Wild Rose. Ruth Axtell MorrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
she had mastered the alphabet back in school and could form the letters fairly well. She recognized several one-syllable words, though anything more complicated was beyond her. He felt sorry for her, seeing her struggle.
He felt almost as helpless, not sure how to approach teaching her. He tried to remember how he’d been taught in school. School! Like Geneva, he’d only had a couple of years of formal schooling before being yanked out and shipped off to sea. But at least his father had provided a tutor on those journeys. A man who was quick to rap an eight-year-old boy on the knuckles at the slightest sign of fidgeting. And who was fonder of sitting in the captain’s quarters over a glass of brandy than of overseeing a boy’s lessons.
He smiled, understanding the frustration Geneva tried to control but which was so evident each time she missed a word or copied his example incorrectly. It was going to be an uphill struggle—but worth it.
He could feel something stirring in him at the effort to help someone. She was obviously bright, but had suffered nothing but disadvantages since her youth. From the little she’d told him, he could form a vivid picture of the rest. A little girl struggling to nurse a dying woman, left at the mercy of a hard, unfeeling woodsman. No wonder she’d rejected Caleb’s offer of sympathy so emphatically. She probably didn’t know how to accept anyone’s helping hand.
After the lesson and once Geneva had disappeared over the ridge, Caleb watched a buggy come down the road. It held a lone woman, Maud Bradford. He felt mixed emotions at seeing another acquaintance from Boston.
He’d forgotten she summered at Haven’s End. She was an old friend of his mother’s. Part of him yearned for news from Boston, yearned to see a friendly face. But just as strongly, he wished to put everything from Boston behind him. He didn’t want to be reminded of all he’d left behind, to question his decision to leave. Still, he’d survived Nate’s visit. Surely, this would be easy in comparison.
The horse clip-clopped to his gate, and Caleb took his time walking toward it.
Mrs. Bradford waited patiently for him, her face wreathed in a smile as he approached. Despite her gray hair, her face was unlined and held a serene quality that Caleb found hard to resist.
“Hello, Caleb.”
He nodded to her and proceeded to open the gate. When the buggy pulled up at the house, Caleb helped Mrs. Bradford down from her seat.
She looked him up and down. “You’re looking well, Caleb. I must confess I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.”
It was impossible to feel any resentment toward this elegant lady who was his mother’s age, and whom he’d known since he was in short skirts. She’d always spoken her mind, but in such a simple, gentle way that it was impossible to take offense.
“And I must confess,” he told her, “I’d forgotten you summered here in Haven’s End.”
She chuckled. “Am I welcome? I heard from Nate that you weren’t entertaining.”
Caleb smiled at the understatement. “You’re always welcome, as long as you don’t expect too much.”
She gave him a look of sympathetic understanding. “I won’t expect you to do or say anything you don’t feel inclined to.”
“Good. Now, can I invite you in for a cup of tea?”
“That sounds most welcome.”
They walked together into the house, and Caleb guided her toward the back. After he’d brewed a pot of tea, the two sat in two chairs overlooking the sea.
Mrs. Bradford sat back with a sigh of contentment. “I didn’t mean to put you to any trouble, my boy, but this tea is just the thing after my ride out here.” She stirred the spoon around in her cup.
“No trouble at all.” Caleb wanted to ask her about his mother, but held back, reluctant to bring up anything pertaining to Boston.
“Your place is lovely. Lovely, indeed.” She looked around with a smile, not appearing to notice the scant furnishings. She gestured toward the view outside. “The location is simply breathtaking.”
She took another sip of tea. When Caleb made no effort at small talk, she replaced her cup in its saucer. “I promised your mother I’d look in on you.”
He appreciated her directness. “How is she?”
“Don’t you know?” Her clear gray gaze made him feel uncomfortable.
“I haven’t received any news.”
“Nor have you sent her any.”
He rubbed his cheek. “I’ve tried to write on a few occasions. Truly. But the words don’t seem to come.”
She smiled sadly. “I understand. I think she does, too. That’s why she’s giving you time. And that’s why she sent me. I shall give her a full report. It will ease her burden. I’ll say I found you fit and in good spirits, living in a very salutary location.”
“Thank you. It will help knowing she’s not worrying.”
She lifted her eyebrows in a look that said more clearly than words that keeping his mother from worrying was another matter.
They continued drinking their tea. After a few moments, Mrs. Bradford spoke again. “Your father’s firm has issued a formal statement to the press that any allegations against you were completely unfounded. Investigations are continuing to uncover the real perpetrator.”
She looked down at her cup and saucer. “Details were very sketchy, however, to explain how there could ever have been a breath of suspicion surrounding your name. Errors in judgment…hasty accusations…”
Caleb sat still, not sure how the news affected him. So, his father had respected his wishes and not exposed his cousin’s part in the calumny against him. At least Caleb could be grateful for that.
The only thing he felt was the same hollowness he’d experienced from the moment his father had revealed how little he believed in Caleb’s integrity. “Errors in judgment…hasty accusations. How awkward for the firm.”
“It is unfortunate that your father’s formal statement only succeeds in raising more questions than it answers.”
Caleb leaned his head back against his chair. “People will say old man Phelps is covering up for his only son.”
“Oh, no. Surely not. And whatever you may think to the contrary, most people, after having had a chance to consider it well, don’t really think you had anything to do with any irregularities at the firm.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “No? I beg to differ. You weren’t the recipient of their looks.”
“Oh, I know it must have been dreadful for you.” She raised a finger to her mouth, touching her lip gingerly. “But don’t you think it made things worse by leaving Boston? Coming here might have helped you in many ways, but it gave the impression to people who don’t know you very well that you were…well, running away from something.”
“At the time, I no longer cared how my actions would be construed.”
“I know you suffered a terrible disappointment.”
Caleb didn’t know whether she was referring to the one with his father or the one with Arabella. Most likely the latter. For all her friendship with his mother, Mrs. Bradford didn’t know him very well. He hadn’t been around Boston for much of his youth, thanks to his father.
“You could return to Boston now, you know,” she continued calmly. “It might be a little difficult at first, but eventually you could pick up where you left off.”
“Pick up where I left off?” Caleb turned to the window, no longer wishing to discuss his life. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Bradford followed the change in subject without missing a stride. “Yes. That’s why I’ve been rusticating here every