Promises to Keep (3 page)
“It wasn’t that, Mama. I don’t really care about the mean stuff she says. I hate it when she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t lie.” Annie sniffed while Mary handed her a tissue.
She took her daughter’s hand in hers, squeezing the small fingers. “I believe you, and so does your sister. I’ll bet that’s why she’s mad. She wishes it had happened to her. Although I honestly can’t see Susan up to her ankles in pond muck, wrapping a worm on a fishing hook.” They both laughed at the idea of girly-girl Susan trying to bait a hook. She wouldn’t be caught dead fishing at any pond.
“So, tell me about this Travis. Is he a nice boy? I’ve met his father a few times, over the years. He’s a good man.”
“Did you go to school with him, Mama? Did you know Mrs. Quincy in school, too?”
“Goodness, Mrs. Quincy is younger than I am. I’m probably closer to her husband’s age. But no, I didn’t go to school with him. He went away to the academy. Travis probably goes there too, I’d imagine.”
“Then in another couple of months, he’ll be gone. That’s just
unfair
.”
Sympathetic, Mary nodded. “Yes, I know, honey. It’s kind of unfair. But look at it this way. If you and Travis are meant to be friends, then you will be, whether he’s here in town or away at school. If he goes to the academy like his daddy did, then I bet he comes home on the weekends sometimes, and for the holidays. And you have two whole months more to go fishing and have fun, before he’d have to leave. Right?” She gave her daughter’s shoulder a comforting rub.
“I guess. If his mama lets him. She sure didn’t like me. She called me ‘this...child...’” Annie mimicked a lady’s highbrow tone perfectly, and Mary was torn between chuckling at the imitation, and outrage at Ruth Quincy’s attitude. “I don’t think she likes kids much.”
“Well, maybe she’s never had an opportunity to be around any children other than Travis. I suppose we could ask her to tea on a day when the boys are all home, fighting over the television, and tromping through the house with their muddy shoes. That might give her a taste of what extra kids are all about.”
When Annie giggled, Mary hugged her, reveling in the sweet warmth of her child in her arms. How could anyone not love her Annie? It was inconceivable.
“Come on, Munchkin.” She smiled when Annie groaned at the old pet name. “Off to bed. We have to can sweet relish first thing after church. I’ll need you and Susan both to help me. And no fighting in the kitchen tomorrow, okay?”
“I’ll try. But if Susan calls me skinny and flat one more time, I’m punching her out.”
In the room the girls shared, Annie tugged off her towel and wriggled into a nightgown, crawled into bed, and snuggled with her pillow. Mary kissed her forehead and whispered a soft ‘good night.’
As she moved toward the door, Annie mumbled, “Mama? Do you think I’m pretty?”
A tender smile bloomed across Mary’s face. “I think you’re very pretty, honey. Inside where it counts as well as outside where everyone, especially your friends, can’t help but see it.” She blew Annie a kiss and slipped out into the hallway.
A light breeze rustled the thin marsh grasses that shielded one end of Bogg Pond. Travis sat on the largest flat rock, chin in hand, his tee shirt damp and stuck to his back.
If I had some danged scissors, I’d hack up my jeans and turn them into shorts
.
Anything to cool himself down.
He glanced over at Annie, poised at the very edge of the pond, her knees slightly bent as she grasped the rod in one hand and played out line with the other. She looked as sweaty as he felt, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Heck, nothing really bothered Annie when she was on the hunt for bullheads, not the heat, the mosquitoes, or the thick, steamy air. He had to admire a kid like that.
“Aren’t you hot?” he called over, ignoring the Number One Fishing Commandment:
Thou Shalt Not Get Loud Around the Fish
.
“Shh.” He could just hear her over the chirping crickets. “I’ve hooked one and he’s gonna fight me.”
Wildly envious because his line was empty, he snorted, “Bulls don’t fight. It’s not like you’re fishing for trout.”
“This one’ll fight.” Her soft voice got smug.
Travis jumped down from the rock. He had to see this for himself. Annie always seemed to get the largest bulls. He’d like to have some of whatever magic she used to catch them. He strode to her side and peered over her shoulder, just as she jerked her arm. The hook caught firmly in the fish’s mouth, and they both gasped at its large splash.
“Holy heck! Where did he come from?” Travis’s jaw dropped as he sized up the fat bullhead Annie now struggled to pull in. He brought his arms around her, caught the rod with one hand, and helped her pull the line with the other. Together they yanked, tugged, and finally landed a bull he swore was as big as a catfish.
Annie dragged a grimy hand over her forehead and left behind a smear of worm slime. She gaped down at the flopping monster. “I’ve never seen a bull that big. Maybe it’s really a cat.”
Travis stepped away from her and knelt down to get a better look. The head might be broad enough for a cat, but it still looked more like a bull, and the coloring was right. “I think it’s a plain old bull.” He prodded it with a finger, and the bull whipped and pulled at the line Annie still held. “Maybe this is one of those wily bulls Dad always brags about.” He grinned up at Annie, who chuckled.
“We should take it back to your house and show him. He’ll flip when he sees what we’ve got.” She knelt beside Travis, and between the two of them, they unhooked the large fish from the line. Travis got hold of it with both hands and dumped it into the cooler he’d brought. Four other fish lay, submerged and listless, in the large, water-filled cooler. The new bull eclipsed them all.
He stood, wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I bet he
would
flip. But he’s not home. He’s in Newport this week.” He waited until she jumped to her feet, then moved to the flat rock and climbed onto it. Annie followed and clambered up behind him, grabbing onto the back of his shirt for balance.
In silence, they watched the ripple of marsh grass as the breeze strengthened. Travis didn’t feel like talking, and Annie wasn’t one to push it. He liked that about her. He glanced sideways as she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin, her attention caught by a low-flying heron.
Since they’d started fishing together, they hung out at the pond almost every day he could wrangle out of whatever dumb plans his mother insisted on making for him. Even when the fish wouldn’t bite and all they did was sit on the bank and swat flies, he had fun with Annie despite the three-year gap in their ages. His dad liked her. Too bad his mother didn’t.
Thoughts of his mother put a frown on his face. Annie noticed it, and elbowed him in the ribs. “What’s wrong with you? Mad ‘cause I got the biggest bull?”
He elbowed her in return, careful not to push too hard and knock her off the rock. “No, I’m not. Well, maybe a little.” He snickered when she stuck her tongue out at him. “I was just thinking about junk I have to do when I get home. Stuff I was supposed to do all day. I kind of took off without even starting on it.”
“What kind of stuff?” Annie shifted on the rock to face him, her eyes lit with interest. For some reason she found his life fascinating and loved to hear him talk about it. He couldn’t imagine why.
“It’s nothing.” He passed it off with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, come on. Tell me all about your junk. Maybe I can help.”
He stared at her in consideration, and shrugged. “Okay. Can you play golf? Take over my fencing lesson? Read the next ten chapters of
The Quincy Legacy History
, for me?”
“Huh?”
He cracked a grin at the confusion on her face. “All the junk I have to do. My mother loads it on me every summer, like she can’t stand to see me have any actual fun. Golf lessons and riding lessons and stupid fencing lessons. Dusty old books full of deadly boring facts about my Quincy ancestors.” His grin faded as suddenly as it appeared. “It’s like she doesn’t want me to be happy. This summer is worse than all the rest of them, because she’s started going off about politics.”
“Oh, Travis. I’m sorry your mama drives you nuts.” Annie rubbed her hand over his shoulder.
She sat quietly beside him. Travis knew she sometimes wondered if he had that great a life. She probably compared his relationship with his mother to the way Mary Turner treated Annie and the rest of the kids. In that respect, his life came up way short.
Annie prodded, “What does your daddy think? He’s so nice, Travis. He seems a lot more . . . um . . . .” She seemed to struggle for a word that wouldn’t show his mother in a bad light. Finally, she said, “He seems really easygoing. Kind.”
Travis lifted his hands, dropped them again. “Ah, Dad’s great. He never pushes, he just lets me do what I want in the summer.” He sighed. “As long as I get good grades in school and I’m willing to try for Yale, Dad’s okay with me goofing off.”
“You’re going to Yale? Wow. I want to go to college, too, any college. If I could go, I’d never ask for another thing in my life.”
“Well, I’m going to try getting into Yale. Dad went there. He wanted to get in by himself instead of using Legacy funding, so he went for a full scholarship and got it. That’s the way I’m going to do it, too. Like my dad,” Travis vowed. He blushed as he met Annie’s admiring gaze and jumped from the rock, his hand outstretched for hers. “Come on, let’s take off. If I’m going to get that scholarship on my own, I guess I’d better start earning it. I’ve still got ten moldy chapters of Quincy stuff to read.”
She slid down and landed lightly on her feet next to him, looking up into his face. “You can do it. I know you can. You can do anything you want to, Travis.”
He ducked his head in embarrassed acknowledgement, and a smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he walked over to the cooler and hefted it by its thick handle. She scooped up their rods in one hand, grasped her bucket in the other and matched his stride.
As they walked along Boggy Creek Lane, he mumbled, “Thanks, Annie.”
Ruth Quincy creamed the makeup from her face as she reviewed the evening’s festivities. The dinner party with the Cabots, a weekly summer tradition, had proved to be quite successful. Councilman Jeffrey Cabot and his wife, Janice, enjoyed the same level of social status as the Quincys. Ruth smiled as she thought of their daughter, Catherine. Such a darling girl, sweet-tempered and biddable.
Born a mere three months after Travis, both families greeted Catherine’s arrival with such joy. Within a year, Ruth and Janice began to plan a wedding between their beloved children. It just seemed fated.
A brief frown marred her smooth brow, as she recalled the many ways her son squirmed out of his social duties toward Catherine. They might be far too young at thirteen to think of an engagement, but it was important they maintain an eye toward the future. It was time to reel Travis in and impress upon him his responsibilities.
“What are you thinking about that’s putting a frown on your pretty forehead, Ruthie, my love?” Ronald’s voice sounded right at her ear. Startled, she jumped and pressed a hand to her heart. She glared in the mirror at her husband, who had silently entered their suite, and now stood behind her chair with an unrepentant smile on his face.
“Honestly, Ronald, must you sneak about the room?” She took a few deep breaths as she reached for her hairbrush.
Ronald removed the brush from her hand and began working it through her hair himself. The familiar, rhythmic movement soothed her as he commented, “And where else would I sneak, hmm?” He ran his fingers over her hair. “You didn’t answer me. What were you concentrating on so fiercely?”
“Nothing dire, I assure you. Just thinking about how lovely Catherine is, how much she’s grown up in the past few months.” She paused as she met her husband’s eyes in the mirror and noted the firm set of his lips and the narrowed eyes. “What? I can’t think about the dear child?”
“Don’t. Just—don’t.”
She pretended not to know what he was referring to. “Don’t what? Don’t say she’s a lovely child? Well, she is.”
He sighed as he laid the brush on her vanity and grasped her shoulders, turning her around until she faced him. With stern inflection he said, “You know what I mean. Don’t start your matchmaking. They’re only thirteen, for heaven’s sake. You’ve been campaigning for a wedding ever since Catherine was born, and you know it.”
Ruth shrugged, dislodging the gentle grip on her shoulders. “What if I have? Travis has to make a good marriage. He has to have an heir. He’s the only direct-line Quincy. Yes, I know,” she snapped, anticipating his next remark with sudden temper, “it was my choice not to have any more children. My choice to put the burden of future Quincy generations on his shoulders alone. You know how I feel about herds of children running about, Ronald. I had enough of dealing with children when I wasn’t much more than a child, myself,” she reminded him.
“Yes, I know. How young you were, with all the responsibility of caring for your baby sisters. I know, Ruthie. And I’ve never given you any grief about not wanting another child, although of course I’d have enjoyed giving Travis a younger brother or sister. Perhaps it’s why he enjoys the Turner girl’s company—”
“I don’t care what he enjoys. I don’t want that girl anywhere near Travis.” She turned from the mirror and her eyes locked onto his as she faced him. “For God’s sake, she’s a
Turner.
I cannot and will not bear her bad influence on our son.”
“Ruthie, she’s just a little girl. Her parents are decent people. I knew Henry Turner when we were both boys, and he’s hardworking and honest. Mary Turner is gentle and kind. I met her a few times, right after Henry moved the family from Roanoke. None of their children, to my knowledge, have ever been in any kind of trouble. They don’t have much, but they’re good parents and worthwhile citizens of Thompkin.”
“No Turner has ever been worthwhile. I don’t care how young they are or how removed you consider them from that vile old man who fathered Henry Turner. I will never forget.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I will never forgive.” Her fingers caught his shirt in a tight grip as she gulped in a ragged breath. “I want that girl to stay away from Travis. I want you to promise me. If I can’t do anything about them living in our town, then I can certainly do something about any of them coming around our son.”
Saddened, Ronald stared at his wife. He ached for her, for the girl she’d been and for what had happened in her life to cause such bitterness and hatred. Lord knew, he understood. But there came a time when forgiveness had to occur. Otherwise she’d never move on.
He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss, enclosed her in his arms and held her as he struggled to find the right words. Finally he realized the best way to handle it was the simplest. With regret, he pulled away until he could look into his wife’s eyes. “No, Ruth. I’m sorry, but I can’t. It isn’t right we do this to Travis, to Annie Turner.”
She stiffened in protest, and he smoothed his hands over her loose hair, cupped her cheeks tenderly, slipping them over her shoulders. He entreated, “Let it be, honey. That little girl can’t hurt you. Nothing can hurt you any longer except for the memories you’re unwilling to release. Can’t you see? You’re a different person now, a stronger person. A bigger person, too.”