With Love from Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #2) (31 page)

On her part, Kerry was torn by a mix of feelings. Oh, that Connor weren’t so attractive to her!

How could she find him attractive—in manner, in speech, in face and figure—when he was a hypocrite at heart? She groaned at her own foolishness. She would be kind to him; she had forgiven him as God required but pursue him any longer? Of course not! She felt sick with shame when she thought about her previous actions. And now, when she had changed and would no longer play at that misbegotten game, he was—if she could read the signs—giving her definite signals of his interest. It was a cruel situation. He had rejected her, for some reason; now she would reject him.

Surprisingly, she was swept by an occasional rising of rage against him. Silently crying out to God for help against this unacceptable attitude, Kerry began to understand what forgiving “seventy times seven” meant. However many times it was required of her, she would do it! So she prayed for grace, smiled on him, hardened her heart against him, and forgave him, all at the same time. No wonder she was sadly torn.

Too bad, too bad, to find a gem of a man and know he was false at the center of his being!

Dudley and Gladdy, across the table, were more quiet than usual. The glad talk of spiritual things—did it make them uncomfortable? Loving Gladdy as she did, Kerry wanted so much to include her and Dudley too in her present joy. A matter for prayer! Already Kerry was learning.

Someone asked that the gravy be passed down the table. Dudley, being closest to the gravy boat, reached for it. His unbuttoned coat fell open as he leaned forward. Shining across his vest, winking golden in the light—swung a chain. A chain with a small round charm dangling from it. A chain with a charm that was a . . . compass.

It was Franny’s father’s chain and compass.

K
erry had seen it too often and too closely to be mistaken. Dangling across the chest of Dudley Baldwin: the chain and compass that had been the cherished property of Franny Bentley. It was treasured particularly because it had been the only memento Franny had to remind her of her father. It signified Franny’s confidence in . . .
someone
in the Canadian bush and had been sent as a token of her trust; it had been a pledge given to an untrustworthy love.

In the moment following the revelation of Dudley’s involvement, sight and sound seemed to fade from Kerry’s consciousness, and a whirligig of thoughts spun through her head. How did Dudley come by the personal property of Franny Bentley? Had Connor, having dismissed from his mind the idea of marriage, given Franny’s gift to Dudley? Or—stabbing her heart with its possibilities—had she falsely accused an innocent man all this time? Finally, should she confront Dudley now, at this moment, and ferret out the truth, or must she sit in stunned silence during the remainder of the meal and afternoon?

She had no choice; her face gave her away.

Sitting across the table from her was the one who knew her best. Gladdy saw the look of shock and dismay on Kerry’s face. That face, usually glowing, ardent, even piquant, was bleached of color. Gladdy was alarmed.

“Kerry, what’s wrong?” So intense was the edge of fear in Gladdy’s voice that everyone heard it. Silence fell around the great table, and all eyes turned—first on Gladdy, then, following her gaze, across the table to Kerry.

Kerry was staring at the bright wink of the handsome gold chain that was stretched across Dudley’s middle. So stark and fixed was her gaze that the eyes of one and all turned back across the table, to Dudley.

Dudley was pinned to his chair by the stares of ten people as their eyes focused on a point well below his chin, above his belt, and between the lapels of his coat. His big, bony hand went automatically to his middle, and he gathered the chain and charm into his fist.

“What?” he croaked. “What?”

All eyes shifted to Dudley’s face, itself now a sickly white.

Though it lasted but a minute, the silence was electric with meaning. Gladdy was the first to move. She turned toward Dudley, placed her hand over his fist, and loosened his fingers gently. Ten pairs of eyes studied the exposed chain and charm.

Kerry came to the truth in an instant, and it came from the sick face of Dudley and the puzzled face of Connor Dougal. Guilt and shame were written on the thin, shaken countenance of the younger man; innocence and perplexity on the strong, square face of the older man. Connor Dougal did not know! Connor Dougal was innocent. Connor Dougal had never been guilty of the blame she had heaped upon him. Wrongfully heaped upon him.

Kerry was stricken speechless by the revelation, and no one else had the least understanding of what was happening. It was up to Gladdy.

Raising her eyes from the chain and charm, Gladdy looked at Kerry.

“Franny’s?” she asked quietly.

Kerry wet her dry lips, swallowed, and nodded, “Franny’s. Of course.”

Of course!
It all made sense at last. How fast her heart beat in that moment, thinking of the morning’s precious moment of salvation and what it had saved her
from.
Not the least was her persistent condemnation of a man who was, apparently, innocent of the charges she had leveled at him.

Her joy was tempered quickly by pity—for the shamefaced young man opposite her and the dear, distressed face of Gladdy.

Some day, not too long from now, the concerned friends around the table would be given an explanation. Kerry’s wilful part in the story would be told and forgiven. Dudley’s part would be told, understood for an adolescent prank that had, nevertheless, terrible results, and he would be forgiven. For the moment, however, the puzzled friends would have to wait and trust.

For Gladdy it would not be so simple.

Gladdy and Dudley excused themselves, left the Morrison home silently, boarded Dudley’s rig, and rattled out of the yard and away. What transpired between the recently betrothed pair, or at least part of it, was relayed to Kerry later in the day.

“I knew it was Franny’s chain and charm the minute I saw it,” Gladdy said to Kerry that evening in their room, “and my heart squeezed up until I thought I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know, you see, whether our affection for one another, just beginning to grow, would survive this blow. It was selfish of me, Kerry, but it was all I could think of at the moment.

“We no sooner got away from Morrisons,” she continued, “than Dudley pulled the chain off his vest and laid it in my hands. ‘Do with it whatever is right,’ he said. ‘Send it back to the lady who sent it, if you wish. Tell her how sorry I am I was such a . . . a
dud.
’ Then, Kerry,” Gladdy’s voice was sad, “he
asked how you and I knew about it, anyway. Can you imagine having to tell him the whole story? The worst moment was when I told him about Franny’s death. He seemed like a frozen man, not knowing whether to choke or cry or leap out of the buggy and run away from the sound of my voice. He’ll be a long time getting over that, Kerry, if he ever does.

“It wasn’t easy to explain our part in it, either.” Gladdy’s voice was steady, but her eyes were more than a little condemning as she looked at the friend who had set the feet of both of them on the bitter track of revenge. “How can I blame him, when I was part of the scheme?”

Gladdy sighed. “Knowing him a little by now, I think I understand why he did it. It developed out of his poor relationship with his mother and a deep anger toward her. His hopelessness over his future, his adolescence, all were part of it. What happened is, he saw Franny’s letter in a magazine and at first it seemed like a lot of fun to answer it. But before he knew it, he got in deeper and deeper. Well, you know, Kerry, as dear as Franny was, she was determined on following through with this and immediately turned serious on him. He got frightened when he realized she was actually going to come out here. He had to break it off, and quickly.

“He cried, Kerry. Have you ever see a grown man cry? It’s dreadful. And yet it may have helped him to . . . sort of be cleansed of the awfulness. When he learned that I, personally, knew and loved Franny, he just knew it was all over between us. I think people have thrown him over, disregarded his feelings, most of his life. He feels he isn’t much. And here he was, planning a new life and a new beginning, and suddenly it seemed like even that was gone for him. I couldn’t let that happen, Kerry. Someone has to give him a chance. I can’t throw him over, too.

“Whenever the invitation has been given, at church, he says he feels such conviction that he trembles, but he hasn’t been able to respond because it might mean confessing. He’s glad, actually, that it has all come out into the open. He says, whatever my feelings are for him, he loves me. I believe he does, Kerry.” Gladdy sighed.

“But what about you, Gladdy? It’s fine to be loyal and stand by him, but that isn’t enough for a life together. How do you feel about him now?”

“Terribly disappointed, I guess. But I do understand, having met his mother and knowing his situation. And then, Kerry . . .”

“And then?”

“I have to practice what I preached to you just the other day. Remember, I told you to forgive and forget. Suddenly I have to face the same thing. But Kerry,” Gladdy said weeping, “I don’t have the grace that you have.”

Kerry stretched her hand to her hurting friend, and as they joined tears and prayers, Gladdy found the grace she needed. Found it, and vowed to encourage Dudley so that he too would find full forgiveness and peace. It was good ground to begin a new life.

“One last thing. How come,” Kerry asked, “Dudley had that picture of Connor, and why did he use his name?”

“The picture was taken at his father’s funeral. A photographer showed up, looking for a little business, and he and his mother bought the pictures. It was just a freak decision to use it and Connor’s name. ‘I was all pimply and puny in those days,’ he told me. And then he was afraid that if he used his own name, his mother might get hold of a letter. As it was, he intercepted all mail with Franny’s return address on it, and no one ever found out. Kerry,” Gladdy said directly, “will you forgive Dudley? It was a dreadful thing to do. In a way he’s responsible for Franny’s death. Will you forgive him? It’s important to me.”

“I already have, Gladdy. Thank God, I was forgiven first! These Scriptures that I know, they keep popping up, and now they speak to me. It was Jesus who said, ‘Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned; forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’ It’s that simple. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.”

“There’s no arguing with Scripture.” And Gladdy hugged her friend, their tears mingling together.

“I’m glad we’ll be leaving here, starting over,” Gladdy said. “It’ll be so much easier for Dudley to act like a man. I’m going to give him that chance, Kerry. If it kills me to keep my mouth shut and my ideas to myself, I’ll do it, and he’ll get on his feet and be the head of the household. I need that, and so does he.” So spoke the homeless little slum transplant. And so her future stretched out before her.

Back at the Morrisons’, with Gladdy and Dudley gone and the air thick with unanswered questions, Kerry had taken a deep breath and said, “All of you—thank you for being such good dear friends. You’ll know all about this very soon. I think we should give Gladdy and Dudley a chance to straighten things out first. Now, if you’ll excuse me, perhaps I need to leave, too. I need to think and pray and—I need to talk. To you, Connor,” she said, making the decision in that moment, and turning directly to him. “I need to talk to you. Would you be so kind as to take me home?”