Читать книгу A Father's Place - Marta Perry - Страница 11

“Ms. Ellie, do you really think God answers prayers?”

Ellie decided she’d never get used to small children’s ways of asking the deepest spiritual questions. She sat down next to Quinn’s little daughter the next morning. The rest of her Sunday school class had scampered out the door already, but Kristie had lingered, the question obviously on her mind.

“Yes, I think God does answer prayers.” She brushed a coppery curl back from Kristie’s cheek, sending up a silent plea for guidance. “But I think sometimes we don’t understand God’s answers.”

Kristie frowned, putting both hands on the low wooden table. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your prayer,” she suggested. “Maybe I can help you understand.”

Kristie’s rosebud mouth pursed in an unconscious imitation of her grandmother’s considering look. “Well, see, I prayed just like you taught us. And I remembered to thank God and everything.”

Their last few lessons had been on prayer. Kristie, at least, had been listening. “And what else?” she prompted gently.

“I asked God to make Daddy stay here for good.” The words burst out. “And I thought it would work. But when I asked him, Daddy said he has to go out West again. And I don’t want him to!”

Ellie drew the child close, heart hurting. Did Quinn realize how much his little girl missed him, even though a loving family surrounded her?

“Kristie, I know I said God answers our prayers, and I believe that.” She spoke slowly. Caring for the spiritual well-being of the children in her class was one of the most important things she’d ever do, and she wanted to do it right.

“But God knows what’s best for us. Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no. And sometimes the answer is wait.” She smiled into the little face turned up to hers so trustingly. “I think that’s the hardest answer of all, because I hate to wait for things. But I remind myself that God loves me and wants what’s best for me. Do you think you could remember that, too?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m sure she will.”

The unexpected masculine voice jolted her. Quinn stood in the doorway, and he’d obviously been listening for some time. Her cheeks flushed. Had he heard what Kristie’s prayer was about? And was he angry that she presumed to give his daughter advice?

“Daddy!” Kristie raced across the room to throw her arms around his waist. “Are you going to church with me?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He gave her a quick hug, his face softening as he looked down at her.

Ellie’s heart cramped. When he smiled at his daughter, the lines in Quinn’s face disappeared. The marks of grief and bitterness were magically erased, and he looked again like the college graduate in the picture on Gwen’s piano, smiling at the world as if he owned it.

“You run down to the parlor and catch up with Grandma, okay? I want to talk to your teacher for a minute.”

Kristie nodded, the clouds gone from her face, and danced toward the door. “We’ll wait for you,” she said importantly. “Don’t be late.”

Yesterday it had been his mother; today it was his daughter. Quinn Forrester must feel she’d interfered with his family far too much.

Quickly, before he could launch an attack, Ellie shoved the Sunday school books onto the shelf. “I’m afraid I don’t have time now.” She started for the door. “I’m playing the organ for the service, and I have to get ready.”

But if she thought she was going to get rid of him that easily, apparently she was mistaken. He fell into step beside her. A dark suit, pale blue shirt and striped tie had replaced yesterday’s jeans, but he still looked like a man who belonged outdoors. And he moved as if the church hallway were a mountain trail.

“I’ll walk with you, and we can talk on the way.” He pushed open the double doors that led from the Sunday school wing to the church itself, his hand strong and tanned against the pale wood.

Maybe it was time to go on the offensive with him. “I suppose you think I shouldn’t have spoken that way to your daughter.” She certainly wouldn’t apologize for doing what a church school teacher should.

Instead of counterattacking, Quinn tilted his head slightly as if considering. “No, I wouldn’t say I think that. You’re her Sunday school teacher. That’s your job, answering the tough questions.”

His unexpected agreement took the wind out of her sails, and she glanced up to meet his steady gaze. For now, at least, it wasn’t accusing. “The questions are tough. Sometimes almost unanswerable.”

“What do you do if you don’t have an answer?” He really seemed curious.

She smiled. “Say so. Then I ask the pastor. That’s his job, after all.”

“I’m sure he appreciates that.”

She’d never have thought, after yesterday, that she and Quinn would be smiling at each other in perfect harmony. The tension inside her eased. They’d gotten off to a difficult start, but perhaps they could begin again. She didn’t want to be on uncomfortable terms with Gwen’s son.

They reached the vestry before she could think of anything else to say. Was that all Quinn wanted to talk with her about?

She reached into the closet and took out the shoes she wore for playing the pipe organ. She held them for a moment, waiting for him to speak, wondering if she should say anything more about Kristie.

When the silence stretched out, she looked up at him. “I guess you overheard what Kristie’s prayer was about.”

He nodded, a muscle flickering near his mouth, but he didn’t say anything.

She took a deep breath. This was definitely not her business, but she couldn’t ignore Kristie’s prayers. “I don’t know much about your job, but I know she’d love it if you could work closer.”

Quinn’s expression closed to a stiff, impenetrable mask. “That’s not possible. I go where the Corps of Engineers sends me. Unlike your father, I’m not a gentleman of leisure.”

Her stomach clenched. There was the counterattack she’d expected. “My father is retired.” She forced the words out through suddenly stiff lips.

Quinn leaned toward her, making her aware of how tiny the vestry was. He was much too close, and he took up all the available space. “What is he retired from?”

She turned away, slipping on her shoes, buying time. So the battle wasn’t over between them. His brief friendliness had evaporated, and he wanted answers she had no intention of giving him.

A tremor of fear shivered through her. If anyone in Bedford Creek knew the truth about her father, everyone would know. And if they did, the love and acceptance she’d grown to count on would vanish in an instant. She’d be alone again.

She straightened slowly and looked at Quinn. If she were a better liar, she might be able to throw him off the track, but she suspected that was impossible. “Business,” she said crisply.

She hurried through the door to the organ loft, knowing she was running away from him, knowing, too, that it was futile. Quinn Forrester wasn’t the kind of man to give up easily. He wanted the truth, but if he got it, he could destroy her happiness.

Quinn stood frowning after her for a moment. He’d like to pursue her and drag some answers out of her, but he couldn’t. The opening notes already echoed from Grace Church’s elderly pipe organ. Where had Ellie trained? That was yet another thing he didn’t know about her.

He walked back through the hallway to the parlor. It was surprising how little the people in Bedford Creek seemed to know about Ellie Wayne. Even his mother, who was usually a clearinghouse of local information, only seemed to know tidbits: that she’d worked in a craft shop in Philadelphia; that her mother died when she was young; that she was an only child. Hardly the kind of information Bedford Creek usually amassed about newcomers.

And as far as Charles Wayne was concerned, the slate was even blanker, if possible. That was what had upset his sister enough to make her call him. No one knew anything, according to Rebecca, except that he was Ellie’s father. He’d never visited her before; no one had ever heard her speak of him; he’d arrived by bus and didn’t seem to have a car. A man whose background was that vague must have something to hide.

Quinn entered the parlor, trying to push his concern to the back of his mind. At least Gwen would be safely separated from Charles Wayne for the next hour. After church, like it or not, he’d have the private talk with her that she’d managed to avoid for the last two days.

His mother and Kristie waited with Rebecca and her husband. He put his arm around Rebecca, kissing her cheek.

“How’s my little sister?” He looked at her closely. “Kind of washed-out these days, aren’t you?” He sent a mock glare in Brett’s direction. “Have you been working her too hard at the clinic?” He knew Rebecca loved her work as a physician’s assistant at the town clinic, especially since her husband was the doctor she assisted. Together they took care of the whole town.

Brett Elliot grinned, holding up both hands in surrender. “Not me, I promise. Blame your new little niece or nephew.”

“Speaking of which…” Rebecca’s face seemed tinged with green. She shook her head and rushed off in the direction of the rest room.

“What’s wrong with Aunt Rebecca?” Kristie pulled at Brett’s sleeve. “Is she sick?”

“Sometimes ladies have upset tummies when they’re going to have a baby,” Brett said easily while Quinn was still considering how to answer that question. Thank goodness for a doctor in the family. “I’ll see if she feels like staying or wants to go home. Catch you later.”

The choir passed them, heading into the choir loft, and Kristie grabbed his hand. “Come on, Daddy. I want to get a story paper before they’re all gone.”

He let himself be drawn toward the sanctuary and followed his mother and daughter into the pew, automatically tensing. He glanced at his mother. Did she have the same thoughts he did each time he entered this space?

Kaleidoscopic images flowed into each other—standing at the communion table for his confirmation, holding Julie’s hand while they said their vows, watching his sisters get married. Unfortunately the happy images were swamped by the sad ones of sitting in the front pew looking bleakly at his father’s coffin and then, too soon, at Julie’s. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat, and concentrated on the arrangements of roses on either side of the chancel.

A flutter of movement at the end of the pew distracted him, and he watched with disbelief as his mother half stood to wave to Charles Wayne. In another moment she’d beckoned the man to join them, and Wayne was sliding into the pew next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The organ sounded the notes of the opening hymn, and he stood, seething silently. So much for his assumptions about the way this morning would go. He sent his mother a look that he hoped conveyed his feelings, and she smiled back blandly, as if she enjoyed disconcerting him.

He tried to concentrate on the service, tried not to be distracted by Charles’s presence in the family pew or by memories of the past. It wasn’t easy.

Kristie pinched his arm, and he leaned over for her soft whisper. “Ms. Ellie plays pretty, doesn’t she?”

He nodded. The organ was half-hidden by the pulpit, but he could see Ellie when she leaned forward. Her dark hair curled around her face as her hands moved to the organ stops. Her expression unexpectedly touched him. She was transported; that was all he could think.

His gaze lingered on the line of her cheek, the soft smile that curved her lips. If not for the problem posed by her father, he might be thinking how attractive she was. Not his type, but appealing, with her vivid coloring and quick grace.

In an instant he rejected the thought, appalled at himself. The pain of Julie’s death at the hands of a drunk driver was with him every day, even after two years. On the job, preoccupied with work, he managed to hold it at bay.

But here in Bedford Creek, where they’d married, where she’d chosen to live when the corps sent him out West, it wasn’t possible. Each time he came home he had to mount a guard against the sudden onslaught of memory, pain, anger.

He’d thought the anger would go away once the driver was in prison where he belonged, but that hadn’t happened. Instead it had stayed, burning at the back of his mind, singeing his very soul.

He forced himself to pay attention to the message. Just concentrate, and the service will soon be over. He’d take his mother and daughter home, then sit his mother down for a serious talk about the danger to a well-off, naive widow posed by glib strangers.

The last Amen sounded, and he tried to hustle his little party toward the door. But at least half the congregation wanted to greet him, and he couldn’t be rude, even though the sight of Charles lingering at his mother’s side sent his blood pressure rising.

With a sense of relief he saw Ellie heading toward them, shedding her robe as she came. She’d probably detach her father.

“Ellie, dear, that was lovely.” His mother hugged her, then turned to him. “Wasn’t it lovely, Quinn?”

He felt about eight years old, being prompted by his mother to say the right thing. “Beautiful. You play very well. Where did you study?”

“Here and there.” She caught her father’s arm, tugging it a bit. “Come on, Dad, time to go home.”

“But you’re not going home,” his mother exclaimed. “I’ve already talked to Charles, and it’s all settled. You and your father are coming to Sunday dinner with us.”

To do her justice, Ellie looked just about as appalled at that suggestion as he must. “That’s very nice of you, Gwen, but I’m afraid we have to get home.”

“Nonsense,” his mother said briskly, linking her arm with Ellie’s. “I know you haven’t started dinner yet, and I have a pot roast cooking that’s just about ready. We insist you come, don’t we, Quinn?”

In other circumstances, this would be comic. Ellie clearly didn’t want to come, any more than he wanted her to. Just as clearly, they were both stuck.

“Please join us,” he said.

Ellie shot him one wary look, and then she nodded. Like it or not, the Forresters and the Waynes were having Sunday dinner together. Maybe this was his chance to get closer to her. He frowned. That should not be making him feel anticipation.

“Dad, please. Before we get there, you have to tell me about you and Gwen.” Ellie turned onto the street where the Forresters lived, her stomach tightening. They’d be there in moments, and she still hadn’t gotten a satisfactory answer from her father.

She felt him studying her face and kept her eyes on the road. “Princess, I…”

“Don’t call me that!” The nickname took her relentlessly back to the past, to a time when she really had felt like a princess—pampered, sheltered, a popular figure in the social scene of their small Ohio city.

Foolish, she added. Living in a dream world that was bound to crash. It had crashed, all right, in a scandal that took away everything she knew.

She took a deep breath and managed to glance at him. He looked hurt.

“I know you weren’t happy to see me here, Ellen. I know I let you down. But I’m a different person now.”

“I hope so.” She did hope it, with all her heart. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to tell him to go away when he’d turned up after all these years, even though common sense said he’d only bring trouble.

“I’ve changed,” he said, eagerness coloring his voice. “Believe me, prison changes a person.”

“Don’t.” The word came out involuntarily. “Don’t, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, Pr—Ellen, we have to.”

“No, we don’t.” She pulled the car to the curb. “Just promise me you won’t do anything to make Quinn Forrester suspicious of you. More suspicious than he already is.”

“I told you, Gwen and I are just friends. I find her charming.” He glanced into the rearview mirror, straightening the blue tie that matched his eyes.

Charming. Plenty of people had used that word about Charles Wayne, including his daughter. Until the day he was arrested for embezzlement, leaving her bereft and alone, bankrupting herself in a futile attempt to pay off his debts.

There was no time to think about that now, not with Gwen already opening the front door of the rambling Victorian house. Her father took her arm as they got out of the car, and she felt a brief moment’s pleasure in his courteous manners.

“I don’t care who knows the truth, you know,” he said quietly.

Panic shot through her. “Well, I do.” She stopped on the walk, turning to face him, and spoke in a furious whisper. “I still feel the pain of what happened back in Winstead when people knew the truth. It took me a long time to find a place where I belong again, and I won’t let you ruin it.”

He nodded, and for an instant she almost imagined she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. That was impossible. Charles Wayne took everything in life far too lightly to be brought to tears by her.

“I won’t do anything to hurt you, Ellie. You can count on me.”

She held back a despairing sigh. She’d counted on him before, and then found out he was living a lie.

“Come right in.” Gwen waved them into the wide center hall of the gracious old house, and Kristie danced forward to hug Ellie. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Let me help you, Gwen.” She was uncomfortably aware of Quinn, standing silent behind his mother. He’d shed his jacket and tie and should have looked relaxed. Instead he looked unyielding. He was only too obviously not joining in the welcome.

“No, no, it’s all under way. But I did want to show you those notes about the craft fair. Now where did I put them?” Gwen looked around, her soft rosy face puzzled, as if the papers should spring into her hand.

“You had them on the coffee table, I think,” Quinn said. “Why don’t you and Ellie take a look at them, and I’ll see to things in the kitchen.” His smile carried nothing of amusement in it. “Charles can help me.”

Ellie had another moment of panic at the thought of her father alone with that formidable personality, but before she could say anything, Gwen swept Charles toward the kitchen, taking Kristie with them.

“You show Ellie where those notes are, dear. Charles and Kristie will help me.”

The kitchen door swung shut, and Ellie thought she heard Quinn grind his teeth in exasperation. Then he gestured toward the living room.

“In here. I think that’s where she left them.”

She was uncomfortably aware of his tall figure looming over her as she glanced through the notes Gwen had made about the craft fair arrangements. She didn’t want to look up at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was frowning, and his gray eyes had taken on the glint of steel. Her heart thumped, and she braced herself for another question about her father.

“It sounds as if you and my mother have taken on a big project.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she realized he meant the craft fair.

“We’re cochairing it for the church fund-raising committee. The pipe organ desperately needs a complete overhaul, and we’re trying to raise the money.”

She’d much rather talk about the fund-raising project than her father, although maybe in the end it came back to the same thing. She’d conceived the idea of the craft show as a way of repaying her church family for their kindness and acceptance. And she wouldn’t have been so desperately in need of that kindness if it hadn’t been for her father. But Quinn couldn’t know any of that.

She had a crazy desire to laugh at the situation. She was no more eager to see her father involved with Gwen than Quinn was, for several very good reasons. But she couldn’t risk ever letting Quinn know why.

“I guess, as the organist, you have a vested interest in that.”

She nodded. “It’s a fine old instrument, but nothing more than basic maintenance has been done for years. I say a prayer each time I touch it that the mice haven’t nibbled on anything crucial.”

“You never did tell me where you studied.” He slid the comment in casually, but his expression was watchful.

She suppressed a sigh. Quinn wasn’t going to give up easily, that was clear, and he wouldn’t be content with the carefully crafted version of her past she usually gave when pressed. Somehow she had to convince him that her father didn’t represent a threat to his mother.

“Actually I started piano lessons when I was about Kristie’s age. I didn’t get interested in the organ until I belonged to a church in Philadelphia. The organist took me under his wing and taught me.”

She sent up a brief, thankful prayer for the elderly man who’d shared more than his love of music. He’d shared his love of God, and his profound faith had brought her out of the spiritual low she’d been trapped in after her father’s conviction.

“He meant a lot to you,” Quinn said quietly.

“Yes, he did.” She stopped on the verge of saying he’d given her back her faith. Quinn didn’t merit that kind of confidence from her. She was giving too much away, and he was too observant.

She looked up at him, trying to find something light to say, something that would take them away from dangerous personal ground. She realized in an instant she’d made a mistake. He stood very close to her, watching her intently. That single-minded focus of his was disconcerting. It robbed her of the ability to think.

Quinn frowned, his eyes darkening as their gazes held and they were silent too long. Awareness shimmered between them. Her breath caught. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for Quinn. She couldn’t. Of all the men in the world, he was the last one she should feel anything at all for.