The Captain's Christmas Homecoming, page 20
His father nodded and waved a hand toward the hallway.
Upon climbing the stairway and entering his father’s office, George closed the door behind him. “Taking over this company was always my goal. Managing it, growing it...” He shrugged. “Living it.”
Arms crossed and leaning against the front of his desk, his father nodded. “I know.”
With no regrets or second thoughts, George stated, “If I have to make a choice between Emma and Weston Lumber, I choose Emma.”
“Why would you have to make a choice?”
“North Country Logging, namely Jill.”
His father nodded. “You’ve heard what she’s been saying.”
Anger flashed through George. “What has she been saying?”
“She claims Fred, her father, disowned Ruth, Emma’s mother, when she eloped with William, and that Emma, along with her father, when he’d been alive, had been plotting to get their hands on North Country Logging ever since Ruth died.”
Instantly defensive, George said, “That’s not true! When did she tell you that? Why didn’t you tell me? Her hatred—”
“I know, son. I know.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Jill didn’t tell me. Roy did, last night, and he’s worried that Jill is out of control. He hadn’t known that either Ruth or William had passed away. What he has discovered since learning that is that Jill never dispersed the inheritance, and she wanted the marriage between you and Martha in order to merge the companies, because that meant there would be no monies exchanged. North Country Logging would be dissolved, no longer exist.”
“So there would be nothing for Emma or her sister to ever inherit,” George said. Understanding more, he said, “Jill’s been planning this since Ruth died, and before that, she spent years trying to break up Emma’s family.”
His father lifted an eyebrow.
“Emma told me that Jill visited them yearly and tried to convince Ruth to leave her family and return to Albany.”
His father shook his head as he pushed off his desk and walked to the window. “When Fred and my father started these companies, it was a true partnership. They shared everything. Their employees would cut lumber all winter, and mill it all summer. It wasn’t until my father married my mother that the companies made a formal separation. My father said he was staying here, in Albany, year-round, with his family.”
Turning about, his father continued, “My father made a choice—his family over the company—so what you said about choosing Emma is nothing new. It’s how it should be. When a man loves a woman, has a family, they come first. It sounds like Ruth chose that, too.”
George nodded, yet he admitted, “I wanted you to know so you wouldn’t be disappointed.”
“You’ve never disappointed me.”
“My choice could cause North Country to cut all ties with us.”
“Business—life, for that matter—is full of risks.” His father shrugged. “The best advice I can give on that is sometimes you go by your gut, sometimes by your heart.” He scratched the side of his face in front of one ear. “Your mother and I had to do that, with you. We were never an opponent of you and Martha marrying. She’s a nice enough girl and I wish her all the best. At first, we thought it was just two young children with unrealistic expectations, but when that never changed as you grew up, we became concerned, but ultimately had to go with our hearts and believe that you’d make the right decision for your life.”
Reading between the lines, George said, “You knew Jill was behind it.”
“Yes, and if you recall, anytime I brought it up, you became more determined, so I bit my tongue and your mother gnawed off her fingernails as we waited for you to figure out you had choices.”
Embarrassed to admit it, George said, “I would have done it, Dad. I would have married Martha if she hadn’t called off the wedding.”
“And you would have accepted the consequences,” his father said. “Because that’s who you are. You’ve never shied away from responsibilities. But I’m glad that didn’t happen, and so is your mother.”
“I am, too. Very glad, but what should we do about Jill? About North Country?”
His father shook his head. “You’ve already done it. You’ve put the wheels in motion. Come spring, we’ll be accepting delivery of logs from other loggers. If North Country defaults or pulls their contracts, we’ll go out on the market and buy more logs. We can afford it.”
“And the family alliance?” George asked.
“I’ll leave that up to you and Emma,” his father said with a grin. “She is Jill’s niece, but she’ll be your wife and therefore our daughter-in-law, the only one we’ll ever have, and we’ll always support the two of you, in every decision you make.”
George smiled sadly. Emma would be the only daughter-in-law his parents would ever have, but only if he could change her mind about marriage.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “In my opinion, we better hold on to our hats.”
“Why?”
“Emma had the idea to help children, and your mother bought in hook, line and sinker. Look what they created. Trust me, this won’t be the last thing those two come up with.”
“Probably not,” George agreed, laughing.
“We should go see if we can help get things wrapped up here. Otherwise, we’ll be decorating a tree at midnight. It’s on your mother’s list of things to be completed today.”
George knew that, and he knew exactly when he’d ask Emma to make their engagement real. Tuesday. While delivering gifts to the orphanage.
Chapter Fifteen
Emma had been at school for less than an hour Monday morning when she was asked to report to the principal’s office by the school secretary. That had never happened before, and she assumed it had to do with the gift-giving program. Perhaps Mr. Segal had a family that he wanted to include on the list. The teachers had all been more than willing to help and had expressed gratefulness on behalf of the children they knew the program would benefit.
The number of gifts that had come in was shocking, but Amy was so good at organizing and planning things that even with a few additions, everything would be delivered to the children tomorrow. On Christmas Eve.
Emma was overjoyed with the entire program and was looking forward to seeing the children at the orphanage tomorrow.
With happiness filling her, she entered the school office and crossed the room to the door of the principal’s office.
Mr. Segal was a large man, with a ring of black hair around his otherwise bald head and black-rimmed glasses that sat low on his nose. His deep voice could be considered intimidating to both children and adults.
“Miss Ellis,” he said, gesturing to a chair near the door of his rather small office, compared to his size, upon her entrance.
George was taller than Mr. Segal, and his shoulders broader, but Mr. Segal was certainly broader in all other areas.
She found herself doing that all the time—comparing George to every other man she encountered—and tried to clear her mind as she sat and folded her hands on her lap.
“It’s been brought to my attention,” Mr. Segal said, looking at her over the rim of his glasses, “that your position here is no longer needed. Your final pay will be mailed to you at the end of the month.”
Emma was too stunned to speak. To think. It took several seconds before she was able to say anything. “No longer needed?”
“That’s what I said.” He waved at the door. “My secretary has collected your coat and whatever else. You can get it from her.”
Overwhelmed with shock, confusion and questions, Emma didn’t move. Couldn’t. This didn’t make any sense. Mrs. Davis, the librarian, had praised her work the entire time she’d been here. Needing some sort of clarity, she asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Segal, but I have done something wrong?”
“Please don’t insult neither mine nor your intelligence with unnecessary questions. I said your position is no longer needed.”
Other questions formed, but she accepted he wouldn’t answer them, so she stood, on weak, trembling legs, and walked out of his office. His secretary, Miss Wallace, was standing there, with Emma’s blue coat and purse in hand.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ellis,” the woman whispered, shaking her head so hard that her red curls bobbed. “So sorry. You’ve been wonderful. Mrs. Davis is beside herself at the news.”
Mrs. Davis was a dear. Working with her had been wonderful. And the children... Emma shook her head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you,” she said, taking her coat and purse.
“I wish I knew why he was doing this,” Miss Wallace said. “I truly do.”
So did Emma, but voicing it was impossible. Barely managing to get the word out, she whispered, “Goodbye.”
The principal’s office was near the front door, and she grasped ahold of the banister as she maneuvered down the outside steps of the building. Without the banister, she may not have been able to walk without falling. She couldn’t imagine this was because of the gift program, and Mrs. Davis had never suggested she’d done anything wrong.
It was so shocking. So confusing.
George had given her a ride to school, so she wasn’t wearing her wool pants or boots, but was too numb to notice the cold as she began the walk home. Still holding back tears, she purposefully didn’t look behind her, at the school. If she did, the tears would start rolling.
She hadn’t yet reached the end of the block, when the ahooga of a horn honking sounded behind her. It couldn’t be George, yet she turned to look because she certainly could use his comforting arms around her right now.
It wasn’t his black-and-red car; instead, it was a bright blue one, driving slowly.
Emma’s entire being turned colder than the air as the car rolled up next to her, with the woman driving it showing a grin so evil the devil would be frightened.
“I told you to heed my warnings,” Aunt Jill said. Then, she sped up and drove away, her cackling laugh echoing in the car’s wake.
At that moment, it felt as if a hole had opened in the ground beneath Emma’s feet and sucked her into it.
She hadn’t truly disappeared, but it felt as if her entire world had.
She should have expected something like this to happen. She’d known the life she’d been living couldn’t last. She should have imagined that her aunt would do just as she’d said. Ruin everything. But the ultimate truth was it was never real, and could never have lasted. George could never be engaged to, let alone marry, a girl like her. Why, when had she let herself believe that?
The tears could no longer be contained because she understood exactly what this meant.
* * *
By the time she got home, she was stiff from the cold, and her face numb from the tears that had fallen for several blocks. She could no longer feel her heart beating, either—it was as if it had frozen, too. Either that, or she was so full of anxiety, of worry, that she couldn’t feel anything. Her entire being had turned to ice. The panic that had overtaken her at times had gone from ragged and wild, to suffocating. At the moment, she just felt exhausted, like there wasn’t a single part of her that could go on, could function.
She sat on the sofa, head in her hands, as all sorts of thoughts swam about in all directions.
One stuck out. Aunt Jill would ruin Weston Lumber. Run it into the ground. She’d gotten her fired from the school to prove she could do anything.
Anything.
Emma rubbed her forehead, hating the thought that came next. The life she’d been living here was over. Over.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
Feeling came back to her body with stabbing, burning jolts of pain, and her thoughts faded as if she was awakening from a dream.
All except for one.
She had to leave. Now.
Leaping to her feet, she paced the floor, looking around at all the things she’d acquired since moving here. Dishes and rugs, the picture of a ballerina, the vase with the rose painted on it, the books stacked on the desk and the lamp with the fringes on the shade.
They were little things, replaceable things, but she loved them. Bought them with money she’d earned. It was as if they were proof that she hadn’t gotten stuck in the slums.
It was the things that she couldn’t see that were really breaking her heart.
The children at school.
Beverly.
George.
Her heart felt as if it was breaking in two and her lungs forgot to breathe, sending her body into mini spasms of panic as she tried to gulp for air. She clung to the back of a kitchen chair until air finally filled her lungs.
After that, reality came in flashes. There were moments she knew what she was doing, and moments when the fog in her mind was so thick that she just moved, making decisions that moments later she’d change, question why she’d put something in her suitcase, take it out and replace it with something that couldn’t be left behind.
She couldn’t say if reality ever truly returned while she was at her apartment. At some point, a strange hollowness had filled her, and it was still there when the taxi dropped her off at the train station. It remained as she stood in line and eventually showed her ticket to the man inside the caged booth.
It was the one she’d bought to go to New York City after Sharon’s baby arrived. She wouldn’t stay there long. Just long enough to figure out a place where no one would find her.
Not ever.
“Your train won’t leave for an hour,” the man said, sliding the ticket back under the bars. “The porter will validate it after you board. Next!”
“Thank you.” She took the ticket and stepped aside, moving automatically and without feeling. The station was full of people, but there were open spaces on the benches in the center of the large depot. She remembered admiring the beauty of the building when she’d first arrived in Albany, but now it was all just a blur.
She found a spot to sit, set her one and only suitcase on the floor by her feet, her purse on the bench beside her, and tried not to think.
Not think about all she was leaving behind. She’d long ago learned that her feelings didn’t matter and it was foolish to believe that they did this time.
* * *
George used the key Beverly had given him to enter her apartment, and upon closing the door, he saw the bags of scarves, hats and mittens that she’d described. She had forgotten them this morning when Willis had picked her up to finish the preparations for distributing the gifts. She’d been beside herself at her forgetfulness and he’d offered to drive over and pick them up for her.
He chuckled when he saw the hat hanging on the hook above the bags. The one with the daisy pinned to it. A lot had changed since the day he’d met her at the train station.
George then turned to the table, to look for the gloves that Beverly had also forgotten and asked him to retrieve. They were there, but as he approached the table, he noticed a key lying there, identical to the one in his hand, and a ring.
His ring.
The one he’d given Emma.
There was also a note, with handwriting that he instantly recognized.
A shiver rippled over him as he stared at the cream-colored paper. Images of letters flashed through his mind. Every letter that Emma had written him.
On their own accord, his eyes scanned the first line, then he grabbed the note off the table, read it completely, with his heart pounding the entire time.
Dearest Beverly,
I’m already missing you and haven’t even left yet, but I must, and I must hurry. I’ll write when I can. Please give George the ring and tell him I’m sorry. So very sorry.
Please tell Mr. Allen that whoever rents my apartment can have everything I left behind, unless there are things you want. Perhaps the vase with the flower painted on it that you admired? There will be a letter arriving for me from the school, please forward it to Sharon’s address in New York.
Thank you.
I’m going to miss you very much.
Love,
Emma
Her sister’s address was written beneath her name.
He flipped the note over, searched the table for something, anything, that might tell him more, but there was nothing.
Nothing to tell him what the hell was going on, what any of this meant.
His throat burned as he read the note again. The penmanship was the same, yet it wasn’t as smooth as usual, as if she’d been shaking while writing.
Something stronger than fear and rawer than anger rose in him. It was pain. That of losing someone he loved. She was gone and had no intention of returning. Ever.
Why?
He knew the answer to that.
He’d trapped her. The one thing that she hadn’t wanted.
Sick to his stomach, he leaned over the table, staring at the ring and breathing through the pain.
Then he grabbed the ring and shoved it in his pocket, along with the letter.
The engagement had been fake, a deal they’d struck, but he’d made it real, and in doing so had scared her off.
She’d even quit her job. A job she’d loved. All because of him.
Marriage hadn’t been something she’d wanted. She’d told him that the first time they’d met. He’d told her the same thing.
Because he’d known marriage wasn’t for him.
That it would never be for him.
Nor was love. It only caused pain. Raw, hot, searing pain.
Furious at himself, he grabbed Beverly’s gloves and threw the door open. Taking one step over the threshold, he remembered the bags he’d been sent there to retrieve. He walked back inside, grabbed the bags and left.
After locking the door, he realized the white hat with the daisy pinned to it had fallen into one of the bags. So be it. He wasn’t unlocking the door to put it back. He’d deliver the stuff to Beverly, and then he was leaving.
