Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3) 0

Sure enough, a few minutes later Troy drove up to the house. He climbed out of his truck as Chrissie dashed out the front door and down the front steps to join him.

Susannah stood at the living room window, her mouth pursed with disapproval. She watched Troy grab Chrissie around the waist, then drag her to his side as if staking claim to her sleek, young body. Troy’s older pickup truck was scratched and dented, but the sound system seemed to be top of the line. It was loud enough to rattle the living room windows.

The couple disappeared, leaving a trail of exhaust in their wake. Her instincts told her he was trouble. Where that trouble would lead her daughter, Susannah was afraid to guess.

With Chrissie gone, the house seemed unnaturally quiet. Susannah figured she had maybe two hours during which to work or relax before returning to Altamira. She roamed around the house, looking for an unchallenging task, something that would help pass the time. She would’ve called Joe, but he and Brian had gone salmon fishing for the weekend. Joe said he felt it was important that he bond with his son, in the same way Chrissie and Susannah were doing.

Some bond. Despite Susannah’s best efforts, most of her and Chrissie’s conversations since Friday afternoon had revolved around Troy. And most of that was Chrissie defending him.

Walking down the hallway, Susannah paused in the doorway to her father’s office. The old mahogany desk with the filing cabinet in one corner still needed to be cleared out. Her father had been dead for seven months now and other than the drawer she’d emptied, that desk was exactly as she’d seen it the day of his funeral.

Susannah sighed wearily. There seemed to be no better time to tackle his desk than now. She sank down in the chair where her father had routinely sat to pay bills. Opening the top drawer, she scooped up the first group of file folders. They turned out to be for the various utilities, in alphabetical order, followed by a file for the bank. It was filled with mortgage statements.

The house had been paid off long ago, but every statement could be easily located had anyone asked. She couldn’t imagine where he’d kept the last forty years of cancelled checks and knew without a doubt that she’d stumble on them sooner or later. When she did, they’d be categorized by day, month and year.

The desk would take her about two hours, she estimated, prepared to assume the task. With the shredder, a Christmas gift from her and Joe several years earlier, to one side, she sorted through each file.

There seemed no good reason to hold on to all this paperwork. She flipped through the folders, giving them a cursory inspection, then shredded the contents. It was when she reached the last files in the top drawer that she discovered one marked Colville Natural Gas.

That gave her pause, since her parents’ house wasn’t heated by natural gas.

Sensing that she wouldn’t like what she found, she opened it to examine the contents. The first sheet appeared to be a letter of some kind, dated January 1973. Susannah’s gaze slid to the bottom of the page. She gasped.

She quickly scanned the text, and her outrage exploded when she realized what she was reading. She vaulted to her feet.

Her father had paid Allan Presley to leave Washington State—with Jake. In exchange for five thousand dollars cash, Mr. Presley had agreed to move a minimum of five hundred miles from Colville. Allan Presley had accepted this cash with the understanding that he and Jake would not only leave Colville, but never return.

Even with the evidence in her hands she couldn’t accept that her father would commit such an act of betrayal. She knew Jake’s father needed money. As young as she’d been at the time, Susannah remembered Jake’s concerns about his father’s financial problems. Knowing Allan’s hand-to-mouth existence and his weakness for the bottle, her father had offered him money. He’d paid the Presleys to get Jake out of Susannah’s life. Because his father had agreed to this blackmail—and that was precisely what it was—Jake had honored his father’s word. Although he loved her—and Susannah believed that with all her heart—he’d walked away.

Susannah crushed the sheet of paper in her fist as she fought to control her emotions. She’d known. A part of her had always known it would be something like this. Her father had been desperate to keep Jake out of her life, desperate enough to send her to Europe. Desperate enough to manipulate Jake’s life, Allan Presley’s life and that of his only daughter. It was maddening. No, it was more than that—it was wrong.

Unable to keep this to herself a minute longer, Susannah grabbed her purse and headed out of the house, taking the signed contract with her. She’d smoothed out the crumpled paper, which was now neatly folded in her purse.

Her irritation had settled down but her stomach continued to roil as she found a parking space in front of Altamira. She hoped her mother had managed to rest, because Susannah needed answers and she needed them now. This letter wasn’t the only thing she’d uncovered. There’d been some odd withdrawals from his bank account, too.

To her surprise, Vivian’s door was open when she arrived. She walked in to see another woman visiting her mother.

“Susannah,” Vivian said, her eyes smiling with happiness. “Look who’s come to see me.”

“Hello,” Susannah said, entering the small apartment. Whoever this woman was, she didn’t recognize her. She could only hope it wasn’t another “friend” like Eve. “I’m Susannah Nelson, Vivian’s daughter.”

“Sally Mansfield,” the woman said. She was about the same age as her mother, but seemed more…alert. More aware.

“I’m a friend of your mother’s cousin Judy from California. Lloyd and I were passing through the area twelve or thirteen years ago in our motor home and we went to see your parents. We’d had such a good visit with them when they drove out to California several years earlier.”

“That was the year…” Whatever was on Vivian’s mind didn’t quite make it to her tongue.

“You had a grandson born that year,” Sally prompted.

“Yes, yes, the year Brian was born. Remember? Dad and I took a road trip to California that summer.”

Susannah did recall a summer excursion, but she’d been busy at the time, with a toddler underfoot and a new baby. Her parents so rarely traveled that whenever they did, it was memorable.

“At any rate, Lloyd and I liked this area so much when we visited that we sold everything in California and moved to Washington. We bought property about twenty miles west of here.” Her mouth turned down for a moment. “I’m afraid we got so involved with our place and our traveling that we just sort of…lost touch with your parents.”

“Oh.”

“Lloyd died five years ago and I’ve been alone ever since. I moved into Altamira two years back. I was absolutely delighted to learn that your mother’s living here now.”

“I think the world of Sally,” Vivian said, grinning shyly at the other woman. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that we’ve met up again.”

“No more pleased than I am.” Sally gently squeezed Vivian’s hand. “I hope you’re coming down to the fireplace room for the ice-cream social this evening.”

Vivian nodded eagerly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

This was exactly what Susannah had prayed would happen. She’d wanted her mother to find a friend so she wouldn’t feel isolated. Here was Sally, and already Susannah noticed a crack in her mother’s defenses.

The three chatted amiably for several minutes before Sally yawned and announced it was long past her naptime.

“I haven’t had my nap yet, either,” Vivian echoed.

Susannah walked Sally to the door and whispered her gratitude. “I’m so glad you sought out my mom. She needs a special friend.”

Sally’s tired eyes shone with humor. “We all do. Now, don’t you worry about your mother. I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

“Thank you,” Susannah said fervently. “Oh, thank you.”

By the time she returned, her mother was in her favorite chair, feet propped up, her head resting against the cushion. She’d closed her eyes.

“I’ll leave soon, Mom, but I have a question first.”

Her mother’s eyes slowly opened. “What is it, dear?”

“Do you know anything about this?” She handed her mother the creased letter.

Her mother read it quickly and frowned. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

“It’s an agreement between Allan Presley and Dad,” Susannah said.

“That singer again?”

“No, Mom. Allan Presley is Jake Presley’s father. Remember, Jake was my high school boyfriend?”

Her mother nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

“Dad paid Mr. Presley five thousand dollars to move Jake out of Colville.”

Vivian shook her head. “Your father would never do anything like that.”

“Mom!” Susannah cried and because she was so upset and restless, she started pacing. “You’re holding the evidence. Look at that sheet of paper and you’ll see Dad’s signature and Mr. Presley’s.”

“That was a lot of money in—” she glanced at the date “—1973.” Her mother’s frown deepened. “Where would your father get that kind of money?”

“I don’t know.”

Her mother sighed. “He was very good with money. He was such an intelligent man.”

Susannah was in no frame of mind to think positive thoughts about her father. “It was underhanded and cruel…. I could hate Dad for this.”

“Now, Susannah…”

The distress in her voice must have broken through to her mother. Vivian eased her legs from the ottoman and leaned toward her. She stretched out her hand. “You’re upset.”

“Yes. I’m very upset.”

“But everything worked out for the best. You married Joe and you have two beautiful children. You and Joe have done so well.”

“Yes, I know, but I could’ve had a good life with Jake, too. I loved him, Mom, and it kills me to find out how my own father manipulated us.” She struggled to make her mother understand why this was important. Yes, she did have a husband and family—a husband and family she loved—but she’d never know what she might have had with Jake. She’d taken the path that led to Joe because the path she would have chosen, Jake’s path, had been closed to her. By her father.

“Oh, dear, do you think I was involved?” Vivian asked and then answered her own question. “I don’t know, I might’ve been, but I have to say it doesn’t sound the least bit familiar. That was a lot of years ago.”

Susannah felt sick to her stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, dear,” her mother said with the utmost sincerity. “I’ll speak to your father about this the next time he visits.”

“Mom…”

“George will remember. He was always good with details. He’ll remember and when he tells me, I’ll let you know.”