“A rescue?” Mumbled the bespectacled man across from him.
“Yes, Mr. Gilchrist. Mr. Trenton was kind enough to set James’s arm.”
The man’s gaze flew to the boy sitting on Cass’s right. “Oh, ho, what happened here?”
“I fell from the chair,” James explained as he awkwardly speared a green bean with the fork clutched in his left hand.
“I’m sure that’s quite the tale,” Mr. Edmonds interjected.
“It is. One of mischief,” Deirdre quipped. “My son was trying to reach the tin of biscuits I’d stowed on the top shelf.”
So that’s how the accident had happened. It sounded exactly like something Cass would have done as a boy. Not for the first time that night, he wondered what would have happened if he’d defied his father and stayed. If he and Deirdre would have had a son like James.
“You said we could have some after we finished sweeping the porch,” James sulked.
“I did not intend for you to take matters into your own hands, young man,” she said with a steely expression.
“You never let us have any fun,” he grumbled into his cup of milk. When he set it back on the table with a petulant thunk, he was sporting a mustache.
“You shouldn’t disrespect your mother, lad. She’s trying her best to put a meal on the table and clothes on your back.” He lightly rubbed the boy between the shoulder blades. “And you should wipe your mouth with your napkin.”
In what seemed like an act of defiance, he swiped his sleeve across his face.
“James Aloysis, I’ve had quite enough of your shenanigans tonight. Off to bed.”
“But what about my apple tarts?!” He whined.
“If you’re lucky, there’ll be some left to break your fast in the morning.”
Both of the men across from him were doggedly shoveling food into their mouths, as if they were loath to interfere.
“Surely the lad deserves at least one as consolation?”
This time he was the target of her thunderous frown. “I’d advise you to stay out of business not your own, Cass Trenton.”
Mr. Gilchrist’s head whipped up. “I’m handling the last will and testament of Percival Trenton. Any relation?”
Cass crossed his arms. “My father. He’s why I’m back in town.”
“Aha.” The man’s gaze was keen, but he said nothing more. No doubt the man was privy to his father’s ramblings about his disgraced, shameful son. Who’d abandoned his family and showed his face again because he thought there might be something in it for him.
Cass clenched his fork. “I was summoned back here by my mother. She pleaded with me to come home.”
The man merely nodded. “Mothers are always the ones who try to make amends.”
Cass threw his head back and laughed. “So my father has no desire to do so. I suspected as much. I don’t know why I even wasted my money on train fare.”
Her hand landed on his shoulder before she spoke. “Sometimes it’s best to let things come full circle. You can make peace with your choices - even if it means you won’t reconcile with your father.”
Even if coming back just opened the wounds he’d left behind and made them more raw?
“I’m sure my father’s filled Mr. Gilchrist’s ears with stories of my misdeeds, and influenced his opinion of me. I’ll take my cue and say my farewells.”
His chair scraped loudly on the floor as he threw down his napkin and pushed away from the table.
She followed him all the way to the door. “Cass, wait,” she finally pleaded as he was setting his cap on his head.
“What more is there to say, Wildflower? I’m a disappointment. I always have been. I thought I’d escaped it, but the minute I set foot in that house I felt like I was ten years old again.”
