A Path Toward Love (21 page)

“Now that so many society people are getting divorced, they need evidence of the more sordid variety to use against their spouses. I'm here to oblige. My business is booming.”

Marston would uncover the true facts about Harriet Roles and her son, Zeke. He'd heard his old schoolmate was discreet, professional, and thorough. Maybe Marston could set up a meeting with Harriet. If Katherine didn't want to go herself—and he felt sure she wouldn't—he'd take her place and discover exactly what it would take to make Harriet go away, forever.

He gave his letter to the butler to post, and in the sanctuary of his bedroom, he opened his Bible. He flipped to Jeremiah 6:16, a verse he thought fitting. “Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.”

As soon as Katherine turned around, she spotted Mama picking black-eyed Susans in her rock garden at the foot of the bridge. From behind the bouquet of bright yellow flowers, Mama scowled and then slowly ambled toward her. Katherine checked her first impulse to run. Trying to escape Mama was a futile notion because she'd follow right behind. But maybe she hadn't seen her with Andrew.

As Mama drew closer, Katherine painted on a smile and hoped for the best. “Lovely afternoon, isn't it?”

“Yes, indeed.” Mama's pale blue eyes glared like sun rays striking ice. “I saw you sharing intimacies with Andrew Townsend. What was the meaning of that?”

Mama moved so close, Katherine had to step away. Her backside slammed against a rough tree trunk. “It was merely conversation, Mama. Andrew is like a brother to me. He always has been. You know that.”

Her mother shook her head. “I know nothing of the sort. Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, young lady, because you can't. I saw you two holding hands.” Mama's usually soft voice gathered strength and rose.

Katherine edged away. “If you'll excuse me, I must be going.”

“Wait a minute. I'm not finished. You must understand that I can't allow your shocking behavior to continue. If it does, I shall have to ask your father to send Andrew back to the City, even though from what I could see, you were as much to blame as he was. Is that understood?”

Anger welled up and blocked Katherine's throat. But also fear for Andrew. Had she put his job in danger? “Yes,” she sputtered. “I understand.”

“Good. I hope we'll never need to speak of this again. It's unseemly.”

Spinning around, Katherine strode off toward her cabin, where she could safely escape Mama's prying eyes and acid tongue.

Two days later Katherine fidgeted in her mother's dressing room as Bridget pinned and tucked, altering a new gown Mama had ordered for her without asking. Apparently, Isabelle wanted her looking just right for tonight's festivities at Camp Birchwood.

Katherine wanted to skip the dance, but there was no chance of that. Mama had hired a local band and invited dozens of their neighbors and their neighbors' guests from nearby camps. She expected Katherine to reacquaint with her old friends and blend back into society. Starting tonight.

“Are you quite through with her, Bridget? We have yet to see to her hair! Let's try a new style and see how it looks.”

“I'm almost finished, Mrs. Osborne,” Bridget said, still pinning.

Mama circled the pair, scrutinizing the length of the gown. “It's long on the right side. Do take it up a little.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Katherine grew claustrophobic as she waited in Mama's cluttered dressing room. Well-pressed clothes hung from hangers all about and deep drawers burst with odds and ends. Hatboxes rested on shelves and a few dozen pairs of shoes were lined up in neat rows. Even with the informality of camp, Mama insisted upon all the proper accessories for the occasional dance.

Katherine fidgeted as Bridget pinned a torn ruffle on the skirt of her violet, watered silk gown. On her hands and knees, the maid continued to work quickly. But then Katherine sneezed and Bridget's hand slipped. The pin jabbed Katherine in the leg, piercing her skin. She let out a yelp.

“I'm so sorry, ma'am,” the young maid mumbled, horror in her eyes.

“Oh, Bridget!” Mama exclaimed. “I believe there's a spot of blood on the fabric now!”

Nervously, Bridget bent down to examine the tiny stain. “It won't take much to get the blood out, if I see to it immediately.” Flustered, she whisked the gown off Katherine, leaving her in her chemise and corset.

Katherine tried to hide the bloody speck on her sheer stocking, but the movement drew Mama's sharp eyes to her leg. As soon as Bridget left for the laundry, Mama came closer. “Katherine, let me look at your leg. Roll down your stocking, please.”

“There's no need, Mama.” Katherine yanked her petticoat over her legs and turned away. Mama straightened up, but with less agility than she used to have. “What happened, Katherine? I can see your right leg is severely scarred. Goodness gracious.”

Heat seared Katherine's neck and face. She'd planned to keep her scar hidden from everyone.

“Please tell me how this happened,” Mama repeated, her voice softer.

Katherine took a ragged breath, giving in. “Several years ago when Charles and I were hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I tripped and fell down a cliff. I was badly injured, and my leg required quite a few stitches.” Her voice snagged and her shoulders heaved.
Dear Lord, please don't let me break down in front of Mama
. Thankfully, she was able to sniff back tears that threatened to spill. Why did she always react with such emotion?

“Katherine, my dear,” Mama asked, grasping her hand, “you look as if you're ready to cry.” Mama's touch felt cold and dry, not in the least bit comforting, but her voice sounded kind.

“My mind wandered. I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize, dear. But are you all right? Weeping for no reason isn't at all like you. Is it your leg?” Mama motioned Katherine down on an easy chair. Her mother removed the garter and rolled down the stocking. Gasping, her hand slammed over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh my goodness. My poor, dear Katherine. Your leg is—”

“Hideous. I know. My scar never healed. In fact, as time passed it got uglier and more painful.” Katherine bit her lip hard so she wouldn't burst into a flood of noisy tears. She hated the scar and could hardly bear to look at the angry, thick, red line. It was just another way she'd emerged disfigured from her marriage, both on the outside and deep within.

She'd hoped Mama would never see this awful souvenir of her marriage. The “accident” happened during the early days of her marriage.

Pity and compassion radiated from Mama's eyes. She was now
poor Katherine, a woman scarred
. A girl in need of her mother, in so many ways. For a second she wanted to blurt out everything, open her heart, and lay her head in her mama's lap as she had occasionally during childhood. But the moment slid by before she uttered a word.

“We should have a physician take a look at this. Maybe he could do something.”

Katherine shook her head. “No, it's not necessary. I'm sure I saw every doctor in Florida, and no one could help. It's all right, Mama, I can live with it.” She feigned a reassuring smile. “It's only a scar and no one sees it.” It was another reason never to marry again; a husband would certainly notice the ugly reminder of her accident and recoil at the sight of her.

But everyone has scars of one sort or another,
she told herself. This was just one of the many she bore that she'd yet become accustomed to.

“Why didn't you write and tell me you were injured?” Mama dropped into a nearby chair.

Katherine yanked up her stocking and covered her legs with her petticoat. “Because there was nothing you could do from so far away. I didn't want you to worry. And I recovered. So please don't fret about this. I'm fine now.”

Mama drew out a sad, weary sigh. “As you wish. I'm just so sorry you didn't tell Papa and me.”

“It happened when we were estranged.” During her first two years of marriage, her parents, led by her mother, no doubt, refused to correspond.

Mama pursed her lips. “I . . . I see. But I hope in the future you won't keep anything so important from me. An injury like that . . .”

She shuddered in fear. “You ought to know I'm here to help in any way I can. You're my only child. My dear, precious daughter.”

“I know, Mama,” Katherine said with a sigh.

A knock sounded on Mama's door. “I'll be right back,” she said.

Katherine closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory that suddenly swelled in her mind. But as usual, she couldn't. Once again she was hiking beside Charles on a mountain path, and they argued. She halted, jammed her hands on her hips, and faced him, shaking, not caring who heard her down the trail.

Her voice vibrated with outrage. “You squandered the year's profit from the orange groves. In one short weekend you gambled everything and lost. We'll have little to live on until the next harvest, and barely enough to keep the groves producing. You must stop at once.”

“Well, I don't intend to,” he said, swaying. “And stop your nagging, Katherine. It's unbecoming for a lady to scream at her husband.” He glared at her as they slowly climbed the path that edged a sharp drop. He turned mean when he had been drinking, and lately he'd taken to doing it more often.

“I can't live like this, Charles. We'll have nothing left if you continue playing poker. You lost my grandmother's inheritance in a couple of games. What will you gamble away next? Buena Vista? The Osborne Citrus Groves?”

His gambling was a more than a vice—it was a disease consuming him like a cancer.

“I've heard enough from you, woman.”

They strode on in silence. From the corner of her eye, she watched him steal a gulp of whiskey. She smelled the stink in his breath. He'd destroy them both if he didn't quit drinking spirits. She increased her pace, not looking where she was going. Her ankle twisted on the rough, deeply rutted path, and she felt herself swaying. Arms flailing, she fought to right herself. His hand reached out to her, and for a split second she thought he'd help her avert a terrible fall. But instead of pulling her back to safety, he either missed her flailing hand or thought better of it. She was never sure.

She tumbled down, down, down, through brush, over sharp rocks, all of it scratching and cutting as she rolled. Her breath came in gasps, and she thought she might suffocate. She rolled so fast she could only glimpse the approaching terrain. Then the rough earth gave way to a cliff. Dropping over the edge like a rag doll, Katherine felt nothing beneath her. She fell and fell until the hard earth again rose to meet her. Seconds later she smashed into a tree trunk and came to a dead stop. It stole her breath, and every part of her body screamed in pain. And then her world faded and she blacked out. Mercifully.

When she awoke the next day she found herself in her bed at the inn where they were staying, bandaged and in such excruciating pain she wanted to die on the spot. Every muscle and bone flared like fire burning out of control. Charles sat by her bedside, his head in his hands, sobbing.

“I'm so, so sorry, Katie.” He coughed up jagged shards of words, and she barely understood what he said. Her usually debonair husband's face had been so puffy, as red as stewed tomatoes, that it startled her. He blinked away tears, frightening her more. “I didn't mean for you to fall.”