Promise Me Tomorrow

  28

  “Can you tell me what this flower is?” Rusty asked of Quintin just three hours later. She was unpacked and settled, and they were off on what Rusty termed an “adventure.”

  “I think those are Shooting Stars.”

  “I think you’re right. They’re so wonderful, and the gardens here are so beautiful, Quintin. Don’t you love them?”

  He nodded but his eyes didn’t drift to the flowers. As she had been since arriving, Rusty was keenly aware of his adoration. She’d been praying all morning that she would be very careful with this child’s heart, and she did so again right now. He was so impressionable and sweet. Already she felt blessed to have him love her as he did.

  “Well, now, I think that we can go inside for a while. Was Mrs. Harding reading a particular book to you?”

  “We just finished one. She didn’t start another because we ran out of time.”

  “So we get to pick one ourselves?”

  Again the familiar nod.

  “Well, let’s go.” She held out her hand. “I can’t wait.”

  Just minutes later they were in the library, and Rusty was pulling books from the shelf in no particular order. She placed them on the library table, the room’s only piece of furniture, and continued to pull some more. Watching her, Quintin felt alarmed. Mrs. Harding never let him choose from that many books. Rusty was intent on her task, so it took her a moment to notice his face.

  “Quintin, what is it?”

  “It’s too much.”

  Rusty looked at the pile of books on the table and back at the little boy. “You think I chose too many books?”

  “We’re not supposed to.”

  Rusty knew right then that she could not listen to that for the rest of the summer. She glanced around and spotted Mr. McCandles across the drawing room. He was at his desk, head bent over his task.

  “Come with me, will you please, Quintin?” Rusty took his hand and led the way toward Chase’s office. The doors were open, and he saw them approaching. He began to stand, but Rusty stopped him.

  “Please don’t get up, Mr. McCandles. We just have a question.” With that she looked to Quintin. “Quintin, will you please ask your father about the books?”

  He looked as if she’d just asked him to spit on the carpet. He glanced at her and then at his father, his face frozen with surprise. Rusty took over.

  “Quintin and I would like to know if there are some books in the library that we should not touch, or if you would rather we looked at only a few at a time?”

  Chase shook his head. “All the books can be touched, and you may read or look at as many as you like.”

  “We can take them down from the shelves?”

  “Certainly.”

  Rusty looked down to her side.

  “Did you hear that, Quintin?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can pick any books we want, and as many as we want,” she reiterated.

  He nodded, and she watched his little chest rise and fall with relief. Rusty smiled at him.

  “Quintin, will you do me a favor and go back into the library and look at the books on the table? Take out anything that looks fun to read and put it in a separate stack. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He walked away to do as she bid. Rusty watched him move out of earshot and then turned back to Quintin’s father.

  “Did you mean it when you said I should come to you for anything I need, Mr. McCandles?”

  “Absolutely,” Chase answered without hesitation. He had come to his feet now but was still behind the desk.

  “I’m feeling in something of a quandary,” she admitted. “I took you quite literally when you said I should come with my own style and way of doing things, but as you can see, it’s not that simple. The quandary comes as I realize that Mrs. Harding will be returning. I can’t tell Quintin to forget all her rules, but by my actions I’ll be saying just that. If you don’t mind that we look at as many books as we wish, then this must be her rule. From the one other day Quintin and I spent together, I know she has many. What would you like me to do?”

  Chase nodded. The reason Rusty had hesitated over coming was clear to him for the first time. He had determined just hours ago, however, that he was not going to look to the end of the summer.

  “I’ll speak with Quintin.”

  Rusty was surprised by this but very pleased. She stood to one side and then held her place. Halfway across the drawing room, Chase looked back at her.

  “I want you with me, Katherine,” he told her, and Rusty joined him without comment. “Quintin,” his father spoke as soon as he entered the book-lined room. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  Rusty tried to ignore the painful way the child came to attention to listen to what her employer was saying.

  “Mrs. Harding took good care of you, Quintin, and she did so in the way she thought was best. She had rules for you, and that was fine. Miss Taggart is here—”

  “Aunt Rusty,” Rusty boldly corrected him, and after only a glance at her, he started over.

  “Aunt Rusty is going to have her own rules. When Mrs. Harding comes back she’ll have her rules, but for now—for this summer—you are to do as Aunt Rusty instructs you. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What if we get dirty?” Rusty asked, and this time he didn’t even glance at her.

  “You can get dirty,” Chase told his son.

  “What if we don’t do things on schedule?”

  “You’re to follow Aunt Rusty’s schedule of doing things, which means you might not go to the reading room on certain days or even eat at the set time. Is all of this clear to you, Quintin, or shall I explain something again?”

  “Yes, sir—I mean, no, sir.”

  “Very good. I know I can trust you to be a good boy for Aunt Rusty and do as she says. She’ll take good care of you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Some of the rigidity left his posture when Chase placed a hand on his shoulder. Rusty was waiting with a smile when the little boy looked at her.

  “Did you find a book you like?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, we’ll keep looking. Be sure to thank your father for coming in to talk to us.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.”

  Rusty now smiled at Chase. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Such a thing has never entered my mind.”

  Rusty gave him another grateful smile and stood aside as he went on his way. She turned her attention to Quintin and in no time at all they had found a book and replaced all the others. With only a small amount of coaxing, she talked Quintin into lying beneath the library table and starting their book there. It was going to take some time, but she was going to give him what she termed a “normal” summer. She knew they were well on their way when she looked over at one point to find his eyes on her.

  “Do we want to be done with this book for the day?” Rusty asked, her hand going up to tenderly cup his cheek.

  “No, but I’m hungry.”

  “I’m hungry too. Shall we ask Mrs. Whitley if we can eat in here under the table?”

  “Yes,” he said simply, his eyes alight with joy. He hadn’t even hesitated. Rusty knew they were making progress.

  Rusty came slowly down the stairs, not too tired, but feeling that she’d worked hard and done well. Quintin had been bathed, read to, and prayed with. He was now sound asleep. Tempting as it was to seek her own rest, something occurred to her as she was putting him to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep until she checked into it. As she hoped, Mr. McCandles was still downstairs.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. McCandles,” Rusty said, standing at the doorway of the drawing room and watching her employer rise from one of the deep chairs—the very one she’d slept in during her last visit to the McCandles home.

  “It’s no bother at all. Please be seated.” Rusty
complied, and he asked, “How did the first day go?”

  “Very well, I think. Quintin is so delightful, but I’m just a little concerned about being so far from him during the night. The upstairs landing is so large, and our rooms are across from each other. His room sits at such an angle that I can’t see him in his bed. I’m more than willing to sleep with my door open, or if you would like, I could sleep on the floor of his room.”

  “I appreciate your offer, Katherine, but I don’t think you need to do that, at least not while I’m home. Quintin’s room is the nursery, so I have a door that leads from my room into his. I’ll just start sleeping with that door open. I’ll come for you should he need you.”

  Rusty nodded, looking relieved. It was clear that she was on the verge of thanking him and rising from her chair, but for reasons Chase never thought to examine too closely, he didn’t want that. He stopped her with a question.

  “Did it help for me to speak with Quintin?”

  “Yes, thank you very much. He has moments when he looks at me uncertainly, but since you spoke with him he has stopped saying, “We can’t do that.” And of course, that is what I hoped for.”

  Chase frowned. “I guess I’ve been remiss in not keeping a little closer eye on the way Mrs. Harding does things, but she told me she was strict, and that was the reason I hired her.”

  Rusty’s head went to one side. She spoke with no censure in her tone, only curiosity. “Was there some reason you especially wanted someone who would be strict?”

  “Yes. I feel that I was allowed to run altogether too wild when I was young. I wanted better for Quintin.”

  “And do you feel that you’ve accomplished that?”

  Her question gave him pause, not because he caught any underlying message in her tone or face, but because he didn’t think anyone would ask that unless that person thought he hadn’t been completely successful. He was on the verge of asking her about her question when Mrs. Whitley came to the door.

  “Will that be all for the night, sir?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Whitley. Unless Miss Taggart wishes something.”

  “No, thank you,” Rusty said as she rose. “I’m tired and ready to turn in, but thank you for offering.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope you sleep well.”

  “Thank you.”

  With that Rusty bid the housekeeper and her employer goodnight. She made her way up the stairs, her mind still on the conversation with Chase. He had said he might have been remiss where Mrs. Harding was concerned. Rusty saw that as a hopeful sign. Maybe given enough time, time to see Quintin laughing and happy, he would want that for him all year and not just for the summer.

  Down in the drawing room Chase eventually went back to his book, but like Rusty, the conversation stayed on his mind. Had he failed where Quintin was concerned? He simply didn’t know. He hadn’t answered Rusty’s last question or been able to ask any more of his own. Was he relieved or not? He found himself with yet one more question for which he didn’t have an answer.

  “Mrs. Whit,” as Rusty had come to call her, “if anyone is looking for us, Quintin and I will be in town.”

  Melinda Whitley took this announcement in stride, forcing herself not to look in Cook’s direction, but she was not as calm as she appeared. Nearly a week of living with Rusty Taggart had taught her many things, but she was still not beyond surprises.

  “Is Whit taking you, Rusty?” the older woman felt free to ask. She used Rusty’s nickname also, since Quintin’s summer companion had insisted upon familiar names as soon as she’d met all the staff.

  “No, I found a pony trap in the stable, and Quintin and I get along famously with Dobbins, so we’re going to give it a try. We’ll be gone only a few hours.”

  “Just a few hours,” Quintin echoed from her side. He was already a different boy in her care.

  “Would you mind if I asked Whit to take you in the carriage?” Mrs. Whitley tried again. “I know he wouldn’t mind.”

  Rusty shook her head and said with a smile, “Please don’t. I might need a little help with the trap, but Quintin and I want to go for a ride on our own.”

  Mrs. Whitley sighed, but she had to smile. There was a time when she’d had Rusty’s energy, but never was she so imaginative. It was something to see.

  “All right. I’ll ask him to check on you. When did you want to leave?”

  “As soon as we can get the trap ready. We’re off to see to it now.”

  Cook and Mrs. Whitley watched as Rusty and Quintin pilfered cookies from the pan on the table, called a thank you, and nearly skipped out the door. In something of a state of shock, the housekeeper finally looked at Cook. That woman’s voice brought her back to earth.

  “Melinda, you’d better get Whit.”

  “Oh, yes.” Mrs. Whitley sprang into action, all the while hoping that something would be wrong with the pony trap. She knew after the first weekend that she couldn’t run to Mr. McCandles every time Rusty did something out of the ordinary, but right now she was strongly tempted to seek him out. Thankfully there was no need; her husband was nearby and saw to everything.

  Within 20 minutes he had them ready to go, and under his watchful eyes he was able to report back to the kitchen that Rusty did know what she was doing. Whit had also been able to get an approximate time of return out of her and added that if she wasn’t back within three hours, he would come looking for her. Knowing Rusty would never do anything to bring harm to Quintin, and barring the unforeseen, the staff knew they would have to force themselves to rest. It was sure to be a long afternoon.

  29

  Chase McCandles was standing at the window of an upstairs bedroom when he spotted the pony trap carrying Rusty and his son. Certain his eyes were playing tricks on him, he blinked and did a double take, but it was all too real. He hit the stairs at a full run and arrived in the kitchen to find Cook and the Whitleys. He wasted no time in small talk.

  “Where are Katherine and Quintin?” he asked, his breathing labored.

  “On their way to town,” Mrs. Whitley answered honestly.

  “In the trap?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Saddle my horse, Whit.”

  “I’m on my way, sir.”

  Chase didn’t even watch him leave. He turned right back to Mrs. Whitley.

  “Did they say where they were going?”

  “Just into town, sir—I believe for lunch. Whit told Rusty that he would come looking for her if she wasn’t back in the time she said.”

  “How long was that?”

  “Three hours.”

  Chase shook his head but didn’t speak. He knew she was impetuous, but this had never occurred to him. Anything could happen to a pony cart. The thought of Quintin being harmed was more than he could take. He knew he might be overreacting, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Mrs. Whitley was saying, feeling she’d failed when she let Rusty go. “I know that Rusty would never do anything to harm Quintin, and Whit worked with her and said she handles the reins very well, but I’m sorry, sir.”

  “It’s all right.” Chase was calmed by her words. She was right, of course. Rusty would not be foolhardy. “I’ll just see how they’re doing and go with them into town. Don’t look for us anytime soon. We’ll come right back only if there’s a problem.”

  “Very well, sir. I hope everything is all right.”

  Chase had the very same hope as he thanked her, slipped into the coat Cook had fetched for him, and moved out the door. Moments later he was in Shelby’s saddle, headed toward town at a full gallop and praying all the while that Rusty and Quintin were safe, but also that he would keep his head in this new situation.

  “Quin! Do you see that bird?” Rusty exclaimed, bringing the trap to a stop in the middle of the road. The little boy gasped as he followed her pointing finger.

  “He was big!” he exclaimed, and both of them looked over the small lake they were passing. The bird was winging his way
toward a copse of trees on the other side, and the two travelers watched in delight and awe.

  “What type do you suppose it was?” Rusty asked with a genuine desire to know.

  “It looked like a prairie falcon,” Quintin said with confidence. “I wish I had my book.”

  “We’ll have to check when we get home. Wouldn’t it be fun to see the nest and eggs? Do you suppose the eggs are large too?”

  “They might be. The book will have that too. Mrs. Harding always found that for me.”

  Rusty sighed. It was such a special treat. “I’m so thankful we were able to see that bird. God makes such wonderful creatures, doesn’t He, Quin?”

  “Like birds,” he agreed.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Rusty slapped the pony’s reins and they were off again. Briarly was not far from the main streets of town, but they were not quite there when Chase caught up to them. He rode up easily, looking more as if he were out for a ride than searching for them. When Rusty realized who it was, she brought the trap to a stop.

  “Well, Quin, look who’s joined us. Hello, Mr. McCandles.”

  “Hello.” He spoke calmly enough, but Rusty caught a look in his eye as he swung down from the saddle. “I thought I might join you.”

  “Certainly,” she said, but some of the delight had left her. Had she done something wrong? Had he gotten bad news? Rusty knew she would have to wait to find out, but she was rather uncomfortable about the direction of her thoughts.

  “We were just going into town to have lunch and do a little shopping,” she explained, her voice somewhat subdued. “Won’t it be nice to have your father join us, Quin?”

  The little boy nodded but didn’t comment. He was still preoccupied with the possibility of seeing more birds. Rusty kept her eyes on her employer, but he said nothing else until he’d pulled himself back up into Shelby’s saddle and they had started down the road.

  “Where were you planning to eat?” he asked Rusty over the clip-clop of the hooves.

  “I’m not sure. Can you make a recommendation?” She was still feeling uncertain.

  Chase nodded. “I think the Antlers Hotel.”