An Inconvenient Match (23 page)

George stomped to the board, studying it, as if the answers to life could be found in wooden circles of red and black.

In essence cutting Wade off. His father didn’t care about their relationship. Something inside Wade snapped.

With long strides, he reached the table, shoving it aside and sending checkers flying. “This stupid game doesn’t matter!”

His father sneered. “Life’s a game, boy. The moves you make determine if you win or lose. Time you learned that.”

Did his father believe he could control life like he could maneuver a checkerboard?

Fighting for control, Wade sucked in a breath. “The day Mom left, you said you wouldn’t let her come back. If she had, would you have allowed her to stay?”

“Ernestine ran off to follow her dream, leaving me to pick up the pieces. You grouse yet have no inkling of the strain. To work all day, come home to oversee you and Regina, to do it all. Yes, with Cora’s help, but I…I barely hung on.”

Wade took a step, then another, until he and his father stood toe-to-toe. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know the answer.” Breathing hard, George dropped into his chair. “I wanted to hurt her like she hurt me.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, his face pale. “Then she died…and I had nowhere to put my anger.”

Wade’s hands knotted. “I’m angry too. Angry she left. Angry you let her leaving destroy what was left of our family.”

“I tried,” George said. “I failed.”

What could Wade say to that? Both of his parents had failed their children. Perhaps his mother had wanted it all—her dream and her family, and planned to return. “If she hadn’t gotten sick, do you think she would’ve come back?”

“No,” George said without one second of hesitation.

Bitterness kept his father from considering the possibility, but the wonderful times he and Regina shared with their mother made Wade believe she would’ve returned as she’d promised.

He had to believe that. He had to believe she’d loved them.

“What did she expect when she married me?” his father mumbled, as if talking to himself. “I gave her a good life. Yet she had not one whit of gratitude.”

“Maybe she didn’t need material things. Maybe she needed excitement, to feel alive, not caged. Couldn’t you have taken her to New York or Chicago? Attended the theater, the opera?”

“I didn’t have the time.”

Wade snorted. “Why didn’t you see Mom’s happiness as important enough to sacrifice
your
agenda?”

“You’ve got all the answers. Or so you think,” his father snarled. “Well, you’re making a mess of your own life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All that sawing and sanding and hammering is a waste for someone like you.”

Wade had hinted, but had never admitted his plans. The time had come. “Cabinetmaking is what I intend to do. Once you return to the bank, I’m opening a shop in town.”

Looking dazed, as if Wade had slammed him with an uppercut to the jaw, his father stumbled to his feet. “I’m handing you an empire on a silver platter. You don’t appreciate it! You’re just like your—” He cut off his words and looked away.

“Mother. Isn’t that what you were about to say? I’m just like my mother.”

“Yes!” His father’s dark blue eyes flashed like high seas in a raging storm. “She didn’t appreciate anything I gave her, not enough to stay. You don’t appreciate what I’ve built.”

“I appreciate how hard you worked. But you did what you wanted to do. I want the same opportunity.”

“You’re tossing away your legacy, your future. For what? A pipe dream!”

“Why not be honest? You’ve never had confidence in my abilities—not as a banker, not as a businessman. Every word from your mouth attests to your lack of respect for me. Why would you want me running your businesses?”

“I’ve pushed you, sure, to…motivate you.”

Did his father really believe disapproval motivated?

If he’d held his mother’s dream in the same distain he held Wade’s, Wade understood why she’d left.

“I need to do this.” He stepped to George. “Hire someone to take my place. You could promote our cashier or bring back Regina’s husband.”

“You’re throwing your legacy in my face like she did.” Sighing, he dropped into his chair. “Nothing I’ve built matters,” he said in a toneless voice.

Wade knelt beside his father’s chair. George stared straight ahead, as if he didn’t see him there. “That’s not true. Look at the good your success is bringing others. Your generosity will provide six families a fresh start. You can be proud of that.” He put his hand on his father’s forearm. “I’m not like Mom. I’m not running out on you. I need to do what God gave me the talent and desire to do.”

Eyes cold, remote, George turned toward Wade. “You’re exactly like your mother.” He waved a hand toward the bed. “I’m tired. You need to go.”

Swallowing a protest, Wade rose, turned back the comforter then faced his father. “I’m sorry your life’s been a disappointment. I’m sorry I’ve been a disappointment. But even with all that, if we wanted to, we could make a new beginning, you and I.”

Silence.

Every muscle tense with hope, Wade waited, holding his father in his gaze.

“Leave me alone.”

The dismissal slammed into Wade’s stomach with the weight of a fist. Once he could speak, he said, “Good night.”

Eyes stinging, Wade left the house and headed to the shop. He’d stood his ground with his father. He’d gotten to the truth. The truth hurt. More than he cared to admit. His father couldn’t accept him, couldn’t accept who he was, couldn’t accept Wade’s desire to do something else with his life.

If only Dad could be proud of him.

That would never happen.

Nothing between them had changed.

Nothing.

Chapter Fourteen

C
hilled lemonade should put a smile on George’s face. Or so Abigail hoped as she hauled the tray with two glasses to the front porch. Earlier, before he’d been aware of her presence, she’d glimpsed his dejection. As if something had broken his spirit. She preferred anger to this morose, haunted man, a painful reminder of her father.

George sat in a wicker rocker, staring off into space.

“I brought you a cold glass of lemonade,” she said softly.

He jerked toward her. “A man could die of thirst around here.”

Anger, she could handle. “Not when he’s perfectly capable of walking to the kitchen he won’t.”

“Aha, just as I suspected, you moved my bedroom to the main floor to avoid waiting on me. A diabolical plan since I’m paying you for that very thing.”

“No one hoodwinks you.” She smiled.

He scowled—a vast improvement.

“Mind if I join you?”

“I’d prefer my own company.”

“As you said, I can’t accept wages if I’m not looking after your comfort.”

“What about
you
can provide one shred of comfort?” he muttered under his breath but loud enough for Abigail to hear.

Good question, considering their past. “Normally you appreciate an adversary, even thrive on trying to best me.” She chuckled. “I’d call that providing comfort.”

George waved toward the empty chair. “Suit yourself.”

Abigail sat, sipped her drink, fidgeting in the silence. If he didn’t want to banter back and forth, he must be truly upset.

At least she’d enjoy the lovely landscaping, the puffy clouds floating overhead, chirping birds swooping in and out of the evergreens. “A beautiful day,” she said.

He gulped half the glass. “They all blend together.”

“You need to get back to work.”

Dark eyes flashed. “Why? Everything I’ve built will die with me.”

“You’re a long way from dying.”

“You a doctor?”

“Yes, a specialist.”

A glimmer of humor lit George’s eyes. “What kind?”

“Cardiologist. A doctor of the heart.”

“My ticker’s fine.”

“My specialty is the seat of affection.”

He snorted.

“My services are expensive.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

She chuckled then swigged the last of her lemonade. “Let’s take a stroll.”

“Your second good idea. Lemonade being the first.”

Unhooking his cane from the arm of his chair, George rose and trudged off. Just getting down the steps and out the gate appeared to tire him. Yet at the corner, he refused to turn back, insisted on going to town.

By the time they reached Main Street, his breathing was labored, but he had a perkier look in his eye. “Well, would you look at that?” He leaned on his cane with both hands, studying six new houses, framed, roofed and sided. “They look solid, like good places to live.”

Pleased he appreciated the humble abodes, Abigail shot him a smile. “There’s work to do inside, but Lois and the others should move in by the Fourth of July—with furnishings, thanks to you.”

“Maybe I’m good for something, after all.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself this morning?”

He harrumphed then went into a fit of coughing.

A few storefronts down, Wade strode in their direction. Even from here, he looked handsome, in control, someone she could count on. Appearances were deceiving.

When Wade reached them, his gaze rested on her then slid to his father. He motioned to the bench near the park. “Sit over here, Dad.”

Amazingly George obeyed, leaning heavily upon his cane but refusing Wade’s arm. Settled on the bench, George pulled a monogrammed square of linen from his pocket and wiped his face.

A face that was ashen. “I don’t like his color,” Abigail said.

Brow furrowed, eyes filled with alarm, Wade huffed. “Are you trying to kill him?”

“You know how stubborn he can be when he gets an idea in his head.”

“Was the walk his idea?”

“Well, no, but I visualized a short stroll no farther than the end of the block, the walk he handled well yesterday. I thought a change of scenery would do him good.”

“Stop yapping about me like I’m not here,” George said. His words cranky but his voice was weak.

“I’ll get Doc Simmons to look you over.”

“I’ve got my doctor with me.” George glowered at Wade beneath beetled brows, as if daring Wade to challenge his claim.

“In that case, your doctor should’ve known to use the carriage instead of allowing you to walk.”

Wade’s tone had gentled, but her lack of judgment knotted Abigail’s throat. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

George flapped a hand. “No one makes my decisions except me.”

Wade heaved a sigh. “I’ll get the carriage.”

As Wade strode toward home, Abigail sat beside his father.

“Pay him no mind.” George reached over and patted her hand, then jerked it away as if he’d forgotten she was a Wilson and he was a Cummings.

She’d tried to lift George’s spirits. The thanks she got—a scolding from Wade. At least he’d expressed concern for his father. She sighed. Not that the incident had narrowed the gulf—between father and son, or between her and Wade.

Well, she wouldn’t accept failure. Not in this. For she knew without a doubt God wanted the same thing she did—healing between father and son. Between enemies. George had harmed their family but she now believed he hadn’t called the loan maliciously. Neither side had been totally right or wrong. The time had come to release the feud.

She laid a hand on George’s arm. “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“I’m glad.”

“No matter what Wade claimed, I know you didn’t want to kill me. ’Cause if you had, you’d have gotten the job done.”

She met his twinkling eyes. “You’re right.”

“The reason I’m firing you as my physician. I’ll stick with Doc Simmons.”

Chuckling, she helped him to his feet. Wade was coming with the carriage. The laughter died on her lips. She’d forgive George for the loan, but that didn’t mean she’d trust his son.

Only an idiot would accuse Abby of trying to bring his father harm.

At the first opportunity Wade would apologize, if she wasn’t too angry to listen.

Alarmed by his father’s pallor, he’d overreacted. That ridiculous response had been fueled by guilt. Guilt that his plan to open a shop had undermined George’s fragile health.

With his father resting comfortably, Wade strode to the stable. Inside the dim interior, he inhaled the familiar odors and listened to the shuffle of feet, the whinny of the horses, their ears forward, alert, eager for food.

Wade fed them and added more water to their buckets, then grabbed a bridle from the wall and plopped down on a bale to clean the metal bit.

Abby appeared in the doorway, slowing his hand. Her features appeared chiseled from granite.

He rose. She stomped toward him, stopping mere inches away—within slapping distance. Wade took a step back.