Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (23 page)

“Where are you from, Nick?”

He looked mildly alarmed. “Oh, didn't I tell you that before? I'm from . . . uh, New England. Yup, getting pretty close to home now.”

“And what does your father do?”

For a moment his eyes locked on Beth's uncertainly. Then his expression softened, as if surrendering his bold pretense. “Don't have a father. Never did. It's just my mama and me—and a whole bunch of aunts and uncles and cousins and all. It was pretty tough that way. I never felt as good as all the rest. But soon I'll be able to take care of her myself, and we won't need to live with family. She means the world to me.” His brow furrowed, and he dropped his gaze. “I don't know
why I told you that. Guess for a minute I thought somebody maybe cared.”

Beth was overwhelmed by the amount of vulnerability he had exposed. “I
do
care, Nick. I truly do. And if there is a way I could help, I'd be happy to do so. Our father
does
have connections, like Julie said. I'm not sure if any of them would fall in line with the business endeavors you have in mind, but I'm sure he'd be happy to have a discussion with you once we get to Florida.” She knew as she said the words that they were likely weak and empty, ungrounded in the real world.

“Thanks,” he answered slowly. “It's kind of you—that you'd even say it.”

The sorrowful look in Nick's eyes broke Beth's heart. It haunted her as she laid her head on her pillow at last, and she breathed a prayer of blessing over the young man and his mother.

B
OSTON
,” B
ETH
WHISPERED
as she descended the gangway behind Monsieur Laurent. She gazed above the dock area for glimpses of the famous city whose rich history she had always enjoyed. Seeds of independence had germinated and grown here. Those infamous crates of tea had been dumped into Boston Harbor by rebels disguised as natives. Lanterns swinging in the historic church tower signaled that the British were coming.

Beth smiled. Her own ancestors were British—Mother's family descended from good Welsh stock, and Father's from northern England. Indeed, there was a line of the family tree living in the American colonies at that time. But the story went that when the rebellion had broken out, their homes were seized, the men tarred and feathered. They had all escaped to British holdings farther north.

“We'll begin in the Old City Historic District,” Monsieur Laurent directed. “I have two taxicabs waiting just beyond these buildings. Your luggage will be sent on to the hotel while you have your tour.”

He had hired a local guide, and Beth was delighted that he included many colorful anecdotes related to the old buildings they passed. They stopped at Old North Church for a look inside and also Faneuil Hall, the site of many great speeches from the time of the revolution. When their cab was headed through the traffic on the way to their hotel and a very late lunch, Beth was both satisfied and exhausted.

“There's a classical music concert tonight at Symphony Hall,” Monsieur Laurent told them as they climbed from their taxis. “If you'd like to attend, I could still secure tickets through the hotel concierge. However, I would need to know as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Montclair exclaimed. “Victoria and I would be most interested. Please do procure seats for at least the two of us.”

“I don't think I'll go,” said Margret. “I'd prefer to stay here with my little J-bird. But thank you, Monsieur Laurent.”

“And the young ladies?” Monsieur Laurent asked with a smile directed at the Thatcher sisters.

Julie quickly answered for them both. “I believe we'd rather not. We'll find some other way to fill our time. But you go along with the Montclairs, Mother. There's no reason to be concerned about us. We'll find something for our amusement, I'm sure.”

Beth watched Julie's face as she confidently spoke as if they had made other plans. Julie gave her a knowing smile and an almost imperceptible wink, indicating she would explain later.

“What on earth have you got in mind?” Beth asked. She and Julie waited while Margret purchased Epsom salts at the tiny hotel store to soak her aching feet. Mother and the
Montclairs were finishing their lunch in the lovely dining room. Already the various elegant hotels in which they had stayed were becoming a blur to Beth. “I know you've got something cooking, Julie. I wouldn't believe you simply want to stay in tonight if the announcement were signed by King George himself.”

Julie tittered and drew Beth aside, checking to be certain Margret couldn't overhear. “The truth is,” she confessed, “there
is
something for us this evening. Something I've been hoping to do for quite some time.”

“For heaven's sake, just tell me.”

Julie grasped Beth's hand in both of hers. “There's an exhibit of Georgia O'Keeffe's work here in Boston. I've seen a few of her pieces over the years in Toronto, and I would very much like to see more. The museum isn't far from our hotel. We could catch a taxicab and be there within minutes. What do you think?”

“But why not tell Mother? She likely would approve of this kind of cultural outing, and she might very well want to go too—”

“Mother doesn't—she doesn't
linger
. When she sees an art piece, she looks it over once and immediately feels she's seen it. I want to
study
the work. I want to notice O'Keeffe's brush strokes and technique, her choice of colors. Surely you understand that, Bethie.”

Beth grinned. “What makes you feel as if I might be a more willing companion, Julie dear? When have you ever seen me ‘linger,' as you say, over a piece of art?”

“You would in this case. You should just
see
some of her paintings—the absolute
scale
of them. They're breathtaking.”

Margret joined them, and they said nothing further on the subject. Throughout the afternoon, Beth wrestled with the
minor dilemma.
Should I support Julie's
subterfuge and share the art exhibit?
Maybe it could be postponed until tomorrow. There was plenty of time.

As Mother donned her gown and draped the new pearl jewelry around her neck, Beth moved closer to fasten the clip. She hoped she would not be asked a direct question about their evening plans, then wondered if that might be the very reason she was staying nearby—so Mother might discover and put an end to the venture without any help from her. However, there appeared to be not the faintest suspicion.

“Try not to stay up too late, my dears,” Mother said as she paused in the door. “You've been keeping some late nights recently. It would be good for you both to get a good night of rest. I love you. Good night.”

As soon as she was gone, Julie leaped off the bed where she had been carelessly reclining. “Let's get dressed, Bethie. You can wear my green pinstripe. I'm going to wear the pink jacket over my paisley print.”

“I do have my own clothes, Julie. I don't need to always borrow from you, thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself.” Julie's eyes sparkled, delighted at her own pun. “I could help you choose—” Beth already was shaking her head.

In short order her sister was ready for their evening plans, but Beth was still hedging, asking questions that she hoped would trip up Julie and put an end to the scheme. “How will you pay the driver?”

“I've gathered a little back from paying for other things. Monsieur Laurent doesn't always ask for the change. I have enough for a grand time tonight—at least for what we intend to do with our time,” she said airily. “I don't mind using it up so soon. I can always manage a little more for later in New
York City. And what does that matter? Father would have given us the money anyway.”

“Oh, Julie. Can't you see how one poor decision leads to another? We shouldn't be doing this. We should have explained our plans to Mother, or at least Margret. I can go across and tell her—”

Julie stopped her with a firm shake of her head.

“Honestly, I can't imagine why you feel the need for so much secrecy.”

“Don't you think it's fun?” Julie asked, wide-eyed delight on her face. “Not to ask permission for a change? Just to make our own decisions—like the adults we are?”

“No,” Beth answered flatly. “I do not. I would prefer not to go skulking about.”

“I don't know, darling.” Her sister's face was lit up in wily anticipation. “‘Skulking' sounds rather exciting to me.”

“Julie!”

They walked together into the elevator, and the attendant drew the gates closed. Beth was still arguing under her breath. “We'll have to call for a cab.”

“Already taken care of, Bethie dear,” Julie told her. “You need to trust me. I've thought of everything.”

As the gates opened into the lobby, Julie turned with a stern expression. “Now listen, Bethie, that's the last disparaging remark I want to hear from you about our evening. We're going. That's decided. So I want you to
enjoy
yourself. If not for your sake, then for mine. I'm positively ecstatic to be out on the town, and I'm glad to be going with you—that is, if you will improve your attitude. There's no one I'd rather be out with, believe me, if you'll just stop being such a ninny about it.”

Beth sighed and gazed into the charming eyes. “I said I would go. But it's against my better judgment.”

“You've made that perfectly clear. So let's not keep harping on that point, shall we?”

Beth simply nodded and stepped outside into the evening crowds in front of the hotel, moving out from under the canopied entranceway. A mass of pedestrians hurried past in competing directions, and cars were honking and rushing along only steps from them. She drew in a breath and scanned around for a waiting taxi. “I don't see our taxi, Julie.” She turned to the empty space beside her, stunned to see that she was alone.

“Hi! Over here!” Julie's voice called from some distance. When Beth finally spotted Julie's bobbing head, she realized the greeting was not intended for her. Her sister was skipping quickly across the sidewalk, waving a hand to someone else. And then Beth saw a man in a black suit moving purposefully toward her. Panic exploded inside Beth, and she shoved her way forward in pursuit.

Relief flooded through her when she realized it was only Nick.
But what's he doing
at our hotel? And why does it look like Julie'
s expecting him?

“Julie, stop! Wait for me.” Beth weaved her way doggedly through the crowds until she had caught up with her sister. Breathlessly she demanded, “Was this your plan all along? To meet up with Nick?”

Julie laughed and reached out to grasp Beth's arm. “Isn't it a nice surprise? We'll have the very best of company—you'll see.”

“No, I won't see.” Beth glared into Julie's face, this time immune to her charm.

Nick looked surprised, but he was already reaching for the door of a waiting taxicab and opened it with exaggerated gentility.

“Julie, I said
no
.”

Her sister stepped closer to the open door, blissfully defiant. “Oh, Bethie,” she said with a wave of her hand, “Nick's the one who told me about the O'Keeffe exhibit. I wouldn't even have known about it without him. So it's only fitting that he escort us. Besides, isn't this more appropriate than being out
unattended
? Surely you'd agree—”

“No,” Beth repeated, the word steeped in anger. “I'm not going to allow you to do this!”

Julie was already lowering herself onto the seat of the cab.

Nick stepped between them. “Come on, Beth. Be a sport. We're just out for a nice evening at an art show. And what could be safer than a
museum
? They don't even let you
talk
too loud.” He tried a grin as he kept Beth away from the door with his broad body. She fought against him, pushing back with all her might, but he was much too strong to make any headway. The stab of fear at such a display of power made her even more angry.

“We'll be back before your mother is home,” he assured her, holding her back with one arm. “Please, Beth. You know you can trust me with your sister.” He flashed that charismatic smile.

Julie called merrily from inside, “Oh, but Nick, she's coming with us! Come on, Bethie. Don't make me go alone. What would Mother say?” Julie slid further across the back seat to make room for her sister.

“No! Julie, get out of that cab
now
. I insist.” Beth reached out toward her sister's beckoning arm, but Nick quickly slipped into the seat, slamming the door.

Beth launched herself at the open window. “Julie Camille, that's enough!”

Julie's laughter was the last sound Beth heard before the taxicab shot away from the curb and lost itself in the rush of
traffic. Beth stood for several moments staring after it, seething with anger and hurt, the accompanying fear making her knees weak. She could not comprehend what had just occurred as she turned around in horror on the sidewalk, streams of people flowing around her.

At last she ran back to the hotel, then stood like stone in the lobby.
What should
I do? I ought to tell someone.
Monsieur Laurent
is at the symphony.
Perhaps Margret, the only one around
 . . .
She rushed toward the elevator.

Margret was asleep on the bed beside JW. Beth's pulse raced. And yet it seemed there was nothing to be done. She closed her eyes and prayed while silently pacing the room.