Stay a Little Longer (31 page)

Mason jumped up and grabbed the low-hanging branch of a maple tree that grew beside the big house, pulling himself up from
the ground with little effort. Scaling a series of branches, he easily found the familiar handholds. Quickly rising in the
leafless tree, he shimmied out onto a branch that overhung the roof. After listening for any signs of movement, he took a
deep breath and dropped onto the house, fearful that the sound of his heavy landing would echo throughout the house.

Don’t hear a thing, Zachary…

His breath caught in his chest, Mason waited for some sign that he had been detected, but the only answer was continued silence.

The pitch of the roof was steeper than Mason remembered, but he managed to pull himself upward by holding on to the outside
edge. He maintained his precarious balance carefully. Close above him, two windows looked out onto the lake and the southern
horizon; he knew that his father’s room was the one on the right.

Inch by inch, Mason made his way, wary of losing his footing. Finally, he reached out and held fast to the pitched edge of
the window’s roofed overhang.

Mason’s heart beat furiously in his chest, but he knew it wasn’t from the exertion of climbing the roof; on the other side
of the window, he was sure to find his father. While he had rushed to the house so that he could look upon Sherman Tucker,
now he hesitated.

“C’mon now,” he chided himself. “It’s too late to turn back.”

Peeking out in front of the glass, Mason tried to see inside the room, but only darkness was reflected back at him. As usual,
the window wasn’t latched; for as long as he could remember, his father enjoyed having a breeze while he slept, something
that Zachary clearly hadn’t paid much attention to, and thus the window remained unlocked. Mindful of any squeaks that might
inadvertently announce him, Mason lifted the sash and stepped into his father’s room.

For a long moment, Mason stood frozen, fearful even to breathe. The inside of the room seemed darker than outdoors, but his
eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness. Eventually, he saw clearly enough to recognize that his father’s bedroom had changed
little in eight years; though the house was representative of the wealth Sherman Tucker had accumulated, the room in which
his son stood was much simpler. Only sparse furnishings were visible: an ordinary dresser, a well-worn table, and a plain
lamp complemented the bed.

Still crouched by the window, Mason followed a faint sliver of moonlight to where it illuminated a patch of the bed. There,
with a wool blanket covering him, lay his father.

As he moved closer to the bed, Mason’s breath was torn from his lungs when his eyes fell upon Sherman Tucker as he slept soundly,
so great was the change that had fallen upon the man. Deep lines and wrinkles creased his forehead, his cheeks, and the corners
of his eyes. Age spots haphazardly dotted his skin. His hair, once black with tinges of white, was now snowy wisps. But worst
of all was the way his mouth sagged, turned down in a permanent frown, unwilling or unable to right itself. Tears welled in
Mason’s eyes as he saw what his father had become in his absence.

“Oh, Papa,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

Regret clutched at Mason’s heart. For all the long years he had been gone, he’d never once imagined that a man as vibrant,
as full of life as Sherman Tucker would be struck so low.

Mason cursed the day he had decided to remain away from Carlson and those he loved. In all of those years, he’d never truly
grasped the many consequences of his actions. With Zachary more than willing to snatch the reins of power at the bank, his
father had been forced aside, not just from the institution he’d built from his own sweat and will, but from life itself.

Just as Mason was about to offer whatever futile apologies he could muster for all that he had caused, he was startled by
the sight of his father sputtering to consciousness, his eyes fluttering as he began to stir.

“Who… who’s there?” he asked feebly, his gaze searching.

Mason was stuck in place, uncertain as to what, if anything, he should do. Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t make a break
for it, rush back to the window and escape out into the night, fearful that looking upon his disfigured and scarred face would
only cause his father more hurt. But he had no more than possessed the thought when he dismissed it; the time for running
away from life’s difficulties had ended. With unsteady fingers, he gently took his father’s feeble hand into his own.

“It’s Mason, Papa,” he said softly. “I’ve come home.”

Even in the meager light of the moon, Mason could see the outright shock and disbelief that raced across Sherman Tucker’s
disheveled features, his eyes growing wide and his lower lip trembling. When he had finally composed himself enough to speak,
his voice, while frail, still carried with it the unmistakable sound of hope.

“How… how can it be… ?” he asked. “My son… is long gone from me…”

“I’m here with you now.”

“No… no, I can’t…” Sherman faltered.

“I know how hard this must be for you to hear, Papa, how impossible it must be for you to believe,” Mason explained; with
each and every word he spoke, he felt the older man’s grip tighten. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I’ve been
gone so long.”

Sherman’s eyes narrowed in the gloom, straining for a better look at the man who had entered his room, suddenly opening wide
as he saw enough to dispel whatever suspicions he harbored. His breathing grew and tears soon streaked down his cheeks.

“My… my boy…” he sobbed.

“Please, Papa,” Mason soothed, barely able to contain the emotion that rose in his own heart.

“Your face,” Sherman said as he raised one gnarled hand up to press it against Mason’s scars, his eyes brimming with both
concern and surprise. “What… what happened… ?”

“There will be time for us to talk soon, Papa, but… but, I… I…”

Mason faltered, unable to say more. So much of him wanted to stay and make the amends that were needed, but he knew what was
risked at Zachary’s hands. If he were to do what was right, if he were to protect Rachel, her family, and the future of his
own daughter, he had to be patient.

“But why… why must you go?” his father questioned.

Before Mason could answer, the sound of footsteps, undoubtedly those of his brother as he made his way up the stairs, rose
outside his father’s door.

In that moment, Mason knew that he had a difficult choice to make; he could either stay and confront Zachary, bring the real
story of his absence out into the open, or he could go quickly and choose another moment for the confrontation he knew was
inevitable.

Releasing his hand from his father’s grip, Mason said, “I have to go now, Papa, but I’ll be back. I promise.” He bent and
kissed his father on the forehead, then swiftly crossed the room and threw open the window. He had just managed to get outside
when the door behind him opened, framing Zachary in silhouette.

Panic gripped Zachary’s chest at the sight of a stranger standing outside the window to his father’s room. He recoiled in
fright, but soon calmed whatever thundering remained in his chest and rushed over to engage the window’s lock.

By the time Zachary reached the glass, whoever had been there had slid down the roof’s incline and leapt into the limbs of
the maple tree that overhung the house; all that remained to be seen of the intruder was the irregular swaying of several
large branches.

Who in the hell was that?

“Come… come back, Mason…” his father croaked behind him.

Zachary turned quickly, unable to believe what he thought he had heard. He was at his father’s side in an instant, his hands
clenched tightly into fists. “What… what did you just say? Who was that?” he demanded.

“Mason… it was Mason…” Sherman smiled, showing the first real emotion that his younger son could remember seeing in his face
in years. Joyful tears rushed freely down his wrinkled cheeks. “Mason… was here…”

Stunned, Zachary turned back to the window half expecting the shadowy figure to have returned. His first instinct was to believe
that his father was delusional, that his illness had progressed to the point where he was imaging his long dead son coming
to visit. But that ignored the fact that he had seen someone as well.

Questions exploded in Zachary’s thoughts. He wanted to press his father to tell him
exactly
what had happened in the room, to shake the cobwebs from the old fool’s head and learn who the visitor had been, but looking
down, he saw that his father had returned to his slumber, his eyes closed and his face somehow pleasant.

“It’s not possible,” he said to himself. “It cannot be.”

But somewhere in Zachary Tucker’s stomach, concern gnawed at him. There had been a man, a man who looked vaguely as Mason
once had, but such a resemblance was no great stretch. The very idea that he was Mason was ridiculous even to entertain! But
why had his father believed the man was Mason, why had he seemed so full of life when he otherwise looked close to death?

A sudden rush of wind rattled the glass panes of the window, and Zachary shivered.

Someone has been here! Who?

W
ITH CHARLOTTE FINALLY
put to bed and the dishes from dinner washed and set out to dry, Rachel looked curiously out the window of the boardinghouse’s
kitchen, watching Mason stand solemnly on the back porch. The old hat he had worn to the performance at the school the night
before was pulled down low over his face, but she could see enough of what remained visible to notice his wistful expression.

Around him, the night hung heavily. Earlier in the day, the first flakes of snow had begun to cascade lazily from the steel-gray
clouds above, covering Carlson in a soft blanket of ivory. Teasing winds pushed it about in billowing sheets. Though it was
only a precursor to what would eventually come, the snow had been accompanied by a deep chill; Rachel could see Mason’s breath
being exhaled in puffy clouds.

Throughout the day, Mason had remained largely silent and distant, responding only when spoken to and giving only a weak smile
when Charlotte tried to joke with him at the dinner table. Even now, his arms were folded across his broad chest, more a sign
that he wanted to be left alone than to ward off the cold. Clearly, the decisions he must make were weighing on him.

The absence of Mason’s attention bothered Rachel more than she would have ever thought possible. Though he had been missing
from her life for years, she now had come to truly enjoy his company, the deep sound of his voice, and surprisingly to her,
the way he looked at her. Even his scars, the reason he had remained away for so many years, did not repulse her. She still
remembered the night, much like this one, only days before, when he had spoken words that had both thrilled and unsettled
her, feelings she still felt. To have him so clearly upset bothered her.

Watching Mason brood, Rachel knew that she could no longer ignore what remained unspoken between them. Hanging her apron on
a hook beside the stove, she grabbed her shawl, wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, opened the door, and stepped outside.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she offered.

“That’s about all that they’re worth these days,” he answered, smiling easily as he turned toward her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, not that any of us would have been capable of getting a word in edgewise at supper with
the way Charlotte carried on.”

For almost the whole meal, Charlotte had chattered away, recounting her surprise and excitement at seeing her father watching
from the rear of the gymnasium. Though her teacher had been irate at having to go out on the stage and drag her kicking and
fussing back behind the curtain, the young girl cared little, and recounted her story as if it were another of her and Jasper’s
exploits in the woods. She was so intent on talking that Rachel had to remind her to finish her supper.

“It meant a lot to her that you went to the play,” Rachel added.

“Almost as much as it meant to me, I reckon.”

“What changed your mind? You said you wouldn’t go.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I realized that missing her performance and having to see the disappointment in her eyes was
more than I could bear,” he explained. “I already have hundreds of regrets for what I’ve done, regardless of my intentions,
but now I want to make it up, if I can. Charlotte is the one person I’ll not let down again.”

His promise warmed Rachel’s heart. Gone was the man who had purposefully stayed absent from Carlson, never willing to let
those who loved him know that he hadn’t perished on some foreign battlefield. In his place stood a man who understood the
priority of family and was willing to make whatever sacrifices were necessary in order to uphold that bond.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Rachel told him.

“I didn’t know what I had waiting for me here.”

“I cannot imagine how it must have felt to learn you had a daughter.”

“But she’s not the only reason that—” Mason started to answer, turning to face Rachel for only an instant before falling silent
and returning his gaze to the star-filled sky.

Rachel desperately wanted him to speak to her, to say the words she knew he was choosing to leave unspoken, but understood
that she couldn’t force him. Regardless of how badly she wished it were otherwise, Mason would only tell her when he was ready.
For that matter, she found it nearly impossible to speak of the feelings buffeting her own heart.

Don’t let things remain unsaid
, Rachel chided herself.

“What is… what’s bothering you, Mason?” she finally asked.

Rachel watched as Mason took a deep breath, wondering if her wish that he would confide in her was about to come true, but
when he eventually spoke, his words surprised her. “Yesterday, I… I went to see my father.”

“But… but when?”

“Last night,” he explained. “After I left the school, I’d meant to come back here to the boardinghouse, but then I nearly
ran into Zachary on his way home from the bank.”