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 summer for the last twenty years. Phineas discovered it with me, although he wasn’t able to enjoy it long thereafter.”
“I’m sorry.” He’d hardly known her late husband.
“Don’t be. He’s in a better place. And I shall join him again someday soon.” She smiled as if in absolute tranquility at the inevitable eventualities of life.
Caleb had achieved no such equanimity as yet. He got up from his chair, suddenly restless.
As if sensing his change in mood, Mrs. Bradford set down her cup and saucer. “Who was that person walking up the road when I drove up? He seemed to be coming from here.”
Caleb turned back to his visitor in surprise. “That was my neighbor. Miss Patterson.”
“A woman?” Mrs. Bradford looked puzzled. “How strange. The way she was dressed…from a distance…that hat shading her features…” She shook her head with a chuckle. “You see a lot of odd characters in these parts. I should be used to that by now.” She tapped her finger against her lip. “Patterson…Patterson. That’s a common family name around here. Wait a minute. She isn’t Big Jeb Patterson’s little girl, is she? He was a woodsman who lived down this road.”
“Sounds like the one, from your description,” Caleb answered.
She shook her head. “My, my. I remember her as this quiet, shy little thing, always looking underfed, wearing faded calico dresses and going around with dirty, bare feet. What was she doing here?”
For some inexplicable reason, Caleb didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “She’s my neighbor. From time to time she’s offered me advice on my garden.” At the question in her eyes, he smiled. “I have to do something with my time, so I thought I’d try my hand at gardening. I enjoy it, actually.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Gardening can be soothing to the soul. How nice that your neighbor has proved helpful.”
It was on the tip of Caleb’s tongue to ask Mrs. Bradford’s advice about some primers for Geneva’s lessons, but he stopped himself before voicing the question.
Perhaps as a reaction against having undergone Mrs. Bradford’s gentle, yet discerning, probing of his own affairs, he felt suddenly protective of Geneva. Her secrets were her own, and he respected that.
He was also getting tired of hearing only negative things about Geneva every time her name came up. Mrs. Bradford’s recollection brought to mind a hungry, unwashed young waif.
He’d order the reading books through the company’s agent in New York, bypassing any questions that would come up through the shipping company’s Boston office. Yes, that was what he’d do.
Jake’s barking alerted Geneva before she heard the crunch of wheels or the clip-clop of hooves, telling her that Captain Caleb’s visitor was departing.
“Hush, Jake,” she said automatically, though she knew he wouldn’t be still until the buggy had passed. Geneva went on with her task, picking off the dead pansy and marigold heads from the flowers she had planted in her front yard. The sweet smell of pinks mingled with the pungent odor of the broken flowers in her hand.
When
