AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No. Now I want some real food.”
“Coming up. In the meantime, why don’t you wash your hands and start fixing a salad?”
“Okay,” Molly agreed readily and moved toward the hallway to the bathroom. She paused at the hall entrance, her hand resting against the wall. Glancing over her shoulder, she said to Bridget, “I really don’t play with dolls any more, Mom.” There was a funny expression of disdain on her youthful face.
“Imagine that,” Bridget murmured dryly to herself as her daughter disappeared.
Bridget was forced to postpone the discussion with her mother until the weekend. The evenings when she was home Molly was naturally nearby, and since the object of the discussion was to warn her mother not to talk about Jonas when Molly was around, Bridget would have been disregarding her own advice.
She waited until Molly had saddled her Morgan mare, a daughter of the mare her grandfather owned, and gone for a ride. Then she walked across the road to the big house.
As usual the house was immaculate, a reflection of its fastidious mistress. The woodwork and furniture were polished to a glowing sheen. Not a speck of dust lurked anywhere. Sunlight gleamed through clean windows, accenting the pristine whiteness of the curtains.
Brightly colored throw pillows were plumped and artfully arranged on the plush sofa, seeming to deny that an elbow had ever rested against them. Books were orderly and arranged on the shelves with not a single magazine or newspaper on any of the tables. Bridget always had the impression she was looking at a room about to be photographed for a magazine, regardless of which room of the house she was in.
Her mother’s initial delight at Bridget’s unexpected visit didn’t last long. She had launched immediately into the usual unthinking chatter until Bridget interrupted to explain the reason for her visit. Margaret Harrison’s indignation was immediate.
“Your father and I were talking privately. Bill kept his voice down. I had no idea at all that Molly was listening,” she said defensively. “I certainly wouldn’t even have mentioned that man if I had.”
“I know that, Mother,” Bridget replied. “I’m only saying that if you must mention Jonas, don’t do it when Molly is around. She’s at an impressionable age. I tried to convince her that she didn’t get the story straight and I told her not to think about it any more.”
“Well,” Margaret said huffily. “Facts are still facts. I wasn’t lying. You certainly don’t expect me to encourage her to like him, do you?” Her mother stiffened visibly. “After the way he treated you. I would think you would want to make sure Molly had nothing to do with him.”
“You misunderstand my reason. I don’t see any reason for Molly to know about what happened ten years ago. Thanks to your big mouth—”
“Bridget!”
“Sorry. I have to admit I’m really teed off about this, Mom. Anyway, thanks to you she now has a general idea, and that’s where I want it to end.” Bridget lifted the delicate china cup from its saucer and inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed tea, hot and strong the way she liked it. “Jonas is our neighbor and there’s nothing you or I can do about that.”
“I think Molly shouldn’t see him at all,” her mother sniffed, her dark head regally erect, not a brunette hair out of place. “If he’s returned to Randolph with the thought of winning you back—and I think he has—then he very well might try to win her over first. What better way of getting to you and persuading you to forgive him?”
It was a somewhat plausible theory, especially coming from someone who watched a lot of soap operas like her mother, and it might have eroded Bridget’s resolve not to be taken in by Jonas again. Except the theory had a weak point.
“I think you’re wrong, Mother,” she insisted.
“I doubt it. The man would do anything to get what he wanted. He’s proved that as far as I’m concerned,” was the emphatic response.
“I know what you mean, but …” Bridget hesitated, trying to put into words something she only sensed. “Jonas thinks that Molly is Brian’s child. It was obvious the other day when—” Bridget stopped. She hadn’t meant to tell her mother of Jonas’s visit.
“When he was looking at the family pictures and you told Molly to go play with her dolls,” her mother said with a faint air of superiority, as if nothing could be hidden from her for long. At Bridget’s startled glance, she smiled complacently. “Molly told me all about it. Or have you seen him since then?”
“No, I haven’t.” Bridget resented the way her mother could make her feel guilty for something she hadn’t even done—and make her feel as if she was still a child.
“It’s a shame when my own granddaughter gets sent out of the room. What’s going on? Why wasn’t she allowed to stay when Jonas was there?”
“I think you’re encouraging her to be a tattletale,” Bridget snapped. “And that’s going to stop right now. I won’t allow it, Mother. I’ll take her to work with me every day if I have to.”
Her mother glared at her without replying. Bridget felt obliged to say more, if only to put a few suspicions to rest. “Anyway, I asked Jonas to leave and he did.”
“The next time he comes over, I wouldn’t even open the door to him if I were you.”
Obviously Molly hadn’t told her grandmother that Jonas had been made to stay out on the porch or that it had been a while before Bridget had invited him in. But her decision to do so had been impulsive and not something Bridget understood even now, so she wasn’t going to try to explain it. She was deeply upset by the behavior that her mother was encouraging, and at a loss as to how to stop it, despite her vow to take Molly to work. Yes, she could do that, but her mother would find some other way to get information out of her granddaughter. Margaret’s controlling behavior wasn’t healthy for any of them. Bridget sipped at her tea, making no comment at all.
“I saw him in town the other day,” Margaret Harrison spoke absently. “Of course, he didn’t see me,” she added hastily. “But I noticed the way the women seemed to gravitate to him, staring at him whether he looked their way or not. Tell me the truth, Bridget. Are you still attracted to him?”
“You know the old saying, Mother. Once bitten, twice shy.” But she was attracted to him. All the wariness in the world didn’t alter that. Bridget replaced her cup in its saucer and straightened from the wing-backed chair. “I have a lot to do. I’d better be getting back to the house.”
“Must you?” her mother sighed ruefully.
“Yes,” Bridget insisted.
“You and Molly come over for dinner this evening then.”
Bridget opened her mouth to refuse, then thought better of it. She might get a chance to talk to her father alone and get his take on the situation. “What time?”
“Is six too early?”
“That’s fine. See you later.” She walked quickly to the front door before her mother could succeed in delaying her a few more minutes.
