrong in her father’s eyes, while Marcus could never do enough right.”

Caroline couldn’t let that remark go. “That’s not true. My grandfather thinks very highly of his son. I’ve seen them together, at the office. There is great affection between them.”

“Affection?” She spat the word. “Richard has always held Marcus to an impossible standard, while Libby was given anything she wanted, whenever she asked.”

A range of bitter emotions crossed Katherine’s face.

“Do you know? When your mother ran off with that stable hand, Richard was as livid as I’ve ever seen him. I thought, finally, the man sees his daughter as she really is. Was Marcus rewarded for staying home, for staying true?” She slammed her fist against the chair’s arm. “No. Nothing changed. While Richard searched for Libby, Marcus was still expected to work hard and earn his way in the world.”

“There is no shame in earning one’s way,” Jackson said. “It’s that which makes America great.”

Katherine ignored him. “I knew if Libby returned, Richard would welcome her back in the fold. He would throw her a party, the prodigal returned and all that.” She snarled at Caroline. The woman actually snarled. “Once again, Libby would be rewarded for doing everything wrong, while Marcus and I would be punished for doing everything right.”

Caroline had heard the Prodigal Son story countless times from her mother. The parable had given Libby hope that one day her father would forgive her, as the father in the Bible had forgiven his son. But to hear Katherine’s interpretation, it was clear her aunt had missed the message of the story.

Before Caroline could say as much, the doors swung open with a loud smack of wood meeting wall. Eyes murderous, jaw clenched, her grandfather strode into the room and stopped next to Katherine. He loomed over her, every bit of his rage evident in his bunched muscles and angry expression. “You are forgetting the most important portion of the story, my dear.”

Katherine stumbled back a step. “Richard, you must understand, I—”

“You have forgotten the part where the father must decide whether to forgive the offense”—he held her frozen in his stare—“or not.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Katherine jumped out of her chair and shoved past her father-in-law, panic in the move. “Richard. You’re supposed to have left for the office.”

“Obviously, I am still at home.” Their stares met, clashed. “I want you out of my house. Today.”

“I . . . please . . . no.” Her hand went to her throat. “I can explain. Truly, I can.”

Hoping to defuse Richard’s anger before it snapped, Jackson went to him. “Let her finish explaining her actions.”

Richard turned his head, black thunderclouds in his gaze. “Why should I?”

“For Caroline’s sake.” Jackson willed the older man to hear what he was saying. “Your granddaughter deserves to hear the entire story.”

After a slight hesitation, the older man nodded. “Go on, Katherine.” His tone turned cold. Ice-cold. “I believe you were relating your version of the Prodigal Son story.”

“I’ve always hated that parable,” Katherine admitted.

“It’s always been my favorite,” Caroline said, reminding them all of her presence. And why they were having this conversation. “As well as my mother’s.”

“Do you know why I hate the story?” she asked Caroline. “Because the Prodigal Son is welcomed back by his father, no questions asked, as if he’d done nothing wrong and would suffer no consequences for his actions.” She spun to glare at her father-in-law. “While the
good
son, who has done everything his father has requested, is scolded for complaining.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Katherine.” Richard’s tone was low and menacing. “The father said to the faithful son,
thou are ever with me and all that I have is thine
. He was still the heir and still received his full portion, as will Marcus.”

Smiling benignly, Marcus sauntered into the room. “What about me?”

Lightning fast, Richard spun to face his son. “Your wife is the one who intercepted your sister’s letters.”

His face stunned, Marcus stared at his father. “She . . .
no
.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Blinking in confusion, he turned to Katherine, who had the gall to smirk at him. It was the wrong thing to do. His eyes growing as hard as his father’s, Marcus strode to her and gripped her shoulders. “How could you?” He pulled her close, so they were nose to nose. “How could you, when you knew how much I loved my sister.”

“Oh, believe me, I knew.” Katherine sneered at her husband in disgust. “As soon as this one showed up, all you could talk about was your sister. Libby this and Libby that.” Her tone turned mocking. “It was as if Libby had returned, instead of her hideous, simpering daughter who—”

“Katherine,” Marcus said, his tone as rigid as his glower. “That’s enough.”

She wrenched free of his hold and stalked over to Caroline. “You are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

Caroline blinked at her aunt, clearly shocked. In one move, Jackson was back by her side, pulling her close. He opened his mouth to defend her, but Marcus beat him to it.

“She is my niece,” he said. “Libby’s daughter.”

“What of
our
daughter? What of
my
sacrifice? I gave up everything to be a part of this family, to live in this house.”

“What did you sacrifice?” Richard asked. “You have enjoyed a life of privilege since marrying my son.”

“You. This is all your fault.” She jabbed her finger at Richard. “You tossed Elizabeth aside for this . . . this . . . harlot. Now she must go. She must disappear from this family. I will not stand for any other outcome.”

Eyes glazed over with rage, Katherine reached up and yanked Caroline’s hair before anyone could stop her.

With a quick swipe, Caroline clutched her aunt’s wrist. “Release me, this instant.”

“Or what?”

“Or this.” A smile, icy and lethal, spread across her lips as she tightened her hold. Katherine cried out and lost her grip, stumbling back several steps.

“Don’t ever touch me again.” Caroline moved toward her aunt, eyes intent. She slowly raised her hand, but stopped herself. “You aren’t worth it.”

Caroline’s hand lowered slowly to her side. Her eyes were filled with horror. But somehow she remained calm and in control, her rage firmly held in check.

She was better than all of them, Jackson realized.

Unconsciously regal, she crossed the room to stand by his side again.

“Marcus. Son.” Richard’s voice quivered with emotion. “Please escort your wife out of my sight.”

“Yes, Father.” Marcus grabbed Katherine’s arm and dragged her toward the foyer. Before quitting the room, he stopped beside Caroline. “I’m sorry, my dear. Please know I wasn’t part of my wife’s treachery.”

His eyes swam with a mixture of shock and disillusionment, a mirror image of his father’s expression.

And Caroline’s. “I know, Uncle. I know you would never harm my mother, or me.”

Looking like a beaten man, Marcus left with his wife firmly in hand. The moment the door shut behind them, Richard sank into a nearby chair.

Caroline rushed forward and collapsed to her knees in front of him. “Grandfather? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, child. I just need a moment to take in the events of the last half hour.”

The older man looked as downtrodden as his son. Caroline began speaking softly to him, in a low, gentle tone. Jackson couldn’t hear her specific words, but whatever she was saying seemed to soothe her grandfather’s grief.

Now that the truth was out at last, the two could begin the process of healing the past and forging ahead toward the future.

Satisfaction filled Jackson. He longed to tell Caroline how he felt about her, that he loved and admired her and wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side.

But now was not the time to declare himself. Caroline needed to be alone with her grandfather.

Jackson slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Elizabeth met him in the foyer. “Is it true? Did my mother ruin Caroline’s life?”

For years, Jackson had protected the people he loved, sheltering them from anything unpleasant. He’d told himself he was giving grace, but grace without truth was dangerous.

“Yes, Elizabeth, your mother is guilty of a very grave sin.”

Grimacing, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can hardly believe anyone would do something so treacherous. It seems so intentionally wicked.”

Jackson saw the despair in Elizabeth’s eyes but had no idea how to help her accept the truth of her mother’s character, a woman as bitter as his own, just far better at hiding it.

In many ways, Lucille Montgomery had been the more honest of the two. It was time Jackson honored her for that. He owed his mother an apology, for not trying harder to understand her pain. “I must leave.”

Elizabeth nodded absently, her gaze darting between the closed doors of the parlor and the stairs leading to her parents’ room.

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes, yes, good day, Jackson.”

No, it wasn’t a good day and would probably get worse before it got better. Change was never easy and always carried a cost. “Good-bye, Elizabeth.”

Without another word, he walked across the foyer and let himself out.

Less than an hour later, Jackson entered his childhood home and immediately went in search of his mother. As expected, he found her in the sunroom just off the first-floor parlor. Although she claimed the early morning light hurt her eyes, she’d never once altered her daily routine, not even in the first few weeks after her husband’s betrayal.

What she must have suffered, Jackson thought, as he positioned his shoulder against the doorjamb and studied his mother’s bent head. The pain and humiliation must have been unbearable, especially in those early days. Surely far worse than what he’d endured himself.

Heart in his throat, he watched his mother a moment longer, trying not to sigh at the picture she made: her back ramrod straight, head bent over her needlework, face scrunched in her customary scowl. Anger and bitterness rolled off her in waves. This was the mother Jackson had known all his life. The difficult, demanding woman with expectations so high no one could ever meet them. Not her husband. And certainly not her son.

Disgrace hadn’t made her bitter, he realized with a jolt. Nor had it made her hard, or unforgiving. The sour condition of her soul had been a part of Lucille Montgomery long before her husband had run off with her younger sister.

For as long as Jackson could remember, his mother had wallowed in a constant state of unhappiness, wielding her disappointment in others as a weapon.

The familiar disquiet he always battled in his mother’s presence arose, urging him to leave before she took notice of him. He stayed firmly planted in place and forced himself to sort through what he would say to her, what he
needed
to say.

He predicted an uncomfortable conversation.

Pushing to his full height, he stepped into the room. “Good morning, Mother.”

“So, you
are
going to acknowledge me.” She kept her head bent as she spoke, while her displeasure sounded in her voice and showed in her tense neck muscles. “I was beginning to wonder.”

So had he. Prepared for the battle ahead, he moved deeper into the room. “I have just come from St. James House.”

“What business called you there so early in the day?” She poked her needle into the material with considerable force, then stilled, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Is it official, then?” She lifted her head to gaze at him at last. “Have you asked for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage?”

“No. I won’t be proposing to Elizabeth. However, I will be making my—”

“But the match has been decided for years.” She gripped the needlework in her hand, wrinkling the fabric beyond recognition. “The girl was to bring respectability to our family, once and for all.”

A month ago, Jackson would have agreed. That was before he’d fallen in love with Caroline, before he’d realized his priorities had been skewed. “Is respectability so important?”

“You know that it is.” Her outrage shot through the room like a well-aimed dart. “It is what we have worked for ever since your father left town with that”—she paused, sneered, narrowed her eyes—“that
woman
.”

At the fury in her tone and the murderous rage in her eyes, Jackson went utterly still. He’d seen a similar look in Katherine St. James’s glower that morning, had noted the same need to hate. But where Katherine’s wound had been forged from a false impression of an unknown wrong done to her, his mother’s had been founded in truth.

Hurting for her more than he ever had in the past, he went to her, lowered to his haunches, and took her hands in his.

“Mother.” He chose his words very carefully. “I know Father hurt you—
I know
—but at some point you must find it in your heart to forgive him. For your sake, if not his.”

“No.” Eyes wild with a mixture of hurt and anger, she snatched her hands free from his. “I will never forgive that man. And you shouldn’t, either. What he did was wrong. He has made both our lives unbearable.”

It was true. They had both suffered. But Jackson knew the time had come to forgive, before the hurt permanently gave way to hate.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and let go of the anger, the pain, the offense he’d harbored in his heart through the years.

He simply . . . let go.

Jackson knew there would be more work to do. There would be times he would fall back into old habits. But today he had taken the first step toward freedom. He must help his mother do the same.

“Mother.” He spoke softly, slowly, urging her to hear him as she’d never heard him before. “Understand, I’m not advocating you deny any wrongdoing on his part, or that you cease to feel the pain of his betrayal, but if you want to take your life back, you have to forgive Father. It won’t be easy and it won’t be fast, but it will come with time.”

“He doesn’t want my forgiveness.” The resentment in her tone spoke of a stubborn, insidious avoidance of the real matter at hand.

“How do you know that?”

“He has never asked.” And there was the real crux of the problem before them. She was waiting for an apology, one that might never come.

Jackson looked at his mother as if coming out of a five-year trance. He would never win this battle with her. Reason would certainly never work. Lucille Montgomery was happy in her misery. She was comfortable in the knowledge that she was the wounded party. The victim.

No matter what words Jackson used, no matter how hard he tried to help her, he couldn’t bring her to a place of healing. She would have to arrive there on her own.

That didn’t mean Jackson wasn’t willing to give it one more try.

“The most Godlike thing you can do is forgive the unforgivable.” He let out his breath very slowly, very carefully. “Father is gone and isn’t coming back. Even if he does return, he might never apologize for his actions or ask for your forgiveness. You have to decide to do that on your own.”

She flattened her lips in a grim line, mutiny in her eyes. “Nevertheless . . .”

Yes, nevertheless . . .

Jackson stood, disappointment making his limbs heavier than normal, his movements slower. Regardless of his failure here today, Jackson loved his mother. “I want you to be the first to know. I plan to ask Caroline St. James to marry me.”