Stay a Little Longer (29 page)

“What do you mean?”

As carefully yet as thoroughly as she could, Rachel explained to Mason all of the things that had befallen Sherman Tucker
in the years his elder son had been gone. Delicately, she described his father’s decline in health, his eventual withdrawal
from the Carlson Bank and Trust, and Zachary’s rise to power over the community. In no uncertain terms, she told Mason of
how Zachary’s dealings had ruined people’s lives and, with anger rising in her voice, of how he had made a play for ownership
of the boardinghouse. She even went as far as to surmise that Zachary had been behind the attack upon Otis, and that if he
knew his brother were still alive, there would be no telling to what ends he would be willing to go.

“He lives with your father in his home,” Rachel added. “Though some people believe that he does so in order to care for Sherman,
there are others who are of the mind that he’s only protecting his own interests. With your father gone, ownership will be
his.”

“That sounds like Zachary. I’m sure he’s plotted and schemed for years.”

“I can believe that,” Rachel said knowingly.

“I saw him when I first came to town,” Mason said, giving thought to how Zachary had rushed down the street in such a hurry
that he resembled more a fat chicken with its head cut off than a banker. “I suppose I should be thankful that I didn’t get
close enough for him to recognize me.”

“Knowing all of this, how are you going to be able to see your father?”

“There’s a way,” he answered confidently.

Again, the silence returned between them. Rachel wondered silently if it was really proper for her to be enjoying Mason’s
company as much as she did; after all, he was once married to her sister. She was lost in her complicated ruminations when
he spoke.

“If you’re cold, you don’t need to stand out here on my account,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Rachel answered, even as the hairs on her arms stood on end from the chill. The truth was that there was nowhere
she’d rather be than standing there with him. That she had so much as thought such a forward thing made her face flush with
embarrassment.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“For what?”

“For everything that you’ve done for me,” Mason said, his voice as soft as the night breeze.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Rachel smiled, relieved that his words had given pause to her conflicted thoughts. “Nursing
you back to health really wasn’t that hard, other than the smell,” she joked.

“That’s not what I mean,” he explained, ignoring her attempt at humor. Confidently, he took a couple of steps toward her,
stopping only when he was at her side; though he wasn’t touching her, Rachel could feel warmth coming from his very presence.
“I’m talking about what you’ve done for Charlotte and the burden you’ve had to carry here at the boardinghouse. Such a weight
shouldn’t have been yours to bear.”

“You don’t have to say a word about Charlotte. I love her as if she were my own daughter.”

“I thank you just the same.”

Gently, Mason reached out and placed his hand upon Rachel’s shoulder. In that instant when they touched, confusion reigned
in her heart, filling her bewildered mind with as many questions as there were stars in the sky. On the one hand, she wanted
to melt pleasurably into his arms, but she couldn’t help but wonder at how she could feel such things about a man who was
once married to her sister. So instead Rachel remained frozen, unsure of what to do. Though she wanted to ask Mason his thoughts,
to try to find answers to her endless stream of questions, in the end there was nothing for her to do but escape.

“I… I should get some rest,” she said, the words rushing from her mouth as she stepped back away from Mason and toward the
door. “I… I just…” was all she could manage before hurrying back inside.

By the time she had reached the staircase, her eyes were already filling with tears.

R
ACHEL SAT QUIETLY
in the stifling heat of the school’s gymnasium, facing the impromptu stage that had been constructed for the night’s performance.
Brown and orange leaves had been made from paper and paint and then strung along the front of the stage like bunting. A hand-drawn
sign declaring a “Celebration of Harvest” had been placed upon an easel fronting the crowd. A makeshift tree had been set
out as a prop.

Folding chairs were arranged in neat rows for the audience, which was made up entirely of parents and other children who had
been dragged along. With the performance soon to begin, most of the seats were full. Up near the stage, one of the teachers
was tuning the piano, carefully plunking each key. Occasionally a head poked out from the shadows for a brief look at the
crowd before its owner was shooed backstage.

Rachel had already been to a couple of these performances to watch Charlotte and her fellow classmates struggle through their
show. The theme of the play changed little; with Carlson’s lifeblood so closely connected to the land on which it had been
settled, most plays were about one harvest or another. There would be plenty of polite applause, a laugh or two, often unintended,
and finally a standing ovation as all of the children came back onstage for an encore.

The room was growing warm. All around her, men and women fanned themselves with the homemade programs the students had made.
Though a couple of ceiling fans had been installed in the last year, they did little to alleviate the discomfort, only managing
to stir the heat. Beads of sweat began to appear on Rachel’s forehead and cheeks, but she ignored them.

Two days had passed since her encounter with Mason on the back porch of the boardinghouse, and since that time he had constantly
been in her thoughts. Over and over she had replayed the events of that night: the way he had smiled, how he’d eased over
to where she stood, but particularly the words he had spoken. Ever since, whenever she was around him, she’d been so conscious
of what had happened that she’d been unable to simply be herself. She wondered if he had noticed.

Her life had been made more difficult as a result of Mason’s unwillingness to come to the play. Though she recognized his
reasons for not attending, Charlotte hadn’t been as understanding as Rachel would have hoped. When informed of her father’s
decision, she had burst into tears and gone running up the stairs to her room. It had taken all of the coaxing and cajoling
that Rachel could muster to persuade her to come out and go to the school. She had sulked the whole way, sniffling and pouting
with every step.

Rachel had also hoped that her mother might attend, but she hadn’t been the least bit surprised when Eliza declined the offer.
Though she had already remained outside of her room more than Rachel had expected, going out to such a public event was still
a step too far. So while Otis headed off to the tavern and Mason remained at home, Rachel had accompanied Charlotte alone.

Suddenly, a shout of “I don’t want to!” echoed through the gymnasium. Instantly, Rachel knew just who had yelled; it had been
Charlotte. The play hadn’t even begun and already there was drama.

What more could possibly go wrong tonight?

With her small arms crossed defiantly over her heaving chest and her lips pursed into a fierce pout, Charlotte frowned up
into the eyes of her distraught teacher, Mrs. Schumacher. Even though the woman’s mouth was fixed in a permanent smile, her
full cheeks pushed up in a sort of grimace, her tired eyes betrayed her mounting unease; she had the harried look of a rabbit
that knew the fox was lurking nearby. All around, children dashed about wildly, most of them in various states of dress and
all of them wound tighter than grandfather clocks. But even in the midst of such chaos, the teacher’s eyes remained fixed
upon Charlotte and the orange-leaf costume she was trying to coax her to put on.

“But I don’t wanna wear that stupid thing!” the girl shouted.

“Now Charlotte, you—”

“I said I don’t wanna do it!”

“We just need you to put this on, sweetheart,” her teacher pleaded in a syrupy sweet voice, as sweat began to bead on her
upper lip. “After all, your family has come to watch you perform and it would be a great disappointment to them if they didn’t
get to see you in your lovely costume.”

“Not all of them, and I’m just a dumb old leaf!”

“Just wear it, dear,” Mrs. Schumacher said, finally showing some of her mounting exasperation as she handed the costume to
Charlotte. For a moment, it looked increasingly likely that she would have to force the girl to put it on, but just then a
pair of children dashed by, a boy chasing a girl and grabbing menacingly at her pigtails, and the teacher’s attention was
drawn elsewhere. “Walter Wiggins!” she snapped. “Walter, you stop that this instant!”

Left by herself, her ridiculous costume dangling limply from her hands, Charlotte felt miserable about what her teacher had
said; the truth was that everyone in her family
hadn’t
come to watch her in the play—only Rachel was there.

Even though he and Rachel had tried to explain it to her, that it wasn’t the right time for her father to be seen out in public,
she was still resentful. All she wanted was for him to come watch her, to be proud of her, so that she could finally tell
all of the other children that she too had a parent.

Why is that too much to ask?

Near the front of the stage, Catherine Nichols was getting ready to be the star of the show, dressed in a bright blouse and
skirt for her role as the farmer’s wife. Even Charlotte had to admit that she looked better than anyone else. With her long
blonde hair and cheery smile, it wasn’t hard for her to be the center of attention. Charlotte cringed when Catherine saw her
looking her way, giving her a knowing, confident smirk.

Charlotte groaned and looked down at her costume. She supposed that her teacher
was
right about something: Rachel would probably be disappointed if she’d come to the gymnasium for nothing. Reluctantly, she
slipped on her leaf outfit just as Mrs. Schumacher returned, as frantic as ever, and began rounding up all of her charges
and getting them in their places.

“Now remember,” she encouraged. “Big smiles, everyone!”

Charlotte stood offstage as the tall curtains were opened and the piano began to play robustly. As the lights were dimmed
over the audience, a polite clapping echoed through the gymnasium.

While watching the first children run out in front of the audience dressed as squash and ears of corn, Charlotte wished that
she could have been traipsing around the woods with Jasper instead of sweating heavily inside her ridiculous costume.

The play proceeded just as it had been practiced; after the first crops had made their appearance, Catherine and the boy playing
the farmer sauntered onstage and recited their lines about the hard work being no burden in the face of such a plentiful harvest.
Then other children went out and reaped the now abundant crops, just as the weather began to take a turn for the worse. Finally,
it was Charlotte’s turn to perform.

There were four other children playing leaves; a couple of them orange, one brown, and one a deep purple. The script called
for them to run out onto the stage and act as if they were being blown haphazardly by the autumn wind, lingering at the front
of the stage before making their way to the other side. Charlotte went out with the rest of the leaves and dashed about as
she had been instructed, but just as she was about to make her exit, she took a moment to look out into the audience in the
hopes that Rachel might be visible and instead saw something that stopped her in her tracks.

There, at the far back of the gymnasium, leaning against the wall and visible only in the light that poured through the door
to his right, stood her father.

He had come to the play after all!

Rachel was furiously fanning herself with her program when the lights to the gymnasium went down and the makeshift curtain
on the stage parted. The man at the piano began to play and the first of the children rushed out onto the stage, went to their
positions, and began to recite their lines.

Watching the expressions of the parents seated around her, pleasant smiles broadening across their sweat-covered faces, Rachel
felt her own sense of pride growing at Charlotte’s accomplishments. Though she had been thrust into the role of mother by
forces beyond her own control, it was a role she had assumed willingly. She had been there for every one of Charlotte’s successes
and failures, watching the girl grow into the image of Alice, and she didn’t want anything to change.

But it already has changed…

Mason’s return to Carlson meant, for better or worse, that nothing in Charlotte’s life would ever be the same. For now, the
girl was elated, thrilled to finally have what she had been denied her whole life. But what would the next day hold, or the
day after that? When Rachel and Mason had spoken the night before, he had expressed a desire for things to remain as they
were. “There’s no reason for that to change,” he’d said.

Rachel’s attention was drawn to the stage. After the first group of children had performed an unintentionally funny song-and-dance
routine that was met with enthusiastic applause from the audience, the scenery was changed and a new batch of performers came
onstage. This group portrayed a family of farmers anxiously awaiting the harvest in the face of the rapidly approaching winter;
Rachel was struck by how accurately this depicted what the good people of Carlson went through each fall.

Then there was a calamitous banging on the piano, clearly meant to announce the arrival of something dreadful—in this case
the sudden rising of the fall winds. It was then that Charlotte and four other children, all of them dressed as differently
colored leaves, ran out onto the stage and began darting first one direction and then another, blowing about as if the announced
wind really was pushing them.

Just as those parents around her had beamed with obvious pride at the appearance of their own children on the stage, Rachel
felt her own heart swell at the first sight of Charlotte. Though she knew that the girl’s part was small, only a quick sighting
until the last song, which would be performed by everyone in the production, she reveled in every second. As Charlotte crazily
rushed around in her costume, her blonde braids bouncing about, Rachel’s eyes never left her, pleasantly regarding every step
the girl took.