Where Trust Lies Read online

  “Julie,” Mother scolded mildly, “please temper your words.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Julie shrugged. “Girls, you’ll be just green with envy. Is that any better?”

  Mother just shook her head.

  Beth surveyed the group. “Where did you put everything?”

  “Oh, Monsieur Laurent arranged for them to be delivered to the ship. Except for this one.” Julie held up a hatbox. “I thought I might wear it to the show tonight.”

  “There’s a show?” Margret asked.

  “Why, yes. We found a dinner theater out in Cavendish. The play is The Enchanted Cottage. It sounds like it’s quite good. So we’re going out in the early afternoon to spend a little time at the beach first.”

  “How are you feeling, Margret darling? Any better?” Mother went to her daughter, arms out.

  “Yes, much better.”

  “Well, we have to hurry so we can catch the train.”

  Margret’s eyebrows drew together. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I made arrangements to speak with John tonight by telephone. I’m afraid I’ll have to miss again.”

  “Oh, no. Must you?”

  Margret nodded. “Yes, and actually I’m rather set on it.”

  Mother paused and eyed Margret, but Julie caught her attention, and they both turned toward the elevator.

  As the others followed, Margret drew close to Beth. “Perhaps you should stay with me,” she whispered. “What if Jarrick tries to call again?”

  Beth shook her head mournfully. “Then I suppose you’ll get to speak with him instead. I can’t stay back this time just in case he calls. I know that’s what he’d say if he were here.”

  “I understand. But I can also understand your frustration and sadness.”

  “Thank you, Margret.” Beth touched her sister’s arm. “And I’m glad that you do.”

  A short time later, they were settled on the train and headed to the other side of the small province. Beth enjoyed the farm scenes whisking past and especially the surprising ocean views. She thought through a description of what she would ask Julie to paint, if only her request would be well received. The dramatic colors, the tidy farmyards, the peekaboo ocean bays . . . Soon the missed telephone conversation and even Margret’s news had drifted to the back of her mind.

  Past clusters of other sunbathers, they carried their bags and borrowed folding chairs to the water’s edge. Beth looked around a bit uneasily. She still felt uncomfortable in her new bathing suit. The flounce at her knees was whipped in one direction, then another in the gusty wind, at every moment her fabric hat threatening to take to the skies. She reached down to pull her stockings higher and winced as the sand began to accumulate inside her beach slippers. If this is necessary in order to enjoy an ocean swim, it seems like a lot of fuss. Beth shaded her eyes to look out over the horizon. And yet the vast ocean, the salty wind, the beach—it’s all so picturesque and inviting.

  Julie was already leading the charge. “Look at the waves! I had no idea they’d be so big. Come on, Victoria. I’ll race you!”

  Victoria skipped along close behind. Halfway to the water she stopped to roll her stockings down to her ankles, seemed to consider for a moment discarding them entirely, then hastened in after Julie. With a whoop the teenager tossed her hat onto the sand behind her.

  “That girl,” muttered Mrs. Montclair. “She’ll be the death of me yet.”

  Beth watched the two for a while, then settled into a chair, marveling at how Julie’s short hair danced in the breeze, appreciating the energy with which her sister attacked the tumbling surf, and anxious whenever the two swimmers disappeared for any length of time among the waves.

  “All right, ladies,” she finally said playfully to her mother and Mrs. Montclair, “let’s join them in the water. We might not have another chance, and this will be a great anecdote when we return home.” She motioned them to their feet, and the three, laughing and arm in arm, made their way to the water. They called out in unison as the cold, foaming ripples swept against their feet and ankles.

  Julie and Victoria soon noticed them, shouting and coaxing them to venture farther. Mrs. Montclair firmly motioned them off. “No, no, this is quite enough,” she called back. But the woman was smiling, obviously enjoying the new experience. Beth and Mother advanced a few steps, and Julie came rushing up to cheer them on.

  “Oh, Mother, isn’t this so much fun?” she enthused, grabbing her by the arm.

  But Mother laughingly pulled back. “You, my dear, look like Jonah on the shore,” she said, taking in her youngest’s dripping hair and soaked bathing outfit.

  The swells felt chilly, contrasting perfectly with the warm sunshine on Beth’s arms. Soon she was knee-deep in the water, the sand beneath her feet washing away from around them, a totally new experience. The panoramic view beyond the rows of incoming waves seemed to go on forever.

  This is glorious, she thought as she listened to Julie and Victoria shouting as another wave pushed them toward shore. But by the time Beth had gotten up her courage to face one of the waves herself, Mother was calling and motioning them in.

  They slipped one at a time into the dressing tents provided. Donning her regular clothing again was a struggle—there seemed to be grains of sand trapped between every layer of clothing. Beth wished for a good soak in a tub.

  As she pushed back the stiff canvas and emerged from the tent, Beth cautioned, “Don’t step off the mat, Victoria darling. If you get sand on your feet, it’s bound and determined to spread itself through everything else you own.”

  Victoria only laughed and stepped into the tent, her clothing bundled in her arms.

  Just then Beth heard Julie call out, “Nick! Hello, Nick!” They all turned to look where her finger pointed.

  “I’m sure I saw him—over there by the ice-cream stand. Did you see him too, Bethie?” She shook her head. “No? I guess he’s gone,” Julie said. “Or maybe it was someone else. But I thought I saw him.” Julie was clearly disappointed.

  “You’re just imagining things,” Beth teased. “We aren’t nearly as exciting as the crew you’re used to running with these days.”

  “To be certain,” Julie laughed.

  Mother cleared her throat. “May I ask, dear, who is Nick?”

  Beth and Julie exchanged glances. “Just a young fellow, someone Beth and I met. But it wasn’t even him.”

  “Hmm. You haven’t mentioned him. Perhaps you can point him out. I’d like to meet this young friend of yours.”

  “Oh, Mother . . .”

  “I’m going to make a request, Mother, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” Margret kept her voice low enough that the others who were eating breakfast at the table could not hear. Beth, who was seated at Margret’s elbow, leaned forward to hear and see both Mother and Margret.

  Mother put her roll back on her plate. “What is it, darling?”

  Margret whispered, “I would like to visit a doctor.” She hurried on, “I hate to be any trouble, but I spoke with John last night, and he’d prefer that I see someone today, if possible.”

  “You’re still feeling nauseated?” Mother placed her hand on Margret’s, studying her face. Beth watched her skillfully reading for signs with practiced eyes.

  Margret smiled faintly. “Actually, not as much today. But it would be wise to confirm or disprove . . . a notion I have.”

  A meaningful pause, and Mother sat back in her chair with a little smile. “I couldn’t help but wonder, my darling. I have experienced certain—well, indications myself, four times over, you know.”

  Margret returned a shy smile. “So you wondered . . . ?”

  “Yes, it did cross my mind, Margret darling. And we must get you to a doctor as soon as possible. I’ll see to it immediately.” She stood, excused herself with a smile at the group, then hurried out of the bistro toward the front desk.

  Mrs. Montclair looked around in bewilderment. “What’s gotten into Priscilla? Are you ill again, Margret? Can I be of any
help?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine—truly I am.” Her modest sister shrank away from the unwelcome attention and pretended to wipe JW’s mouth.

  “Gracious. I’ve not seen your mother move so quickly.” Mrs. Montclair shook her head but mercifully let the matter drop.

  In the end, secrecy was rather pointless. Julie certainly was not one to “let the matter drop,” and by the time they returned to the room, the fact that Margret was hoping for a doctor’s visit had made the rounds in excited whispers. Margret was duly fussed over, advice raining down upon her from all sides as they crowded into the Thatcher suite.

  “Put your feet up, dear,” directed Mrs. Montclair. “You’ll want to keep your legs from swelling.”

  Mother added, “I hope there wasn’t a great deal of salt in your eggs and ham this morning. I’m still convinced that salt was the culprit last time. You’ll know to watch that now.”

  Even Julie had her tidbit to add. “I can get you a cold compress. That helps whenever my ankles feel puffy.”

  “I’m fine,” Margret insisted. “No part of me is puffy. Honestly.”

  But the morning excursion for the day was canceled. Through the concierge, Mother had discovered a doctor’s office nearby, and soon Margret and Mother were in a taxicab on their way there. Monsieur Laurent made no comment, but his eyes held a knowing glint. Beth, Julie, and Victoria decided on taking a stroll past the little shops adjoining the hotel, not remembering they had no money with which to make purchases. But it felt good just to window-shop and stretch their legs in the fresh air. They had whisked JW away before the nanny could remind them of his nap time. When he saw a little puppy in a pet-shop window, they could hardly cajole him into returning to the hotel.

  They found that Mother and Margret had not yet appeared. Beth tried to read but found it difficult to keep her mind on the story. Victoria was sketching again in her notebook, and Julie had merely collapsed into a padded armchair, her feet resting on the bed in rather unladylike fashion. I don’t suppose I could get Julie to paint for me right now any more than I can focus on reading, Beth thought wryly.

  At last there was a sound at the door, and Mother entered first, followed by Margret, her cheeks pink.

  Beth was at her sister’s side in a flash, her silent question between them as she looked deeply into Margret’s eyes.

  Margret nodded quietly. “Yes, he’s quite certain I am.”

  The room erupted into a frenzy of hugs and laughter. “And I predict a girl this time,” Julie shouted. More laughter and opposing predictions filled the air.

  “The doctor warned me, though,” Margret admitted when finally things had quieted down, “I do need to stay off my feet in reasonable measure, get enough rest.”

  “Oh, we’ll take care of you.” Julie leaned down to pat Margret’s still-flat abdomen affectionately. “We’ll take care of both of you. Don’t you worry one little bit, little girl.” And the merriment started up again.

  With rather halfhearted interest, the remainder of the afternoon included one last jaunt into the countryside. Beth watched the bright colors of the picturesque island sweep past the train windows. She made a point of moving from seat to seat to chat with each of the family by turn—nothing particularly profound but pleasant conversations.

  “I’d like to come back here again,” announced Victoria, her arm hanging out the open window, the hand opening and closing in the stream of passing air. “I want more time at the ocean.”

  “Yes, let’s,” her mother agreed contentedly. “I believe your father would find it most pleasurable. I think he would even enjoy the beach.”

  Beth borrowed the camera from Julie, snapping several scenes in hopes of retaining the images of the island. Perhaps Julie will be willing to refer to them once we’re home.

  Back in the hotel lobby, they found their suitcases packed up again by their maids and ready for their return to the ship. Monsieur Laurent was looking at his pocket watch. “I can’t hold the taxis much longer.” As usual, Mrs. Montclair was not yet in sight.

  Suddenly Beth heard her name called. “Page for Miss Elizabeth Thatcher. Page for Miss Elizabeth Thatcher.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Thatcher.” She raised her hand to a uniformed young man now making his way toward her with a smile.

  “Miss Thatcher.” He bowed slightly. “There is a telephone call holding for you at the receptionist’s desk.”

  Beth’s eyes grew large. She shot a glance at Margret and hurried across the wide floor.

  “I’m Elizabeth Thatcher,” she repeated to the clerk. “Is there a call for me?”

  “Why, yes, Miss Thatcher”—he motioned—“the last telephone at the very end of the desk.”

  Beth raised the receiver with a trembling hand. It could be anyone. There’s no reason to assume . . . “Hello?”

  “Beth! I can’t believe I caught you. It’s Jarrick. I’m so glad—”

  “Oh, Jarrick, I thought I’d missed your call entirely.” Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice.

  He laughed. “Actually, you did. I tried to call earlier today too. But I guess you were out and about. How are you? How has your trip gone so far? Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “It’s been . . . wonderful.” The one-word description was far from adequate, but she rushed on. “We’re on Prince Edward Island just now.” The comment brought a laugh. “But then you already knew that.”

  “Yes, I presumed you were,” he joked. “I’ve always wanted to visit there. Philip has an aunt in Nova Scotia, and the two of us have often talked of traveling east together. We’ve just never found a good time to go.”

  “Oh, I wish you were here now,” Beth heard herself saying and felt her cheeks grow warm. “It’s well worth it. I hope you can sometime.” Beth paused, scrambling through her mind for a topic of more importance. “Did you get any of my letters? I’ve written more than one.”

  “No, I haven’t. And I’ve been watching the mail every day, as you might imagine.” She could hear the warmth in his voice.

  “Oh, they should start to come soon. I’m surprised since I’ve gotten three from you already.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” he said hopefully.

  “We went to the beach yesterday, and I even went into the water! We did some sightseeing by train. There’s plenty more to do here—we haven’t seen any of the shipbuilding yards, which I would have enjoyed. We were supposed to do that this morning, and then something came up.” For a moment Beth considered sharing Margret’s news, but decided against it. “We’re heading out now to our ship again. It departs this evening.”

  “And where are you off to next?” His words sounded almost wistful.

  “Nova Scotia. We’ll make a stop in Cape Breton, travel northeast around the island, then head back south toward Halifax. Oh, Jarrick, I just wrote to you last night. I posted the letter this morning.”

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me what it says, Beth. I want it to be a surprise.”

  She smiled. “I’m afraid it’s quite nostalgic. It was a somewhat disappointing day—an emotion-filled one.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Beth’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling. She knew her expression was anything but guarded, but she could not seem to constrain her feelings, the strange mixture of pleasure and discontent that speaking with Jarrick—so far away—generated. “It was mostly good things, I suppose, but for the missed telephone connection. I’ll admit it cast a pretty long shadow over my mood all day.”

  “I understand that, believe me, I do.” The tone of his voice was almost more than she could bear, and she quickly blinked back tears.

  Mrs. Montclair was emerging from the elevator. Beth turned toward where the others were waiting, now assembled and ready to leave. Monsieur Laurent was watching her intently.

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk further, Jarrick. Everyone is waiting, and we’re overdue catching a taxi. I’m sorry. I wish—”

  “It’s all
right, Elizabeth. I’ll do a better job of arranging things next time. I’m sorry I botched it yesterday.”

  “Oh, it’s not your fault, I’m sure. The connection just didn’t come through.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have given you a set time. I should have . . . I don’t know. But I’ll figure out something better for next time. Where and when is the next good time to call?”

  Beth could see Monsieur checking his pocket watch again. “I’m not sure. Halifax, I suppose. But I don’t know which day—”

  “Your father gave me the first two main stops. Will you mail me a schedule, Beth? I know that’ll take a week to arrive, but I’d sure like to know where you are along the way.”

  Beth flushed. “Of course. I should have thought of it sooner.”

  Mother waved, and Beth said, “I’m so very sorry, Jarrick. I’m afraid I truly do have to go.”

  “Beth?” he hurried. “Please—I wanted to tell you something first. Two men from the provincial school board were in Coal Valley on Monday. They were taking stock of your little town to see about opening a school there.”

  “What? Why, that’s wonderful!”

  “I knew you’d want to know. Your name came up in almost every conversation they had with folks in town. Miss Molly was laughing about it when she told me all who were boasting that they were the person who had suggested you be contacted for the position.”

  Beth drew in a slow breath. “I’m so grateful. That’s just the best news!”

  “Yes, I think so too. Well, I just wanted you to know.” A pause. “I miss you, Beth.” Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s not at all the same here without you.”

  “I miss you too,” she whispered. Her heart was aching and exulting all in the same moment. “It won’t last long. We’ll see each other again soon.”

  “I know that . . . but not nearly soon enough.”

  Beth could feel her pulse still racing as she squeezed into the taxicab beside Julie. A conversation was so much better than a letter. Over and over she replayed Jarrick’s words in her mind, reveling in the warm emotion she had heard in his voice. Her hand found her waistband where she had tucked another dried petal inside a hanky that very morning.