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“Uncle Culley!” Cat had noticed him, too, but her call went unheeded. She left the car and hurried down the narrow path between the graves to intercept him. “Uncle Culley, wait!”
He slowed and finally turned to meet her. The cold air had taken some of her breath. She paused to catch it again while she searched his stony fact. There was a haunted bleakness about his eyes, the only sign that revealed the extent of his grief. She was moved by it.
“Will you please come home with us?” She felt, oddly, that she was talking to a child, despite the gray of his hair. “A few people who were very close to Mother are stopping by The Homestead for coffee. You should be there, too.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his glance sliding briefly past her. “I’m not welcome there.”
His reason momentarily stunned her. “Yes, you are,” Cat insisted. “You’ll always be welcome, the same as when Mother was alive.”
“Nothing’s the same.”
“Please come. I know how much you miss her.” Her voice became choked, breaking on a sob. “So do I.”
Gently, the way someone would caress a delicate petal, he touched her cheek. There was a sadly adoring look in his eyes. “You look so much like her.”
All through the memorial service and the graveside ceremony, Cat had struggled to hold back the tears, trying to wrap an adult privacy around her grief. But at sixteen, she wasn’t as mature as she wanted to be. The little gesture of love from a man so lonely and alone as her uncle unleashed the awful ache. Without
caring how childish it looked, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in the warm collar of his coat and needing the silent comfort of a pair of arms around her.
Culley held her close. The ache inside him was so great it hurt to breathe. Yet there was solace in the way she needed him that filled a void. She was a part of Maggie. He still had that. A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth as he silently thanked Maggie for giving him this.
But he was also conscious of the couple standing by the car, watching them. As always he was aware of all things that went on around him. Gently but firmly he held Cathleen away from him and wiped at the wet trail of her cheeks.
“I’ll always be close by if you ever need me,” he promised her. “You’d better go now. Your brother’s waiting.”
She started to turn away, then stopped to plead one last time, “Won’t you come?”
“No. I’m not good around people,” he said gently and urged her along with a motion of his hand.
“I’ll come visit you—soon,” Cat promised and headed for the car, glancing over her shoulder now and then to see him standing there, so alone.
“You should speak to her, Ty,” Tara murmured in disapproval of the emotional scene between uncle and niece. “I don’t think that sort of thing should be encouraged.”
“I wouldn’t be concerned about it if I were you.” He opened the car door and helped her inside. “They’re just sharing their grief.”
As Cathleen reached the car, she explained, “I asked him to come to the house, but he wouldn’t.”
“It’s probably just as well, Cat,” he said and walked around to the driver’s side.
At The Homestead, Ty stopped the car and climbed out to assist Tara and Cathleen, but he didn’t accompany them up the front steps. Halfway up, Tara paused to see what was keeping him.
“Aren’t you coming in with us?” she queried sharply.
“No. I’m going to stop over to see Ruth Haskell for a few minutes,” Ty explained. “The doctor wouldn’t permit her to attend the services today, so I thought I’d pay a call on her.”
On the surface, it seemed a thoughtful gesture, yet Tara kept remembering that Jessy Niles had gone to comfort the old woman when the news had come about the plane crash. There was no reason to believe Jessy had gone there after the funeral, but the nagging suspicion wouldn’t leave her, even though it seemed inconceivable that Ty might be going to the Haskell home in the hope of seeing her.
She crossed the porch to the front doors, letting Cathleen go ahead of her. She paused in the doorway to watch Ty driving away from the house.
“Tara Lee, is something wrong?” Stricklin came to the doorway, his flat blue eyes looking out at the sight that had captured her attention.
“No.” It was a quick answer as she turned smoothly away. “Nothing at all.” She stepped inside, briskly tugging off her gloves. “Where’s Daddy?” she inquired calmly, then saw him talking with two other people in the living room. She went forward, at long last the mistress of the Calder Homestead.
“Hello, Vern.” Ty shook hands with the sullen-faced man who admitted him into the Haskell home. “How have you been?” He removed his hat and unfastened the top buttons of his charcoal-dark topcoat.
“Poorly.” The old and stooped man leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled to a rocking chair. “Not that I ever asked for sympathy,” he declared sourly and lowered his arthritic body into the chair. “You’ll be wantin’ to see Ruth. She’s in her room lyin’ down.” He pointed toward a door with the end of his cane; then his expression took on a sly look. “The Niles girl is with her, which maybe you knew and maybe you didn’t.”
“Thanks.” Ty let the last remark pass without comment and crossed to the door. Meeting Jessy had not been his motive in coming, but he couldn’t deny the warm tingle it had given him when Vern informed him she was here. He rapped lightly on the door, and Jessy’s voice bade him to come in. As he stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him, he caught the small leap of light in Jessy’s hazel eyes and was pleased. Her long, straight hair was coiled in a shimmering knot atop her head, adding dignity to her strong features. Her dress of mourning was a simple blue wool, a warm color like the sky between dusk and night.
