Where Trust Lies Page 11

  “I must say, Julie, it seems you’ve had quite an enjoyable afternoon,” Mrs. Montclair said with a knowing look. “Aren’t you just the center of attention?”

  Monsieur Laurent nodded. “I believe that is precisely where our young friend is most comfortable.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Lorant. She does enjoy the spotlight.” Mrs. Montclair cast a disappointed look toward Victoria. “You could take some cues from her, my dear. See how she engages those around her, the way she smiles and interacts. If only you were more like Julie—”

  “By the way, Julie, have you had a chance to work on the paintings today?” Beth was desperate to distract Victoria’s mother.

  A withering look shot back at Beth from across the table. “Pardon me?”

  Everyone seemed puzzled at the unexpected interruption from the usually serene Beth. “It’s just,” she continued, softening her voice, “we’re out to sea now. And—well, I was hoping we’d have time to get more done.”

  “You mean I’d get more done, don’t you?”

  “I’ll help in any way I can, Julie.”

  “You? How would you help?”

  Beth hesitated, dismayed at the public squabble she had inadvertently begun. “Isn’t there some way? Maybe I could sketch a little—”

  “It’s not as easy as it looks, Bethie.” Julie rolled her eyes. “I’ll help you when I’m able, darling, but I won’t let your silly project ruin my vacation. I intend to enjoy myself—despite your seeming inability to do the same.”

  Mother shook her head. “Girls, please. This is neither the time nor the place.”

  “I’m sorry.” Beth’s face flushed at having caused a scene. She cast a quick glance toward Victoria. The girl seemed oblivious to it all, reaching for another roll from the basket in the center of the table, her eyes focused downward on her little notebook. She must have heard nothing of her mother’s comments. It was a senseless, ill-conceived diversion. Beth sighed deeply.

  Chapter

  11

  MARGRET IS NOT FEELING WELL THIS MORNING,” Mother said as Beth and Julie emerged from their bedroom.

  “Oh, dear. What’s wrong?”

  “Her stomach is rather upset . . . perhaps something she ate last night. At any rate, Emma came just a moment ago to inform us that Margret won’t be joining us for breakfast.”

  Beth frowned. “Does she need any help with JW?”

  “No, Miss Bernard will care for him until we return from breakfast. We’ll check in on Margret again before we go ashore to attend church, but I don’t think we shall take JW along with us. Miss Bernard will watch him during services. I doubt Margret will be feeling up to joining us.”

  Beth had forgotten that it was already Sunday. “What time is the service?”

  “The English service for the tourists doesn’t begin until one, so there’s plenty of time before then. Monsieur Laurent will be on his own today. He has left us money to cover our needs for the day.”

  Sunday—a nice quiet day mostly on board. The little French town on the Gaspé Peninsula and a church service. Beth was certain Mother would not condone much activity, even if the ship would be providing games and concerts and silent movies. Julie would not be pleased. Beth quickly determined she would not ask about the paintings again.

  “May I go see Margret?” Julie asked.

  “No, dear. Let’s leave her alone till after breakfast. We’ll see how she’s doing then.”

  Julie hurried off alone after the meal while Beth and Mother chatted for some time with the Montclairs. Returning to their suites, Margret answered the door to their knock. She was in a soft, pink knitted dressing gown. She had not put up her hair yet, so it was spilling around her shoulders in thick waves. Her face looked rather pale, and her eyes quite red. Mother brushed a hand over Margret’s cheek. “At least you’re not feverish,” she said.

  “You poor dear.” Beth sighed aloud.

  “I do feel a little better. I think it’s going away. My goodness, though. I was quite nauseated. I might want to stay close to the room today.”

  Beth grasped her hand tenderly. “Do you think it was seasickness?”

  But Mother brushed aside the question, lifting JW, who was on the floor playing with blocks. “Not after this many days. It’s probably just something she ate.” She snuggled the small boy against her and kissed the top of his head. “Good morning, darling.”

  “Bah-zhur, Ga’mama,” he giggled. “Bah-zhur.”

  “What’s he saying?” Mother asked.

  Beth chuckled. “I’m quite certain he’s trying to say ‘Bonjour, Grandmama’—thanks to Monsieur Laurent, of course.”

  Mother smiled broadly at the wriggling toddler in her arms. “Bonjour, my sweet little boy.”

  “Can we bring you anything, Margret?”

  “No, thank you, Beth. Emma brought me some tea already. And I think I’d better not overdo it. I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.” She hesitated for a moment. “Mother, would you be willing to take JW for a little walk? Miss Bernard is taking her turn at breakfast, and it would be good for him to stretch his legs.”

  Beth opened her mouth to volunteer, but a quick shake of the head from Margret cut her short. Beth waited until Mother had left with her grandson.

  Margret closed the door softly. “I want to speak with you, Beth.”

  “Oh?”

  “Julie already stopped by—before the rest of you.” Margret drew closer with a concerned expression, her voice lowering. “She offered me a pill. She said she got it from Jannis.”

  Beth shrugged off her apparent worry. “Yes, it’s probably the same thing she offered to me when I was feeling ill.”

  “And did you take it?” Margret’s eyes grew large.

  “I didn’t see the harm.”

  “Oh, Beth, what were you thinking?” Margret paced away and then came back, biting her lip. “Do you even know what was in it?”

  “No, not really. But it certainly worked for me—both times.”

  “You took it twice? A pill from a stranger?”

  “Oh, Margret, you make it sound so dark and wicked. It was just medicine for seasickness, they said. And they’re not really strangers, just two girls from Buffalo traveling for vacation. I’m sure they’d never do anything to harm me—or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “My darling sister, you don’t know what their intentions might be, whether harmful or merely foolish. You should never have trusted them—not without knowing much more!”

  Beth stepped away. “You’re overreacting, Margret. It’s not so monumental as all that. And the proof is that I benefitted from taking it. Anyway, I’ll ask them what it was. I’m sure they’ll tell me.” She dropped down onto a nearby chair. “What do you think they would stand to gain anyway—from making me well? How could that be anything but helpful?”

  Margret lowered herself to the adjoining seat. “I don’t know. I really can’t say. But I’ve already told you that I don’t trust them, and now you’ve fallen for it.”

  “To be fair, Margret, this happened before you warned me.”

  “And do you think I’m wrong?”

  Beth hesitated, remembering recent exchanges with the girls. “No, I don’t think you are—not really. I’ve had some concerns about them at times too. And Julie’s judgment regarding them. I’m afraid she pays for food and other items for them.”

  “Then you must be the one to use wisdom, and don’t take anything else they have to offer. If I’m wrong, no harm is done by undue caution. But if I’m right . . . who knows?”

  Beth smiled and rubbed at her forehead. “You’re right, of course, Margret. You’re so good to me—to all of us. I know it comes from genuine concern. You’re such a wonderful mother that you can’t help mothering even me.”

  A look of shock registered on the gentle face.

  “Margret?” Beth questioned. “What is it?”

  Instantly a mask descended, and she insisted it was nothing. With deliberately careless aff
ectation, she rose quickly and moved to the nearby mirror, picking up her brush. “Nothing. I’m just pleased you agree.” Without looking back at Beth, Margret began pinning up her hair. “I’m actually feeling much better. I’ll be ready soon. I’m sure I’ll be all right going with the rest of you into town.”

  The tender skimmed across the waves toward the little town, passing near two expansive, natural stone arches that hung above the swirling waters. A striped lighthouse stood as straight as a sentry on a neighboring cliff, watching as the waves dashed against the ragged shore.

  After their noon meal of the freshest of seafood in a quaint local restaurant, followed by a lovely church service, the Thatchers and the Montclairs walked around the town. But all the shops were closed for Sunday, and Mrs. Montclair soon announced that they might as well return to the ship, for there wasn’t anything else to do.

  They gathered at their favorite spot on deck, reading and chatting while the ship lay at anchor. Just as Beth had expected, Julie was restless. However, she must have resigned herself to setting up her easel with its beginnings of her work from Saguenay Fjord. Julie began slowly mixing several colors on her palette. Beth breathed a sigh of relief and settled in the chair next to Victoria. At least Julie is staying here within sight, and maybe I’ll get a painting or two from her to take to my students.

  Victoria responded, binoculars in hand, to every nearby passenger’s enthusiasm over the distant passing of whales or a flock of shorebirds. A lone, leggy moose among the thick rushes brought the young girl to the railing to watch it wade into a broad marsh emptying into the St. Lawrence.

  Beth chose to ignore all the exclamations, tackling the remainder of her book. She expected to soon finish Redburn. However, it was becoming excessively dark and dismal—the young sailor encountering ever more poverty and inhumanity in England. It reminded her of Coal Valley, though what was described was far beyond what any of her friends out west had endured. At last, unable to read any longer, she set the book aside.

  A conversation with Mother was interrupted when Jannis and Penny wandered past. Julie begged with her eyes to join her friends, but Mother calmly dismissed the silent plea. “You’re welcome to sit with us for a while, girls,” Mother offered. “We’d also like a chance to get to know our Julie’s new friends.”

  “Oh, applesauce! That would certainly be nice, Mrs. Thatcher. But we already told the gang we’d meet them at the pool. Golly, we’ll have to chat another time.”

  Julie insisted they stay for at least a moment, pressing them to sit in Victoria’s vacant seat and on its footrest. She peppered them with questions about how they had spent their day, what else they had planned. But after hardly any time, they seemed determined to scurry away, leaving Julie with a glum expression. She settled back in her own chair and resumed painting, though she now seemed rather distracted.

  Monsieur Laurent appeared on deck, whistling a happy little song. “Bonjour, mes amies. I do hope you’ve had a pleasant day,” he offered cheerily. It looked to Beth like they all were as glad as she was for the diversion. JW lifted his hands to the old gentleman and was tossed into the air while all smiled at his delighted giggles. “Bonjour, mon petit ami. Comment vas-tu?”

  “What were you whistling, monsieur,” Mother inquired, “when you arrived just now?”

  “Ah, it’s a little French song about a silly old bailiff. I should teach it to our little one.” Taking a nearby seat and placing JW on his knee, he began to sing softly. Although he paid no attention to the rest of those assembled, all eyes were fixed upon him.

  “Cadet Rousselle a trois maisons, Cadet Rousselle a trois maisons. Qui n’ont ni poutres, ni chevrons, Qui n’ont ni poutres, ni chevrons. . . .”

  Beth knew very little French, and Monsieur Laurent was singing far too quickly for her to catch any of the words. JW, however, was transfixed. This didn’t surprise Beth at all, since Monsieur Laurent’s weathered face animated every phrase. Soon he had JW singing his best imitation of the easiest words. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Oui, vraiment, Ah! Ah! Ah! Oui, vraiment!”

  Beth thought to herself, They make an unexpectedly lovely pair.

  When they rose to prepare for the evening meal, Mrs. Montclair fell in step beside Mother. Beth overheard her caution sternly, “Priscilla, he’s going to ruin that little boy. Don’t let him teach French while your baby’s still so young. It’ll only confuse him, and he’ll never learn English.”

  “Oh, Edith,” Mother answered, “I hardly think it will do any more than strengthen his growing mind.”

  “Suit yourself. But you can’t say later that I didn’t warn you.”

  Great or small, it seemed to Beth that each day brought further turmoil among them. Can’t we all simply enjoy these days of leisure and companionship?

  Victoria was sliding her key into the lock of their stateroom door next to Beth’s when she let out a gasp. “My binoculars! I left them by my chair.”

  “Then you’d best hurry back before someone takes them,” scolded her mother.

  Beth offered to go along. Not even bothering to reply, Victoria hurried back through the narrow corridors. They searched carefully all around the chairs. “I know they were here. I had them when I was by the railing. I only put them down to sketch in my book. I can’t understand where they might have gone.” She gasped again. “Do you suppose someone has taken them?”

  “I don’t know,” Beth answered honestly. “Perhaps one of the crew turned them in to the lost and found. I’ve seen the staff straightening chairs and picking up after the passengers. When the office opens in the morning, I’ll show you where we can check.”

  “Oh, thank you, Elizabeth, ever so much,” Victoria said, grasping Beth’s arm with a worried expression on her face.

  Well, thought Beth, that’s as much appreciation as I’ve ever seen from our Victoria. I wish I could help her be as interested in the rest of us. Maybe if I can help her find the glasses. . . .

  But the girl’s disappointment at her loss was even more pronounced when the next morning they learned the binoculars had not been turned in.

  Chapter

  12

  SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, the ship had weighed anchor and was en route to Anticosti Island. Margret opted out of breakfast again, citing a recurrence of her stomach complaints, though she joined the family soon afterward for their morning walk on deck. Julie had disappeared, and Beth spent time attempting to transfer onto a blank canvas her own sketch of the lighthouse perched above the arches. After all, it isn’t merely Julie’s project. Why not at least begin one painting for her?

  The next social cataclysm occurred not long afterward. Julie appeared in the suite, fresh from three hours on the recreational deck. Her cheeks were rosy from whatever her recent exertions had been, and she had an obvious spring in each step. She was dressed in her white tennis outfit, this time with a yellow sweater, complete with a bright yellow fringed scarf around her head.

  Beth eyed her suspiciously. “You look like the cat that just swallowed the canary.”

  “Thanks, Bethie,” Julie responded with a giggle.

  Beth answered dryly, “My dear, that is not a compliment. What have you been up to?”

  Julie whisked past, slipping out of the sweater and tossing it over the back of the settee. “Why, Bethie, whatever do you mean?”

  “Julie Camille,” Mother called from the open door of her bedroom, “please ready yourself for lunch.”

  “Yes, Mother.” But there was still a tone of frivolity and amusement in Julie’s voice.

  Beth followed her into their shared room to wash up and tidy her own hair. There’s clearly a secret Julie is playing up for all it’s worth. “What aren’t you telling?” Beth said sternly.

  Her eyes twinkling, Julie closed the door. Then she drew the scarf slowly from her head and spun in a circle.

  “What have you done?” Beth demanded.

  “Don’t you love it? Jannis did it for me.”

  Julie’s long, dark
tresses had disappeared. There was now only a row of blunt curls hanging around her head. “It’s a ‘bob,’” Julie enthused. “It’s all the latest rage. Don’t you love it, Bethie darling?”

  “Oh, it’ll cause a rage, you can be sure of that.” Swallowing hard, Beth tried to gather her composure. “Julie, you know full well that Mother would not have allowed it. How could you do such a thing behind her back?”

  “You said it yourself—we’re adults. We should be free to make our own decisions where our personal interests are concerned. How could my hair be anything other than my own personal interest?”

  “When did I ever say such a thing?” Beth demanded.

  “When we were deciding what to do the other day. You said we’d go with Mother to the sing-along to keep her happy—and then we would do what we wanted afterward. You and Margret went swimming, and I played deck games since we were free to make our own choices as adults. That’s what you said, Bethie! I heard it clear as day.”

  Beth was still staring at the shockingly short hair. “Whatever I said, I certainly didn’t mean this.”

  Tears began to form in Julie’s eyes. “But it’s my hair. Why shouldn’t I wear it the way I like?”

  Beth turned away, adding water to the basin and dunking a washcloth into it. “I don’t know what to say, Julie.” Her head was spinning. “Mother is going to be very upset.”

  “Do you think she’ll be cross with us?”

  “Oh, no, sister dear. This is not about us.” Wringing out the washcloth more forcefully than necessary, Beth muttered, “This is only about you and your foolish decision. It has nothing to do with me.”

  Julie huffed from behind in a flash of anger. “I meant Jannis and me. There isn’t an ‘us’ anymore with you, because you haven’t spent any time with me for days!”

  “What? I . . . but we . . .” Beth tossed the washcloth over its hook and stalked toward the door. “I won’t be with you when you tell Mother. You can just do that with Jannis—if you think it will help.”