Read Online Promises to Keep by Char Chaffin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Char Chaffin
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sweet Annie—”
“But she doesn’t even know Annie. She doesn’t know her family. They’re great people, Martha. They love me , not because my last name is Quincy. And Annie doesn’t care, she never did. I’ve loved her since I was thirteen. We’re meant to be together. It’s all that matters.”
“Oh, honey, I’ve got eyes to see! I remember the first time she came here, what a cute little thing she was.” Martha smiled in remembrance. “She’s grown into a lovely young woman. I know she loves you for all the right reasons.” Her smile faded into lines of concern. “But love isn’t always enough, Trav. You’re enough of an adult to understand what I’m talking about.”
Travis threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “So what are you saying? You think I should just let it be, let Mother continue to hate the girl I love and never understand why? You think that makes a better foundation for our future? Because we’ve got a future together . With or without Mother’s blessing, Annie and I are going to get married someday.”
“No. You will not , Travis. Believe me when I say this, you will not marry that girl.” The voice came from the doorway of the kitchen and had a hard edge to its usually cultured overtones. Startled, Martha and Travis both swung around.
Ruth stood there, poised and polished in severely tailored, dark gold wool slacks and an ivory cashmere sweater. In her eyes Martha saw no warmth, only an implacable determination.
“Travis, you and I are going to have the discussion we should have had last night.” Ruth’s tone held ice. “I expected you home at a decent hour, and you chose instead to squander your time with that girl.”
She turned to Martha. “You will please leave the kitchen. Travis and I need our privacy.”
“Not in my kitchen you don’t, missy.” Martha ignored her hoity tone. “You want to fight with your boy, take it into another room. I’ve got a luncheon to cook. Your luncheon, in fact. So you just scat, and Trav, you go with her.”
Travis pushed his chair back and stood, waiting, but Ruth refused to budge. “I’ll thank you to remember you are an employee of Quincy Hall. You will never speak to me again in such a manner. Is that understood?”
Slowly, Martha got to her feet. “I will speak to you in any manner I like, when I think you’re acting like a snooty brat. Which, right now, you are.” Her voice was quiet, but not at all subservient. “I’ve lived here a heck of a lot longer than you, Ruth. If you don’t like the way I act, then you’d best take it up with Ronnie.”
“Don’t call him by that common name!” Ruth’s temper visibly flared.
“He was Ronnie to me, long before he was a husband to you,” Martha retorted. “Now if you will excuse me, I have food to cook.”
Ruth couldn’t get enough air in through her tightened throat to speak a word. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she stood in front of Martha, who in one quick minute reduced her to a fifteen-year-old girl again. All of her breeding, along with most of her learned refinement, seemed to slide down the drain as she stood in the kitchen of her own home feeling like an outsider.
“Mother. You wanted to talk to me. Let’s talk.” The low command made her spin around. Travis stood near the doorway with a hand extended to her. Numb, she allowed him to take her arm and pull her from the kitchen, across the foyer, and into the study. He shut the door behind them and guided her over to the plush love seat near the bay windows. She sank onto the overstuffed cushion.
First her cook, and now, her son. Like strangers, both of them. Treating her horribly, as if she were of no consequence. When had their opinion of her disintegrated so much? Ruth folded her hands together in her lap to still their trembles.
She made herself really look at her son. When had he gotten so tall? Ruth suddenly found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to rethink
“But she doesn’t even know Annie. She doesn’t know her family. They’re great people, Martha. They love me , not because my last name is Quincy. And Annie doesn’t care, she never did. I’ve loved her since I was thirteen. We’re meant to be together. It’s all that matters.”
“Oh, honey, I’ve got eyes to see! I remember the first time she came here, what a cute little thing she was.” Martha smiled in remembrance. “She’s grown into a lovely young woman. I know she loves you for all the right reasons.” Her smile faded into lines of concern. “But love isn’t always enough, Trav. You’re enough of an adult to understand what I’m talking about.”
Travis threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “So what are you saying? You think I should just let it be, let Mother continue to hate the girl I love and never understand why? You think that makes a better foundation for our future? Because we’ve got a future together . With or without Mother’s blessing, Annie and I are going to get married someday.”
“No. You will not , Travis. Believe me when I say this, you will not marry that girl.” The voice came from the doorway of the kitchen and had a hard edge to its usually cultured overtones. Startled, Martha and Travis both swung around.
Ruth stood there, poised and polished in severely tailored, dark gold wool slacks and an ivory cashmere sweater. In her eyes Martha saw no warmth, only an implacable determination.
“Travis, you and I are going to have the discussion we should have had last night.” Ruth’s tone held ice. “I expected you home at a decent hour, and you chose instead to squander your time with that girl.”
She turned to Martha. “You will please leave the kitchen. Travis and I need our privacy.”
“Not in my kitchen you don’t, missy.” Martha ignored her hoity tone. “You want to fight with your boy, take it into another room. I’ve got a luncheon to cook. Your luncheon, in fact. So you just scat, and Trav, you go with her.”
Travis pushed his chair back and stood, waiting, but Ruth refused to budge. “I’ll thank you to remember you are an employee of Quincy Hall. You will never speak to me again in such a manner. Is that understood?”
Slowly, Martha got to her feet. “I will speak to you in any manner I like, when I think you’re acting like a snooty brat. Which, right now, you are.” Her voice was quiet, but not at all subservient. “I’ve lived here a heck of a lot longer than you, Ruth. If you don’t like the way I act, then you’d best take it up with Ronnie.”
“Don’t call him by that common name!” Ruth’s temper visibly flared.
“He was Ronnie to me, long before he was a husband to you,” Martha retorted. “Now if you will excuse me, I have food to cook.”
Ruth couldn’t get enough air in through her tightened throat to speak a word. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she stood in front of Martha, who in one quick minute reduced her to a fifteen-year-old girl again. All of her breeding, along with most of her learned refinement, seemed to slide down the drain as she stood in the kitchen of her own home feeling like an outsider.
“Mother. You wanted to talk to me. Let’s talk.” The low command made her spin around. Travis stood near the doorway with a hand extended to her. Numb, she allowed him to take her arm and pull her from the kitchen, across the foyer, and into the study. He shut the door behind them and guided her over to the plush love seat near the bay windows. She sank onto the overstuffed cushion.
First her cook, and now, her son. Like strangers, both of them. Treating her horribly, as if she were of no consequence. When had their opinion of her disintegrated so much? Ruth folded her hands together in her lap to still their trembles.
She made herself really look at her son. When had he gotten so tall? Ruth suddenly found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to rethink
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