To Honor and Trust (25 page)

“I'm not going to let you leave until I talk to you. I need to explain why I wasn't forthright earlier. You heard me explain to the detective why I hadn't revealed my family background . . .”

She wheeled around. “I don't consider that an explanation
for lying to me about who you are. I may have been concerned about your social standing, but I'm not someone who would have brushed you aside because of such a thing. You've given a poor excuse for living a lie—an excuse I won't accept.” She stepped toward the porch.

“Wait! There's more I need to tell you. Please!”

She glanced over her shoulder. “More lies?”

He grimaced. “You may call them lies, but I call it withholding a painful past.”

She stiffened her shoulders. “What else is there that I don't know? Do you have a wife secreted away at the clubhouse, too?”

“No. I have no wife, and I'm not betrothed or interested in any other woman. But, Callie, this is much worse.”

She clenched her hands. “You've been convicted of a crime and have spent the past years in prison?”

“No criminal record, although I sometimes think serving a prison term would be easier than the self-incrimination I heap upon myself.” He shook his head. “And not unjustly. You see, I'm responsible for the deaths of many people—not intentionally, but they are dead all the same.”

She gasped and dropped to the front step. “What are you saying?”

“I'm not a botanist or a golf pro. Along with medical courses, I took classes in botany and played golf during my college years. During my vacations, I golfed at amateur tournaments.” He wrung his hands together. “The truth is, I'm a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Her mouth gaped open. “You are a doctor and you didn't help Daisy?”

“I did help—I took her to the infirmary. I had no idea what kind of spider bit her, and there was nothing I could do other
than rush her to get proper medical attention. Had there been anything I could have done to help, I wouldn't have hesitated.” Pain glistened in his eyes. “Please don't hold what happened to Daisy against me. She needed more help than the doctor at the infirmary or I could give her. And I did help with Lottie, remember?”

Callie nodded. “I know you're right, but hearing that you're a doctor—my thoughts immediately went to Daisy.”

“I know, and I wish I could have done something to help her.”

She hesitated a moment. “Did you become a doctor because of the people you mentioned who died?”

“No. Quite the opposite. They died because I was their physician, and that's why I no longer practice medicine. My family didn't want me to become a doctor.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “As you know, physicians aren't well paid or well thought of among the members of higher society.”

In spite of his lies, compassion squeezed her heart. “There is no shame in selecting a profession in which you can help others, Wesley.”

“But that's just it. I didn't help. My treatment caused the deaths of my patients.”

She leaned forward, unable to stifle her interest. “How so?”

Wesley gazed heavenward. “I was working in New York at a research laboratory with several physicians who had been developing a serum to help in the cure of cerebrospinal meningitis. There had been an epidemic in New York years earlier, and these men had hoped to discover a cure. Although they were confident their discovery would help, it hadn't been widely tested before an epidemic broke out in Texas. In four months, over eight hundred cases were diagnosed in Dallas alone.”

Wide-eyed, Callie stared at him. “And these doctors were asked to come to Dallas and help?”

“Yes. I was one of the physicians who went to help train the medical staff in how to properly perform the lumbar punctures to inject the serum.” Wes inhaled a deep breath. “Everything was going pretty well, and we were seeing good results, but another outbreak occurred in a smaller community outside of Dallas. The doctor in charge sent me.”

She wanted to ignore everything he was saying and run inside the house, but her curiosity and the feelings of love for him that had grown during the past months held her in place. The pain he continued to suffer was obvious in his words.

Wes momentarily closed his eyes. “I wish I didn't have to tell you all of this, but I need to make certain you know the truth about me before you leave. I don't want you to discover anything about my past from someone else.” His voice cracked. “When I arrived at that small town, there were so many sick people, and even though I attempted to get someone to help me—someone I could train—no one was willing. So I gave the injections myself.” He inhaled and blew out a deep breath. “Most of them died.”

“And you blame yourself?”

The minute she asked the question, she saw the bewilderment that shone in his eyes.

“Of course I blame myself. Only a few of those who'd been injected in Dallas died, while it was the opposite this time.” His voice cracked and he looked away.

Her emotions battled within. “There must have been something wrong with the serum, or perhaps it was a different strain of the disease.” Callie realized she was doing her best to excuse him and thought to stop, but something in her heart pressed
her to continue. “There could be any number of things that caused the deaths to occur. I don't think you should blame yourself when you were trying to help.”

He nodded. “They may have had a greater chance of recovery if I'd never appeared in their little town. I will always be tormented by the possibility that I did more harm than good.” Wes gave her a weak smile. “Of course, it reinforced my father's belief that I should never have considered becoming a physician. He still thinks I should join the family business, and he's given me these few months while we're away from Massachusetts to make up my mind about the future.”

His explanation tugged at her heart. She recalled the Townsend ladies visiting Mrs. Bridgeport and speaking so unkindly about Wes. So much pressure from his family and so much pain and guilt to live with. She ached to ease it somehow.

But she pulled away when he reached for her hand. She had to guard herself against a man who had chosen to lie to her. She could not sympathize with him. He'd lied to her about everything—who he was, what he was, and why he was on Bridal Veil. Wes Townsend would have to tend to his own wounds just as she'd have to tend to the ones he had left on her heart. She couldn't trust him, and she could never love a man she couldn't trust.

“I want you to know how sorry I am, and I promise I'll never again lie to you.”

Hot, angry tears escaped down her cheeks. She stood and turned toward the door. “I know you won't, Wes, because I don't plan ever to see or speak to you again.”

Though Lottie and Thomas enjoyed the ride across the river, they were more intent on getting to the hospital and seeing Daisy. Captain Fleming agreed to have all of the trunks delivered to the hotel, and he hailed a hansom cab to take the three of them to the Biscayne hospital, a rather nondescript brick building constructed with a view toward the river.

After entering a double set of wide oak doors, Callie headed toward the large wooden reception desk. Her shoes clicked on the shiny tile, and a matronly woman with a tight bun at the nape of her neck looked up from the desk when Callie approached with Thomas flanking one side and Lottie the other.

“We're here to see Daisy Bridgeport.”

“We're her brother and sister.” Lottie beamed at the woman.

“Children aren't permitted to visit hospital patients. It's against the rules.” The woman's lips drooped into a frown. She pointed to a list fastened to the wall not far from her desk. Much like the matronly woman, the bold, black rules printed on white pasteboard presented an unwelcoming impression. “The children can wait down here with me while you go up. Daisy is on the second floor.”

Callie hesitated, uncertain what to do. If Maude hadn't turned out to be a criminal, she'd be here to look after the children while Callie went to check on Daisy and speak with Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport.

Thomas straightened his shoulders. “I can look after Lottie, Miss Callie. If you'll leave your case with the crayons and paper, we'll keep busy. Won't we, Lottie?”

Lottie shoved her lower lip into a pout. “I'd rather go visit Daisy. I know she'll feel better if she can see me.”

Callie stooped down in front of the child. “I know it would make her feel better, too, Lottie. But we must follow the rules. You draw a picture for Daisy while I'm gone, and I'll take it to her later today.”

Once the children were situated, Callie strode to the stairs at the end of the hallway and climbed to the second floor. When she arrived at Daisy's room, she stopped outside the door. Daisy appeared to be either asleep or unconscious, she wasn't certain which.

“Callie!” Mrs. Bridgeport jumped to her feet and sent a book tumbling to the floor. “It is so good to see you. When you didn't arrive yesterday, we became worried. Are Lottie and Thomas downstairs? Are they well?”

“Yes. They're fine.” Callie nodded toward the bed. “What about Daisy? She doesn't appear to be making much progress.”

“The doctors were more encouraged today. They've been using some sort of carbon or charcoal on the wound—I'm not positive, and I don't ask many questions. Luther talks to the doctors, and he says they're optimistic. I did look at the wound, and it's looking better.”

Callie lowered her voice. “Is she unconscious?”

“No. Just sleeping. They've been giving her some sort of
medicine that makes her sleepy and helps with the pain. I think it's laudanum, but Luther—”

“I know.” Callie patted her arm. “Mr. Bridgeport has talked with the doctors.”

Mrs. Bridgeport could organize major social events and act the perfect hostess for her husband, but when her children were ill, she lost all ability to cope. Illness in her children created a deep fear in the woman. And little wonder, for she'd lost her firstborn child when he'd been only three years old. She said it was due to her inability to provide proper care. Callie doubted that was true, but Mrs. Bridgeport no longer trusted her motherly instincts when one of her children was sick.

“I will be forever thankful to Wesley for rushing Daisy to the infirmary. The doctors here at the hospital told Luther it was the quick action in getting her here that made all the difference. They couldn't be certain, since we didn't have the spider, but they think it was a brown recluse.” She clutched Callie's arm. “I've already told Luther that I want to give Wesley a monetary reward.”

The irony of the situation nearly caused Callie to laugh aloud. “You can do whatever you'd like, Mrs. Bridgeport, but Wesley Townsend doesn't need your money. While I thought he was simply a golf pro who had learned a great deal about botany, I've learned he is a member of the Townsend family, who are staying at the clubhouse. The family that owns the textile mills in Massachusetts.”

Mrs. Bridgeport stared at Callie as though she'd lost her mind. “We met Howard and Blanche Townsend and some of their children. I don't recall ever seeing Wesley in their company.”

“I'm not surprised. He dislikes social functions, so when he wasn't at the golf course, he did everything in his power to
avoid the club activities.” Callie inhaled a deep breath. “You'll be even more surprised to learn that he's actually a doctor. He helped us with Lottie when she had another coughing spell. He believes she may well have asthma.”

“Is Lottie all right?” The worry in her tone was evident.

“She's fine. Mr. Townsend's advice worked wonders.”

Mrs. Bridgeport shook her head in relieved wonder. “He's a doctor? Well, no wonder he moved so quickly to get Daisy to the infirmary. And God bless him for knowing how to help my poor Lottie.” Deep ridges lined her forehead. “I'm sure the Townsends weren't happy with his decision to become a doctor. Mr. Townsend seemed quite obsessed with his business when we joined them for dinner one night. In fact, he tried to convince Luther to invest in his mills.”

“Really? Did Mr. Bridgeport agree?”

She shot a look at her husband. “I don't believe so. He mentioned that he thought Mr. Townsend was pushing too hard. I think he feared they might be having some sort of financial problems because he was pressing for investors at every turn.”

The comment surprised Callie. It seemed odd Wesley's father would pressure his son to come into a business if it were failing.

Mr. Bridgeport folded his paper and walked to Daisy's bedside. “The Townsend Mills aren't failing, Eunice. I misspoke. Seems they're expanding. They want additional investors, but I'm still not interested.”

Both women stared at him. Without giving any indication, Mr. Bridgeport had obviously been listening to their entire conversation.

“It is rude to eavesdrop, Luther.” Mrs. Bridgeport pursed her lips.

“Good heavens, Eunice. I'm sitting in the same room while the two of you are talking. Am I supposed to put my fingers in my ears? I wasn't eavesdropping.” He glanced at Daisy. “Is Maude taking the children over to the hotel?”

Callie had hoped to avoid the topic of Maude for a bit longer, but she supposed it was best to tell them while the children were busy downstairs. “Maude isn't with us any longer.”

“She quit?”

Callie swallowed hard. There would be no easy way to tell the Bridgeports what had happened. Best to be forthright.

“Not exactly. Both she and her son, Archie Penniman, the tennis pro, were arrested for stealing jewelry from Bridal Veil guests. You recall the investors hired investigators?”

Mrs. Bridgeport reached for the chair and slowly lowered herself onto the hard seat. For a moment Callie thought the older woman might faint. “Her son? Theft? But she came highly recommended by Harriet Winslow.”

Mr. Bridgeport poured a glass of water for his wife. “Drink this before you end up in a hospital bed next to Daisy.”

He gestured to Callie. “Go on with what you were telling us, Callie.”

“The detectives said they have been working on this case for some time.”

Mr. Bridgeport tugged on his waistcoat. “Indeed. I recall hearing they were hired after the second or third robbery had occurred.”

“They didn't give me all of the details, but when I was brought in for questioning—”

“What?” Mrs. Bridgeport turned as white as the tile floors. “Why did they question you?”

Mr. Bridgeport looked at his wife. “If you keep interrupting,
she'll never be able to explain, Eunice.” He nodded at Callie. “Go on.”

As best she could, Callie explained that the detectives thought she might have been working alongside Maude and Archie to steal the jewelry. “At first I didn't believe what they said about Maude—I mentioned her recommendation from Mrs. Winslow and that she'd worked for the family for many years.”

“And?” Mrs. Bridgeport gave her husband a sideways glance.

“When the detectives questioned Mrs. Murphy about her background and her whereabouts over the past years, she told them she'd been employed by Mrs. Winslow and showed them her reference letter. The detectives wired Mrs. Winslow and discovered the letter was a forgery. Maude never worked for the Winslow family.”

Mrs. Bridgeport clasped a hand to her bodice. “Dear me! We had a criminal living in our house, Luther. And I employed her. From the moment I saw that woman, I didn't think she appeared quite right.” Mrs. Bridgeport lifted her fingers to her hair. “All that messy hair of hers, and she didn't know how to properly care for the children. Her grammar left much to be desired, as well. I wondered that Harriet would hire someone with such poor skills, yet the reference letter was glowing.” She looked at Callie. “Wasn't it?”

Callie nodded. “Yes, it was.” It was clear Mrs. Bridgeport needed affirmation she'd made a decision based upon a sound reference.

Mr. Bridgeport leaned against the metal-framed hospital bed. “So this mother and son had been involved in other nefarious behavior before arriving at Bridal Veil?”

“Yes. The detective told Wesley Townsend that they concentrated on resorts, moving north during the summer season
and south during the winter season. Archie would arrive first and hire on as the tennis pro or in some other capacity and then arrange for his mother to join him. From what I'm told, this was Archie's second season at Bridal Veil, but it seems his mother couldn't find work last year.”

Mrs. Bridgeport sighed. “I gave her access this year. I feel simply terrible.”

Callie patted her hand. “Don't blame yourself. Last year the two of them managed to steal from guests at the Ayers Hotel here in Biscayne, where Mrs. Murphy had secured a position in the kitchen during the season. During their investigation, the detectives learned that Maude would discover information regarding guests and Archie would sneak into the rooms and steal. The two of them were quite a team.”

Mrs. Bridgeport shivered. “That's very sad. To think that a mother would encourage and participate in crime with her son is incredible. And to think she was around our children.”

“I don't think you need to worry on that account, my dear. Had she done or said anything outlandish, they would have told you or Callie.” After gracing his wife with a sympathetic smile, Mr. Bridgeport looked at Callie. “This has been quite an eventful time, and it continues with our little Daisy still suffering.”

From the dark circles that rimmed their eyes, it was obvious neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bridgeport had rested since arriving with Daisy. “I would be happy to remain here with Daisy if the two of you would like to take the children to the hotel. You could rest for a while, and I could call the hotel if anything should change with her condition.”

“I'd like to talk to you a little more before I leave.” Mrs. Bridgeport smiled at her husband. “If you'd like to go, Luther,
I'll join you and the children in a little while. We can go to dinner before we return to the hospital, and then Callie can go stay with them.”

He nodded and picked up his hat from atop the window ledge. “Don't be too long, Eunice. I know you want to visit, but you need to rest, too.”

A middle-aged nurse entered the room and looked at the clipboard attached to the end of Lottie's bed before she examined the child. Callie and Mrs. Bridgeport watched in silence, both of them staring at the woman until she finished.

“Any change?” Mrs. Bridgeport's voice held a note of expectation.

“Her temperature is up a bit, but it's probably nothing to be concerned about. From her chart, it appears to fluctuate some.” She brushed past Callie and exited the room as quietly as she'd entered.

“I wanted to hear a bit more about Wesley. Even though you hadn't talked to me much, I didn't miss the fact that you had begun to look forward to the outings with him in the afternoons. There was little doubt you enjoyed his company.” She nudged Callie's arm. “It's easy for one woman to see when another woman is falling in love. And even though you said you'd never again trust a man, I was sure you had feelings for Wesley.” Her lips curved in a generous smile. “And now that I hear he's a Townsend, it's all the better. After all my efforts to find you a suitable match, you've unintentionally taken care of the matter for yourself.”

Callie shook her head and slowly explained Wesley's deceit. How he had lied about his family and the fact that he was a physician and bore a great deal of guilt over the death of patients in Texas. “For a while, I did think he was the perfect man for
me. I had grown to trust him, but that has all been destroyed by his lies.”

“Really? It doesn't seem to me that he actually lied. He withheld information from you because he feared you would reject him. And nothing about his family or his profession is repugnant in any way.” She snapped open her fan and waved it back and forth in front of her face. “Of course, he'd do better to go into business with his father than return to the practice of medicine. Doctors simply are not paid enough money to support a family properly.”

“But withholding information is a type of lie.”

“Is it? I'd venture to say most of us have withheld information at some time in our lives. I don't condone the behavior, but if it is a lie, then you're as guilty as Wesley.”

“How so? I was honest with him.”

“But you've withheld information in the past when you thought it to your advantage. You might recall that even though I'd expressly told you I wanted a governess who could give the children piano lessons, you didn't mention you couldn't play. Nor did you tell me you'd spoken with Mary Deitweiler about a position as her personal assistant prior to our interview—a fact that nearly caused a permanent breach in my friendship with Mary.”