Another Homecoming (17 page)

The next day was the first Sunday he had spent without the Miller family in almost two years. Even so, the ache was not as bad as he had expected. After lunch, Joel carried his Bible out on the front porch. He knew he would need to find a church of his own, but not yet. Right now, the Millers’ absence remained too strong. But the sense of being surrounded by a comforting presence was there with him still. The best part of the Miller family was a part of him forever, and this knowledge took the edge off his sorrow.

He was so caught up in his reading and his thoughts that he did not hear the door open. Only when a shadow fell over the page did Joel look up to find his father watching him.

“What’s going on here?” his father demanded.

For some reason, his father’s irritation did not touch him. Not this time. “What do you mean?”

“This religion thing.” He flung a hand toward the Bible open in Joel’s lap. “Seems like every time I see you, you’re all wrapped up in that book.”

Joel studied his father. The situation was so similar to all their other arguments. His father’s voice held both accusation and anger even before Joel said a word.

Yet there was a difference, too.

This time his father’s bluster did not appear backed up by genuine anger. Instead, there was a nervous indecision, as though Harry was not completely sure he wanted to have his question answered at all.

And Joel knew a sense of comforting isolation, of protection, even while encountering his father’s ire. He sat calmly before his father and realized he was neither alone nor defenseless.

Joel sent a silent prayer lofting upward and instantly knew what was needed here. “Pop, how many friends do you have?”

“I’ve got lots of pals.” His father’s retort lacked his usual heat over being challenged. “Buddies at work, men down at the Veterans’ hall, lots of them. Howard, old Doc Austin, he’s around here almost too much.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Joel persisted, both thrilled and awed by the sense of guidance. “I mean, a friend you can trust to be there whenever you need him. Someone you can always rely on, through thick and thin.”

“That’s the problem with kids these days, they got their heads up in the clouds,” Harry blustered. “You can’t expect too much from people. They’ll let you down every time. Just like life.”

“But I’ve found a friend like that.”

“Simon?”

“No—not him. None of the Millers. That’s not what I mean,” Joel countered with quiet confidence. “Another friend. Someone I can trust with everything I am and everything I have. Someone who loves me, who will always be there, who will always guide me. Someone so great and powerful that I can trust my entire life in His hands.”

There was a long silence, then Harry asked gruffly, “You’re talking about God?”

“Yes, I am,” Joel agreed. “I’m talking about the Lord Jesus Christ.”

15
 

Kyle was dreading the summer.

School let out four weeks before her twentieth birthday, leaving her with no reason to escape from the house. Three long months stretched out before her like an endless void.

Abigail had adamantly refused to grant her permission to take summer classes. Her mother’s grip on her life had continued to tighten over the last several months, until now it threatened to choke her. Kyle found herself thinking of running away. The fact that she had no money would not have stopped her, though her mother kept her almost penniless. Abigail measured out just enough to pay for meals at school, refusing to let Kyle take a job, even locking up her jewelry unless she was wearing it. But money was not the problem. Kyle knew she could borrow enough from Maggie for a bus ticket. What kept her back was school. She loved her classes, loved the thrill of learning. She was determined to hold out and earn her degree.

But it was not just the emptiness of a summer without school that so worried Kyle. At the beginning of May, old Mr. Crawley had passed on. Ever since the old man’s funeral, Abigail had paced the house like a hungry tiger. Her attitude toward Kyle had sharpened. Kyle could feel something was being planned. Something she knew she would hate.

And Randolf Crawley had been appearing more and more frequently.

The last week of May, Maggie called Kyle in from her early morning time in the garden. When she stepped through the door, Maggie handed her the phone with a curious look. Kyle accepted the receiver and said, “Hello?”

“I’m sorry to be calling you so early,” a familiar voice said.

“Kenneth?” She accepted the cup of coffee from Maggie’s outstretched hand with a smile. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be in contact.”

“I’m not supposed to, but I was hoping to catch you before—” he paused, then continued—“before the rest of your house woke up. I haven’t seen you around here recently, and we need to talk.”

“Mother has ordered me not to come to the office.” She made no attempt to keep Maggie and Bertrand from hearing. They already knew all about it. “I don’t have school as an excuse for getting out anymore.”

There was a long pause, then, “I don’t want to get you in trouble, Kyle, but we really do need to talk.”

The quiet urgency to Kenneth’s tone stilled further questions. “Just a minute.” She held the receiver to her shoulder and asked Bertrand, “Can you run me downtown?”

She did not need to finish with
before Mother wakes up
. Bertrand glanced at the wall clock and decided, “We’ll need to leave immediately, Miss Kyle.”

She raised the phone and said, “I’ll come right now.”

“Good.” Relief rang loud over the line. “I hated the idea of your hearing this from someone else.”

“Hearing what?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Kyle had Bertrand drop her off a block from the insurance company. She did not want anyone seeing him and bringing trouble down on his sweet, graying head. The light changed, and Kyle allowed the crowd to almost carry her across the street. The capital city had changed so much in the past few years. Every time she came into Washington, D.C., there seemed to be another huge building going up somewhere near her father’s. When she was a child, she had often thought Rothmore Insurance was the biggest building in the whole world. Now it wasn’t even the largest on their block.

“Kyle, good, come in.” As soon as she appeared in the doorway, Kenneth Adams was up and out of his chair and coming around to usher her into the room. “How have you been?” he asked as he closed the door behind her.

“All right,” she said as she sat down. “But I wish I could come down and work.”

The words brought a glint of anger to Kenneth’s eyes. The muscles in his jaw bunched up tightly. “I asked you here today because I feel you need to know what is going on.”

She took a tight grip on her purse to give her hands something to do and gave a little nod.

Kenneth hesitated a moment longer, then said, “Your mother is pushing to have Randolf Crawley named head trustee over your estate.”

She felt her whole body clench at the news. “Can they do that?”

“Probably. Old Mr. Crawley apparently left no instructions. I suppose he thought he had more time to take care of those matters.” Kenneth sighed. “And your mother’s voice carries a lot of weight. After all, she is your sole guardian.”

She searched his face. “But you’ll still be around, won’t you?”

The internal struggle showed on his features. “I have debated for weeks over what I should tell you, Kyle. But to remain silent at this point, I feel, would be terrible. So I have decided to ignore your mother’s instructions and the orders of my own chairman.”

She could feel a chill grip her heart. “Tell me.”

“If Randolf is appointed, or perhaps I should say when,” Kenneth said slowly, “he will most likely seek to have me dismissed.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Legally, you have just over a year left before you come into your inheritance,” Kenneth persisted grimly. “But I am afraid that if they do manage to have me discharged, they may seek to extend that period. Or change the particulars. Theoretically, anything could happen.”

“Can they do that?” she asked again.

“They
shouldn’t
do it,” he responded. “But they might try. I have no evidence to indicate that it would happen, but I’m afraid—”

“Daddy went to all this trouble for a reason,” she said, tension raising her voice a notch. “To change it would be
wrong
. Can you stop them?”

“If you are very sure this is what you want,” he said with a slow nod. “But it will mean defying your mother.”

The chill crept through her body. Kyle forced herself to rise to her feet. “If what you say is true, then I have to try and stop it. But I need to be sure.” Though she dreaded the prospect of confrontation, she declared quietly, “I’ll talk to her today.”

“Yes.” Kenneth rose with her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

She shook her head, wishing he could come, wishing she could rely on his strength, but knowing she needed to do this alone. She was almost at the door when she stopped. “I don’t have any money. Can you lend me cab fare, please? I—”

“What?” The question seemed to shock him.

“Mother says there’s no use indulging me from her monthly allowance,” Kyle said, too burdened by what she had just heard to worry about revealing such news. “She says I’ll only just give it away.”

“Kyle, don’t you know the trust pays you a monthly income?”

It was her turn to be shocked.

“Last month you received—wait, I have the exact figures right here.” He leaned over his desk, ran a finger down a list of numbers. “Yes, last month your dividends totaled thirty-four thousand, seven hundred dollars. A check was deposited in your account, just like always.”

Kyle managed a weak, “What account?”

He stared at her a moment longer, emotions running across his features. Then he sighed, shook his head, and reached for his wallet. “Here,” he said. “I’ve got, let’s see, a hundred and twenty dollars.” He handed her all but one of the bills. “Will that do?”

She watched herself reach out and accept more money than she had held at one time in her life. “But this is yours.”

“Please take it. We’ll work out the money side later.”

“Thank you.” She seemed to move in a fog of confusion. So much was hitting her all at once. But when her hand touched the doorknob, the world flashed into focus with a startling thought. Again she turned back, this time to ask, “What—why are you helping me, Kenneth?”

The question did not seem to surprise him at all. He replied quietly, “Because of your father. It’s what he wanted. . . .” His gaze deepened, until Kyle felt as though she could see into his very soul. “I hope you understand,” he said quietly, “I have not done any of this for my own personal gain.”

She nodded slowly. It amazed her, how even in all of this confusion, there could be such a moment of clarity. “I trust you,” she said softly.

But when the taxi dropped her off at the entrance to her drive, Kyle saw a cream-colored Cadillac convertible in front of her house. The car belonged to Randolf Crawley. Kyle knew she could not face the two of them, not together, not with this. She skirted the house, walked through the gardens, and followed the sound of balls striking rackets. Her steps led her down to the communal tennis courts. The courts were tree-lined and fronted by a slate-tiled veranda. Kyle loved the game, but she still felt out of place and uncomfortable with the players from wealthy families who used these courts.

Emily was playing singles with a man Kyle had met at one of her mother’s little soirees. As Kyle approached, Emily left the court and walked over. She flashed Kyle a sardonic smile. “Well, the little princess has decided to join the lowly masses.”

“You’re the princess,” Kyle countered feebly. Emily did look regal. She even had the ability to perspire prettily.

The blond girl patted her face with a towel. “Has your mother found you?”

“I didn’t know she was looking for me.”

“She’s sent the penguin in a tuxedo over twice looking for you.” That brought a titter from the lounging girls. “Whatever is his name?”

“Bertrand Ames,” Kyle replied and felt ice congeal in her middle.

“Why, Kyle dear. You would think you actually were a friend of the
butler
. I mean, excuse me, but is he not simply one of your help?”

Kyle turned and walked away, certain that something had ended. She crossed the garden toward the waiting figure of Bertrand, thinking,
They are like actors on a stage. They never show what is real, what is important. Not to each other, and not to themselves
. Never again would she put up with their petty, cutting ways.

“Ah, Miss Kyle, Mrs. Rothmore wishes to have a word with you.” Bertrand pointed at the veranda where her mother was seated. “I asked down by the club courts, but—”

“Thank you, Bertie.” She stopped there beside him and placed a hand on his arm. She didn’t care who saw. She stared into his eyes, willing herself to show enough affection to wipe away all the slights and insults he had borne on her account. “You are a dear, dear friend.”

“Miss Kyle.” He faltered. “Perhaps I should serve tea.”

“That would be fine,” she said. “And thank you. For everything.”

Her mother was seated alone on the veranda, the metal chair turned to face out over the formal gardens. Abigail was dressed in a blue cashmere day suit, with a cream Shantung silk blouse and a single strand of pearls. Kyle noted her mother’s customary look of faint disapproval, and something else. As Kyle seated herself across the table, she detected an unaccustomed nervousness. “Where is Randolf?” she asked. “I thought I saw his car . . .”

“He just left. Some emergency at the office.” She focused beyond Kyle. “You may bring in the tea service and set it here, Bertrand.”

“Very good, madam.”

“Kyle, be good enough to serve us.”

Kyle did as she was told, carefully handling the silver pot without spilling a drop. Abigail accepted her cup with a hand that seemed as fragile and transparent as the china. Her spoon made a musical tinkling sound as she stirred. “I never thought you would ever manage to properly learn the art of pouring a cup of tea.”