To Have and To Hold (6 page)

“Maybe. But this woman ain't a slave. He listed her as an
employee
.”

A giant whoosh escaped Aunt Thora's lips. She directed a look of disgust at the man. “Nobody owns slaves anymore, Mr. Fenton. You may recall there was a war over slavery not so long ago.” She'd sweetened her sarcastic words with enough honey to attract every bee in three counties. “That's back when you Northerners came down here and burned our—”

“That's enough, Thora. The war is over, and we'll have no more discussion of it at this table.” Audrey's father slapped his knife onto the table with a decisive thud.

“As you wish, Boyd, but I'm just saying . . .”

Audrey's father held up his hand to silence her. “Does your trip into Biscayne this morning mean that we should expect additional boarders in the near future, Mr. Parks?”

“I think we'll have a houseful by week's end. I just hope they'll prove to be a good lot.” Mr. Parks directed the final comment toward Audrey.

She hoped they would be a good lot, as well, but Mr. Parks's comment was enough to set her slightly on edge. There had been enough evidence in her past to prove construction workers could be a difficult group. Some were fine, upstanding men who offered a day's work for a day's wages, went home to their families, attended church on Sundays, and lived at peace with the world. Others, like her father in years past, enjoyed the taste of liquor, and though they performed their work, their families didn't see them—or their wages—on a regular basis.

Remembering the many days when her father stumbled into their house, his breath reeking of alcohol and his behavior as erratic and wild as a charging bull, Audrey decided she had best put some rules into effect prior to the arrival of the remaining boarders.

“Be sure you tell any of the men who will be residing here at Bridal Fair that we have rules, and they will be strictly enforced. Those who don't adhere to the rules will be required to move to the workingmen's quarters.”

Mr. Parks's eyes flashed with surprise, and his expression sobered. “Rules? I never heard about any rules before I moved in.” He glanced at Mr. Fenton and Mr. Uptegrove. “Either of you hear about any rules?”

“Nope.” They both shook their heads. Mr. Uptegrove leaned back in his chair. “What kind of rules are you referring to, Miss Audrey?”

Audrey could feel the heat climb up her neck. She'd spoken too soon. Telling the men her expectations in front of her father would cause them both discomfort. He'd think she didn't trust him. Still, she couldn't have men drinking or acting like ruffians in their home. She toyed with the edge of her napkin while she tried to sneak a look at her father. His focus was fastened on her like a starving dog eyeing a dish of food.

“I don't believe I've heard the rules, either. Why don't you run through them for us, Audrey?” Her father picked up his cup and took a deep swallow of coffee.

“I haven't posted the rules just yet because Mr. Morley personally vouched for the three of you. However, I don't want to have the order of our house disturbed by any unseemly behavior. It seems only sensible to post rules before the others arrive.” She inhaled a deep breath.

“Audrey's right. I can only imagine what kind of roughnecks you're going to bring back to live under our roof.” Aunt Thora blew a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Makes me shudder to think of it.”

There was little doubt Thora was going to go off on one of her tangents if Audrey didn't interrupt. “First and foremost, there will be no drinking on the premises. Secondly, no man can return here if he is in an intoxicated state. No liquor can be brought into the house for any purpose. I don't want men buying alcohol and drinking it in their rooms,” she explained.

Mr. Parks nodded. “Seems reasonable enough. Anything else?”

“Smoking is reserved for the porch only.” Just yesterday she'd found evidence that Mr. Fenton had been smoking in his room. What if he fell asleep with a burning cigar or cigarette and set the house on fire? She wasn't about to take chances when it came to Bridal Fair. Besides, smoking indoors smelled up the entire house. “And every man must bathe on Saturday. Preferably more often, but I insist upon once a week.”

“Whew! You sure got high standards. Hope there's nothing else.” Mr. Fenton craned his neck and looked down his nose.

Audrey clenched her fingers until they started to lose all feeling. “There are a few other rules, but nothing I believe you'll find objectionable.”

“Such as?” Mr. Fenton's eyebrows shot high on his forehead.

“I don't intend to keep food warm for stragglers. Meals will be served according to the work schedule. If someone dallies and isn't here, he'll have to wait until morning to eat. As you know, we pray before our meals. We expect the men to remain patient and quiet during prayers—even if it isn't their general practice.” Audrey glanced back and forth among the men. “I will expect the men to strip their bedding on Monday morning so that I might have it washed and replaced by Monday evening. There may be a few other rules, but nothing beyond the normal expectations of mannerly conduct.”

Mr. Parks shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, I doubt you'll have any trouble from the three of us. We'll be sure to let the new hires know in advance. You'll be writing out these rules and posting them where the men can read them?”

“Yes, of course. I'll see to it this morning.”

Once breakfast had been completed and the three men had departed for work, Audrey motioned to her father. “Were there any rules you wanted to add?”

He shook his head and grinned. “Still trying to protect me, even if I don't need it, right?” When she opened her mouth to object, he held up his hand. “No need to protest or apologize. If the rules make you feel better, then we'll have rules. I'm just glad you're willing to take on all this work so we can stay here.” He pushed up from his chair and placed a fleeting kiss on her cheek. “I'm going to take a stroll and see what's happening at the work site.”

Once her father departed, Audrey gathered the dishes and carried them to Aunt Thora, who'd taken up her position at the sink. She lifted a soapy hand from the water. “There's more rules you need to add to that list.”

“Oh? And what would those be?”

The older woman wiped her hands on her apron. “This one is important. We need a rule that all of the men—especially the Yankees—need to pray nightly and ask God's forgiveness for their part in the War of Northern Aggression.” Thora waved a crooked finger. “And they should seek forgiveness for their ancestors, too. Just being born into a family of Yankees is enough to put those fellas on the wrong side of the Lord's list, so they need to be doing a lot of praying.” She pointed to a piece of paper. “Write that down before you forget it.”

Audrey scraped the plates and placed them in the dishwater. “I don't think we want to try to force grown men to pray. I think it's best if they pray out of the conviction of their hearts, not because they're being compelled to recite what others want to hear.”

Thora didn't appear convinced. One look at her eyes and Audrey could see she was formulating an argument. Finally, she simply muttered, “I'm not so sure.”

There was no doubt that Thora's indecisive response was the most Audrey was going to get without further urging. “What if we agree to be faithful and pray for them instead?”

Thora clapped her hands together. “That's a perfect idea. We'll pray that they'll see the error of their Yankee ways and apologize once and for all for their ruinous deeds. And if they don't, we'll ask the good Lord to let 'em burn in—”

“Aunt Thora!” That hadn't been what Audrey had in mind, but she'd deal with the finer points of prayer later that evening. Right now, they needed to finish their chores.

After the dishes were done, Aunt Thora hung her apron beside the door. “I'm going to check on your father. He's been gone a while. I don't want him spending too much time amongst those Yankees. He's already too sympathetic. It was a sad day when he decided to let the enemy live on our fair soil.” She clucked her tongue as she strode across the kitchen.

Audrey heaved a sigh of relief once the older woman departed. At least she'd be able to commit the regulations to paper without Aunt Thora's interference. Taking pen in hand, she carefully wrote out the list, pleased by the idea that if the men complied, these rules would provide protection and a peaceful household for all of them. She'd neared completion of the task when a knock sounded at the front door.

After pushing up from the desk, Audrey patted her hair and scurried to the front hallway. Pulling open the door, she was greeted by the delicious scent of the climbing asters that twined and bloomed along the front porch each fall. Normally, she would have taken a moment to inhale the luscious fragrance, but the sight of a tall, muscular man on the other side of the threshold made any such idea flee from mind. She judged him to be no more than a few years her senior, but she couldn't be certain. The intensity of his dark brown eyes caused her to wonder if he might be somewhat older than he appeared.

Audrey took a step forward to block his entry. With her father away from the house, she didn't intend to invite a stranger inside. Offering only a slight smile, she nodded. “Good afternoon. If you're looking for the work site, you need to take the road that leads to the left at the end of the path.”

“Thank you for the directions, but I'm searching for Boyd Cunningham, not a work site.” He craned his neck and attempted to peer over her head. “This is his home, is it not?”

Audrey tipped her head to the side, hoping to obstruct his view. She was certain she'd never before seen this man. “Yes, but he isn't here right now.”

The moment she'd uttered the words, Audrey wanted to stuff them back into her mouth. She shouldn't have told him she was alone. Then again, there was no reason to worry. He was a stranger who had no idea who else might be inside. For all he knew, there could be any number of men in the house—all of them prepared to come to her aid if needed.

“You must be his daughter, Audrey. Am I correct?”

Her mind raced as she attempted to place the tall, dark-eyed stranger. For the life of her, she couldn't connect him to anyone from their past. He didn't look familiar, and he didn't have a Southern accent.

Without giving him an answer, she jammed a fist on her hip and further blocked the doorway. “And you are?”

A slight twinkle sparked in his eyes as he dropped his traveling bag onto the porch. “I'm Marshall Graham, one of Wilbur Graham's sons. From Pittsburgh.”

Feeling every ounce of strength drain from her body, Audrey slumped against the doorjamb for support. Her thoughts whirred at the memory of the Graham men. All of them in the construction business, all of them talented, and all of them rumored to be drunks, just like their father. She didn't have the vigor to deal with ghosts from the past—not now.

Chapter 6

Marshall stared in dismay as the young woman listed to one side and propped herself against the wooden framework. Surely it hadn't been his arrival that had caused such a reaction. He didn't even know Audrey Cunningham. Perhaps she was one of those timid women who fainted at every whipstitch. He mustered what he hoped was a friendly smile and reached forward to lend a hand. Before he could provide any assistance, she jerked away.

Surprised by her behavior, he retreated several steps. “I only wanted to help. I thought you were going to faint right there in the entrance.” He remained at a slight distance. “You're quite pale. I'd be happy to help you inside, where you can rest.”

The young woman brushed her fingertips along the sides of her face. From the defiant look in her eyes, he halfway expected her to pinch her cheeks just to prove him wrong. “When I need your help, Mr. Graham, I will ask for it.”

Suddenly she'd regained her strength and assumed an air of authority that baffled him. “Well, excuse me. In the future, I'll remember that, Miss Cunningham. It is
Miss
, is it not?” If this woman thought she was the only one who could assume a prickly attitude, he'd set her straight right then.

She jutted her chin. “Indeed it is, though I don't believe my marital status should be of any importance to you, sir.”

“Believe me, ma'am, your marital status is the furthest thing from my mind.”

For the life of him, Marshall couldn't figure out what he'd done to offend this woman, but she wasn't the reason he was there. Doing his best to overlook her haughty behavior, he decided to begin anew. “I am here at your father's request. He asked that I pay him a visit at my earliest opportunity. Since I am currently between jobs, I decided this would be the perfect time to journey south.”

He didn't miss the flash of surprise that crossed her face before she remembered to mask her emotions. This was one strange woman.

Her eyebrows knit tighter than the knots in a fisherman's net. “You say my father wrote to you? And he asked you to come to Bridal Veil Island?”

“He did. And I must say that from the reports I'd heard about Southern hospitality, I'm more than a little disappointed.” Marshall glanced toward one of the wicker chairs. “Since you're obviously not going to invite me inside, I'll just wait right here on the porch. I'm certain the chairs are comfortable.” He turned, took two giant strides, and dropped into one of the nearby chairs. “I hope I can at least count on you to tell your father of my arrival. I wouldn't want to spend the night out here.” He tipped his head and gave her a cocky grin.

Heat flooded Audrey's cheeks. “I told you my father isn't at home right now. You may await his return right where you are.” She turned on her heel and scurried inside before he could question her further.

“Samson! Samson!” He heard the woman call from inside the house. “Samson, there's a man on the porch awaiting Father. Please keep an eye on him.”

Marshall shook his head. Good grief. What a ruckus she was stirring up. He imagined a beefy servant standing guard at the door to bar him from any discourteous deeds.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Marshall muttered.

Settling back, he pushed his hat forward to shade his eyes, stretched his legs, and rested his head against the back of the chair. He didn't know how long he'd been there before he was roused from his nap by someone grasping his shoulder. His hat slid to the ground, and he jumped to his feet.

Before he came fully awake, Boyd Cunningham grasped his hand and offered a smile as wide as the front porch. “Marshall! What a great surprise,” he said as he took the chair next to him. “I was hoping you'd get down this way before winter set in up north.” The older man glanced at the house. “Why didn't you go inside and have Audrey get you settled in one of the upstairs bedrooms?”

Marshall bent down and swooped up his hat. “From all appearances, she was none too happy to see me, though I'm not sure why. I've tried to recall if I did or said something that would have offended her, but for the life of me, I don't know what it would be.” A fat gray tiger-striped cat rubbed against his trouser legs before jumping up to sit on his lap. “She even called for someone to keep watch over me in case I caused trouble.”

“Truly? And who did she call on?”

Marshall gave the affectionate cat a scratch behind the ears. “Somebody named Samson. Said he was to keep watch over me.”

Boyd laughed heartily. “Samson, eh? Well, meet your guardian.” He pointed to the cat.

The cat gave a deep, throaty sound that came out more like a croak than a meow. Marshall looked at the animal and then to Boyd. “A guard cat?”

Boyd sighed and shook his head. “Don't worry about Audrey. She's a bit standoffish from time to time. I didn't tell her you were coming, so she's probably unhappy with me.”

Marshall didn't believe that Audrey's lackluster welcome had anything to do with her father. There'd been something else, something about him that had set her on edge. Maybe once they became acquainted she would tell him. Then again, he wondered if he'd be around long enough to thaw that icy exterior of hers. Samson jumped off Marshall's lap, ambled off the porch, and plopped down by the steps in the shade as if completely bored with the conversation.

“Another Yankee! Heaven help us. They jest keep on comin'. Will there be no end to it?”

Marshall turned toward the spry old woman who was marching up the porch steps. She was eyeing him with obvious disdain as she approached.

“Thora, this man is a friend of mine, and I expect you to treat him with kindness.” Boyd pinned the older lady with a meaningful stare before he nodded toward the door. “I'm sure Audrey could use some help with the noonday meal. And be sure to tell her that Samson approves of our new guest.”

The woman's features pinched into an unswerving frown. “That cat has always been a good judge of character, but I'm not so sure this time.”

Marshall trained his gaze upon her as she stomped into the house. What was it about him that had brought out the worst in these women? He hadn't wanted to come in the first place, but these women made him question his decision even further. If it hadn't been for Boyd's pleading letters, he would have simply continued on to Jekyl Island without stopping at Bridal Veil.

Boyd grinned at Marshall. “The ladies of the house think the cat is a good judge of character. Thought it might help if Audrey knew Samson had taken a liking to you.” He pushed up from his chair and motioned toward the path leading away from the house. “Let's take a walk. I'd like to speak to you in private.” They were only a short distance from Bridal Fair when Boyd looked at him. “What finally convinced you to come?”

“Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you wouldn't quit writing to me. I figured the only way to stop those letters was to come down here.” Marshall grinned. “Besides, my work came to an end in Pittsburgh, and one of your earlier letters mentioned there would soon be construction work at Jekyl Island. Thought maybe I'd stand a chance of becoming one of the foremen if I got down here before they started to clear the land and build.”

Boyd nodded. “There's some work going on over there. Not sure how much they've accomplished or if they're still hiring, but we can talk about that later. To be honest, I hoped the lure of work would bring you when my initial letters didn't seem to sway you.”

“It isn't that you didn't write a convincing letter. Fact is, I was contracted for several jobs, and I couldn't just up and leave. I'd never be hired again if word got around that I'd walked off a job. You should know that better than anyone.”

Marshall slowed his stride to allow Boyd to catch up. The older man's legs were a bit shorter than his own, but Boyd's step was heavy, as though he was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. He wasn't the same man who had spent long hours performing construction work with Marshall's father years ago. But then, age had a way of stealing a man's vigor, and Boyd hadn't mentioned any health problems when he'd written.

“From what I hear, you're one of the best in the construction business nowadays. I think any of those contractors in Pittsburgh would give most anything to have you overseeing their projects.”

“That's a nice thought, but a man is only as good as his last job. You may recall that word travels fast in the construction business.” Marshall glanced at the older man.

There was little doubt Boyd remembered that architects and project managers would tolerate bad behavior only for a short time before they searched for a replacement. And though those in charge would never admit it, once a man was blackballed by one construction manager or architect, he'd have trouble getting hired by another—at least in the same city. And if one was somehow fortunate enough to find that second job and anything went amiss, he'd better be prepared to leave town and hope his reputation—or in this case his family's reputation—didn't follow.

Of course, back in his father's and Boyd's construction days in Pittsburgh, there had been project managers who enjoyed drinking and carousing as much as the men who worked for them. And it seemed both Boyd and Marshall's father had managed to work for those men during the greatest portions of their careers. Thoughts of his father and the mayhem his drinking had created for his family caused Marshall to shudder. That same demon had created pain and heartache for Boyd's family, as well.

“How are your brothers doing? Have they given up the bottle?”

Marshall shook his head. “I'd like to tell you they have, but I'm afraid not. All three of them live for the taste of liquor. Sad to watch them destroy their lives and follow in my father's footsteps. Quite a legacy the old man left for his sons.”

Boyd pointed to a large flat rock. “Let's sit a spell. You know, Marshall, bitterness won't change things for you or for them.” He lowered himself onto one corner and patted the spot beside him. “I call this my prayer rock. Reminds me of the solid rock I have in the Lord. When I can't figure things out, I come here and talk to Him. Thought it would be a good place to have a long overdue talk with you, too.”

A stab of envy shot through Marshall as he dropped down beside the older man. He was glad Boyd had given up the bottle, but Marshall questioned why his own father hadn't done the same. Why hadn't he come to know the Lord and changed his ways before he died? If only he'd put down the bottle long enough to actually see the pain he was causing his wife and children, life could have been so different. Instead, he'd gone to his grave leaving a legacy of three sons who'd chosen to follow his bad example. Except for him, all of Wilbur Graham's sons had decided to travel the same path as their father. And for that, Marshall had paid dearly.

“You're right about the bitterness: It doesn't change things. But it's hard to tamp down that anger when trying to do your best. The pain remains.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw.

Boyd tilted his head to one side and looked at Marshall. “I'm sorry for your pain. I know there was a deep divide between you and your father at the time of his death, but I hope that coming here to talk with me will help relieve some of that grief.”

Marshall doubted Boyd could help. The problems ran much deeper than a father who had gone to his grave an out-and-out drunk. He'd lived through that heartache and so had his mother. And they'd endured the horror of having the head of their household die in a barroom brawl. But Marshall doubted there would ever be healing with his brothers, for they were just as set in their drinking habits as their father had ever been.

“I don't see how it can help much. My father would never take my advice to give up the bottle, and my brothers are determined to follow in his footsteps.” Marshall leaned back and rested against the trunk of the tree that towered over the huge rock. “Since none of them will change their ways, I had to let them go from the last job, and I've refused to hire any of them. Now they won't speak to me.” He glanced at Boyd. “Not one of them is dependable, and I just couldn't take any more chances with them.”

Marshall didn't miss the look of understanding in Boyd's eyes. “They've put you in a hard place, for sure, but you had to meet your obligations to the men who hired you. I think the Lord expects a man to give an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. If your brothers weren't willing to do that, then they'll have to suffer the consequences—or find a contractor willing to tolerate their bad behavior.”

“I know you're right, but they're married and have children to feed. The guilt has overwhelmed me at times.” He kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “That's part of the reason I came down here. I figured if I left Pittsburgh, they'd realize they had to depend upon themselves and eventually see the error of their ways.”