Another Homecoming Read online

  “Fifteen,” Kyle corrected. She felt terribly uncomfortable and out of place. “Just barely fifteen.”

  “Of course. She’s the same age as me, aren’t you, dear Kyle?” Emily Crawley moved up beside them, her eyes appraising Kyle from top to toe. “I must say, you have made quite an effort tonight.”

  Kyle tried to put a little brightness into her voice as she asked, “How are you, Emily?”

  “Oh, almost as bored as you, I imagine,” the girl replied, giving her sleek blond hair a pretty toss. But she did not look bored. Not at all. She surveyed the rapidly filling room with shining eyes. “Why on earth my brother wanted me to accompany him tonight, when there’s nobody but old fuddy-duddies around, I shall never know.”

  “Almost the entire Rothmore board is here tonight,” Randolf replied. “Not to mention Senator Allenby over there.” He gave Kyle another look and a little bow. “If you ladies will excuse me, I must go and say hello.”

  Emily watched her older brother walk away, then said, “Isn’t it exciting, how this is all working out? In just a couple of years, we will be sisters.”

  Kyle stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Emily Crawley had the ability to look particularly beautiful when amazed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  Emily lifted her perfect little chin and let out a peal of laughter. “Kyle Rothmore, you are positively too droll!” She regarded Kyle with eager eyes. “Think about it for a moment, my little innocent sister-to-be. How your mother has been urging you to come and spend time with my family—at my house with my dear older brother. Pushing you to attend certain meetings, making certain you are seated next to each other. Doesn’t she speak of him a great deal?”

  Kyle took a step back in genuine horror. “Not Randolf. No, I, it’s . . .”

  “Whyever not?” Emily followed her, stepping closer, her gaze eager to observe every shred of Kyle’s reaction. “Randolf is a prize, don’t you think?”

  With great effort Kyle struggled for the most polite reaction possible. “But he’s so . . . so old.”

  “Dear Randolf is hardly that ancient, although I do admit he’s getting a bit long in the tooth.” Emily’s laugh was shrill. “But never mind. In ten years or so age won’t matter hardly at all, will it?”

  “I didn’t, I never . . .”

  “Yes, imagine, me being the one to break the news. Isn’t that positively delicious?” Emily studied Kyle’s face and showed a moment’s disappointment that there was no further reaction. She pressed, “I’ve heard it said that Randolf is one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors. You must be so excited.”

  “Yes,” Kyle said quietly. She had quickly determined to keep everything she was thinking from showing. Especially here. “Well, if you will excuse me, I must greet our other guests.”

  Emily’s obvious frustration gave Kyle the strength to turn and walk to her father. He reached out an arm to encircle her as he proudly introduced her to the people standing nearby. Kyle forced herself to smile and make all the expected responses. She continued on around the room, speaking to everyone in turn, doing it so well that even her mother stopped her to say how nice it was to see Kyle making an effort. Just how much effort Abigail would never know.

  Even though Kyle tried to concentrate on the guests’ conversations, her thoughts were constantly turning to Emily’s words. Randolf. She was to be traded for a union between two powerful families? She felt as if there were a ball of ice where her heart should have been. As she continued about the room, she glanced over to where her father stood laughing with his group of cronies. Surely he had not been a part of this plan, surely not. It hurt more than she could bear to think otherwise.

  Then her father broke away from the group and hurried across the room to the door. She watched as he walked up to a newcomer, a young man with dark hair and a grave, hesitant air. Lawrence’s arm circled the young man’s shoulders as he led him into the room to begin introducing him around. A brief moment of attention was granted his arrival, but as soon as Lawrence was pulled elsewhere, the young man was left standing alone.

  Kyle felt drawn to him and to his slightly bewildered demeanor. He looked no more comfortable with the gathering than she did. Kyle imagined herself seeing the grand chamber through his eyes, the curved ceiling almost three stories high, the four grand chandeliers lighting yards of polished wood and precious carpets, the glittering people, the servants in their best uniforms, the sparkling platters and crystal.

  As she started across the room, suddenly Emily was at her elbow. “That’s the plebe Randolf was telling me about, isn’t he, the one your father has pulled up from the masses to stand at his beck and call?”

  “He’s to be Father’s new assistant,” Kyle commented mildly.

  “Doesn’t he look so utterly ordinary,” Emily remarked. “I suppose it will be my duty to have him escort me into dinner. No doubt he will bore me to tears with a discussion of actuary tables and the like.”

  Kyle ended further comments by walking away. She approached the young man, reached out her hand, and said, “Good evening, I am Kyle Rothmore.”

  “Kenneth Adams.” He had a charming smile. “Mr. Rothmore mentioned that he had a daughter. I am very happy to meet you.”

  The familiar courtesy was spoken with a natural sincerity. Kyle found herself drawn to this pleasant young man. Before she could think of something else to say, Bertrand appeared in the doorway to announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

  “May I take your arm?” Kyle whispered to Kenneth.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Quickly, please.” She was so startled by her boldness that she could scarcely breathe. She reached for his extended elbow, then motioned him toward the dining room.

  Four faces confronted them in quick succession. Randolf was halfway across the room and headed toward her when he stopped abruptly. He looked shocked, but swiftly gathered himself. He gave Kyle a formal smile and a slight bow before casting a wrathful glance at Kenneth. Emily was moving their way as well, and showed genuine astonishment at Kyle’s maneuver.

  The next face Kyle caught sight of was her mother’s. Abigail’s gaze burned so fiercely Kyle had to turn away. She had never dared to deliberately cross her mother before. The realization of what she was doing left her knees weak.

  “Well, look at this, would you.” Lawrence Rothmore’s ruddy features beamed with genuine pride. “Leave it to my daughter to make our newest guest feel right at home.”

  That’s right, Kyle thought silently. The perspective her father placed upon her actions granted Kyle the strength to straighten her shoulders. I’d do anything for you, Daddy.

  As she thought the words, Kyle knew they were true. If her father wanted her, needed her to marry Randolf Crawley, the reasons did not really matter. Then and there, Kyle knew that if her father asked, she would do it. Even though the thought alone was enough to send ice water through her veins, she would do it for her father.

  Lawrence’s breath wheezed noisily as he beamed at them both. “Not many people are lucky enough . . .” He broke off to cough. Beads of perspiration spotted his forehead.

  “Are you all right, Daddy?”

  He waved away her concern. “Working too hard. That’s why I need myself a young man—borrow his legs.” Lawrence straightened, pulled a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow, then signaled a hovering Bertrand over. “Go out there and rearrange the place cards so these two young people can sit together.”

  The butler whispered discreetly, “But Mrs. Rothmore specifically ordered—”

  “Go ahead and do it.” His voice was strong enough to be heard by both Randolf and Abigail. “Make it snappy—people are coming in.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Kyle reached for her father’s arm. “Shouldn’t you lie down?”

  “I’m fine, little princess, don’t you fret.” He gave her a look of su
ch love and pride that she put aside her fears. “Now you two go and enjoy yourselves.”

  Kyle led Kenneth over to where Bertrand was holding out her chair. As she settled herself, Bertrand leaned down to whisper, “Well done.”

  Before she could ask him what he meant, her mother entered the chamber upon the arm of the senator. Abigail’s glance flitted over Kyle as if she were not even there. Kyle dropped her gaze to her lap.

  “It was very kind of you to accompany me,” Kenneth said, obviously uncertain of what was taking place.

  But Kyle was not about to go into that. He was an employee of her father, she reminded herself, someone her mother would have referred to as the “office help.” As the guests settled around the great oval table, beneath a gilded chandelier from a castle in France, Kyle sought a suitable subject. “What do you do for my father, Mr. Adams?”

  “Anything he wants me to. And please call me Kenneth.” His smile, warm and broad, creased his features, accenting the vigor and strength of his face. His eyes were dark green, full of life and curiosity. “Right now I am head of his investigating services. I’m responsible for making sure insurance claims are genuine. And sometimes I have to hunt down people to whom claims have been assigned.” He glanced down as a flat bowl rimmed in gold was placed before him, then soup was ladled in. “But I shouldn’t bore you with business.”

  “Lobster bisque,” Kyle said, not needing to even look at her own bowl. Her mother always arranged for every formal dinner to start with the same dish. Kyle found it rather rich for her own tastes. She went on, “Maggie says there’s almost a whole cup of cream in each bowl.”

  “Maggie is the cook?”

  “That’s right.” Kyle hesitated, then ventured, “And my friend.”

  “Sounds like a smart woman,” Kenneth said, glancing about the room.

  Again there was the sense of seeing the chamber through his eyes. She looked around with him, taking in the men in their tuxedos and the women in their gowns and jewels. She saw the fancy Wedgwood china and the polished silver and all the fine possessions standing upon the antique sideboards. She felt as though she were seeing everything for the first time. She also understood the expression on his face. Sometimes she did not feel as if she belonged here either.

  “Pick up the round spoon,” Kyle murmured quietly. “Do what I do. Just raise it up and touch it to your lips. That way you won’t look impolite.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Kyle decided to confess what she had not told another soul, not even Maggie, for fear of hurting her feelings. “Melted shrimp ice cream would taste better.”

  When Kenneth laughed out loud, several faces turned their way. Kyle decided to deflect the attention by turning to her other neighbor, one of Rothmore’s senior board members, and asking about his family. But in truth her mind remained on the young man seated to her other side.

  She waited until the second course was set in front of them before turning back. Kenneth met her with another of his appealing smiles and said, “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. What do you like? Do you ever listen to rock and roll?”

  Kyle felt uncertain how to respond. She had never had a dinner guest at one of her mother’s events speak with her. Everyone politely spoke down to her, doing their duty, until they were allowed to turn away and discuss something that really interested them. Kyle decided to risk more honesty. “Sometimes. I’m not sure I like it, though.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of strangeness out there. But some of it is powerful.” Kenneth ate his filet mignon with gusto. “ ‘See You Later, Alligator’—have you heard that one yet?”

  “Yes.” Kyle was unsure what to think now. He looked like an adult, or sort of. He certainly carried himself like one. But adults weren’t supposed to be interested in this music. Or were they?

  “Then there’s ‘Que Sera.’ I think it’s a terrific way to think about the future.”

  Her eyes widened as she nodded. She had heard the song for the first time the week before.

  He smiled his thanks as his plate was removed. “But it’s too bad the singer didn’t point out that confidence in God is the way to accept each day as it comes.”

  The informal yet intimate way he spoke of God reminded her of Maggie. “Maybe that’s not what the singer had in mind,” she ventured in response.

  “Well, she should have.” He gave her another smile. “Only way to make a philosophy like that really work.”

  When Kyle did not respond, he gave a little shrug and asked, “Have you been reading about Grace Kelly’s wedding plans?”

  It was the perfect question. “Oh yes, isn’t it wonderful? Princess Grace, that’s what she’s going to be called. It’s like out of a fairy tale.”

  “It sure will be something,” Kenneth agreed.

  “She’s going to keep her American citizenship. I saw it on television last week.”

  “That’s right,” he nodded, his smile flashing.

  “I wish I could see it. Don’t you?” Then Kyle met her mother’s gaze from across the table, and she felt her enthusiasm fade into a chill of apprehension. She dropped her eyes back to her plate, her appetite gone.

  Kenneth asked, “Is something the matter?”

  “No, everything’s fine,” she murmured. She was always doing the wrong thing, talking to the wrong person. She was supposed to keep the proper distance from people like Kenneth. She shivered as she pictured the coming confrontation with her mother.

  Kyle leaned forward and glanced at where her father sat at the head of the table. He was laughing at something the senator’s wife was saying. Would he really ask her to marry Randolf Crawley?

  She risked another glance at her mother. The afternoon’s discussion between her parents came back to Kyle’s mind. Once again, she found herself wondering what on earth her mother had meant. Instead of what?

  5

  JOEL LAY IN BED, unable to sleep. The moon was high and bright in the clear night sky, and silver light shimmered across his little upstairs room. The house’s second floor he had to himself. Well, almost. His father did not like stairs, so his parents slept in the converted back parlor. There were four rooms downstairs, and two upstairs under the eaves. Joel had one. The other was called the guest room, which was strange, because his family never had guests. Gramma Grimes lived only fifteen miles away, and they didn’t see much of anybody else except Doc Austin, and he lived just up the road.

  His mother had placed frilly pink touches in the guest room that had no guests, items that Joel thought would have looked better in a baby’s room. She went in at least once a week to tidy up. She would sit on the room’s little bed for a while and stare out the window with a faraway look in her eyes. And when she came back downstairs, her eyes sometimes looked puffy and red and her voice was distant. Often she avoided other family members for a time. It puzzled Joel.

  Once in the middle of the night he had thought he heard sobbing. Troubled, he had crept quietly across the little hall that joined the two rooms and peeked through the door. The light from the streetlamp spilled through the room and out into the hallway, touching as it passed the pink cushions on the perfectly made bed. He had expected to find his mother weeping, but to his surprise and bewilderment, it was his father who sat in the chair by the bed, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. His father never climbed the stairs. Never. What would bring him to the guest room in the middle of the night? Joel had had a difficult time returning to sleep and had shivered under the warmth of his comforter. But though he had wondered, he had never dared to voice the questions that troubled him so.

  Joel now lay and listened to his heart. It was pounding over-loud again. But it did that now and then. Usually Joel ignored the occasional pains and the odd sounds his heart sometimes made. But tonight every rapid beat seemed etched in absolute clarity.

  He craned his head and through the screened window watched the stars wink at him. Down below, a sol
itary car drove by, its passage disturbing the crickets and wind and night owls, but only for a moment.

  He glanced at the ticking clock. The hands seemed stuck in place. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and finally drifted off.

  The whistle of an early bird jerked him back from sleep. He reached for the clock. His alarm was set to go off in twenty minutes. He tried to lie there, but the anticipation was too great. Finally he rose and slipped into his clothes, tiptoed down the stairs, grabbed the sandwich and apple he had set out the night before, then quietly left the house.

  The early dawn was a gentle wash across the sky, the light beginning to dim the stars. The April morning was chilly enough for him to see his breath, but Joel was too excited to feel the cold. The moon was a lustrous circle in the west. As he stood on the corner and ate his sandwich, he imagined that the man in the moon was smiling down on him.

  Right on time, the square van chugged down the street and stopped in front of him. A cigar-chomping man stuck his head out of the van’s side door and demanded, “Are you, hang on a second, I got your name somewhere. Yeah, here it is. You Joel Grimes?”

  “Yessir. Good morning, sir.”

  “You don’t gotta ‘sir’ me, kid.” He slid a thick work-gloved hand under the tightly wrapped wire and tossed the bundle out of the van. It landed at Joel’s feet with a heavy thunk. “You bring pliers?”

  “Nossir, I didn’t—”

  “Here, use mine today. Snip the wire and peel it back, careful, otherwise it’ll jab you like a knife. That’s it. How old are you, kid?”

  “Thirteen, sir. Almost fourteen.”

  The man studied Joel for a moment, as though deciding whether to challenge his statement of age. Joel knew that he was smaller than other boys of thirteen. In fact, that was one of the reasons why his father had agreed to the paper route. “Might build some muscle, put some meat on those bones,” he had said. Any reason was good enough for Joel. He wanted the route.