Forbidden Son (14 page)

Tripp
thanked the man whose calloused, gnarled hands had shown a lifetime of hard
work. Then a sudden thought struck him, born of his subconscious suspicions.
“Do you think anyone would remember seeing a black limousine parked in front of
that house?” He pointed to the dwelling that looked as tired and worn as the
man standing before him. To where Carla Biggers had driven him two years ago—to
where Honey Belle had been too ashamed to bring him to meet her family.

The
old gent guffawed. “Look around you, mister. You think anybody in their right
mind would drive a limousine down here to Shanty Groves?”

Tripped
opened his mouth. Closed it again. The old gent had made a valid point. Shrugging
his shoulders, Tripp thanked the man for his time.

“Sorry,
young fella. Wish I coulda hep’d you.”

It
seemed Honey Belle had dropped off the end of the earth. Tripp had lowered his
eyes to a patch of sandspurs. He felt forlorn as hell when he returned to his
car and drove back to town.

A
brisk wind drew Tripp from his wistful thoughts. He shivered and pulled the
collar of his jacket closer around his neck.

He
looked up as a light in an upstairs bedroom winked on. The silhouette of a
woman framed the window.

Kathryn.

Eventually,
the light went out.

Only
then did he make his way back to the house and up to his own room.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Two
months later, in February of 1966, at the age of twenty-five, Tripp passed the
bar and received his
juris doctor
degree.

The
plans for a wedding created a stir in the Hartwell and Sutterfield households.
This wedding could mean family unity or political division. Tripp wondered
which it would be. His father was a staunch Democrat and his soon-to-be
father-in-law an even stauncher Republican.

His
marriage, a gamble, was here. June 21
^st
. The magical date Kathryn
had announced on Christmas Day. The grim reminder ate at him, forcing him to
admit he had hopes for this marriage. Except for the black-and-white picture of
the life growing inside Kathryn’s womb, he wasn’t exactly sure what those hopes
were—buried under a colorless outlook. He didn’t love Kathryn, and she didn’t
love him. But he wanted her.

On
the eve of his wedding, his father had been all doom and gloom. “I’ve had
second thoughts, son. I’m afraid I’ve pushed you into marrying this little
redhead for all the wrong reasons.”

“A
little late for that now, isn’t it, Father?”

“You’re
not at the altar yet.”

Tripp
laughed a humorless sound. “All my life you’ve preached duty and honor. I’m
duty-bound to marry Kathryn. If I leave her at the altar, where’s the honor?”
He almost wished he could bite back the words. Instead, he’d walked toward the
church sanctuary, ignoring the heat rising under his collar.

The
wedding rehearsal had proven awkward and stiff. His mother wasn’t feeling well
and had retired to bed early. Pearlie Mae had baked Tripp’s favorite, ham with
a bourbon-glazed pecan sauce. As he cut into a slice, he felt like a death row
inmate consuming his last meal.

How
could anyone prepare to spend the rest of his life with an unloving wife? He
wondered if someone had ever written a manual on how to survive marriage with a
woman you didn’t love.

He
decided he didn’t know anything of men and women, love and marriage, becoming a
father or raising a child. With a scowl, he tried to shrug off his pre-wedding
jitters.

On
the morning of his wedding day, a small but persistent tapping on his bedroom
door caused him to reluctantly open his eyes. He coughed to clear the rasp in
his throat. “Who is it?”

The
door opened and his mother peered around the edge. “May I come in?”

He
scooted up against the pillows and motioned her forward. She wore gardening
clothes and her slacks were damp and dirty from the knees down. “It’s a little
early, Mother. The ceremony isn’t until two o’clock.”

“A
wedding should have lots of flowers. Look out the window.” She offered her son
a dreamy smile.

From
where he stood, it looked as if his mother had cut every flower in her
treasured garden. A wheelbarrow teemed with a variety of color—roses,
daylilies, Queen Anne’s lace, lilacs, Echinacea, periwinkles, and impatiens.

“They
are lovely, Mother. I’ll contact Horace at the flower shop to see if he has
time to arrange them.”

Unless
the florist could arrange his mother’s cuttings to fit with the calla lilies
and pink miniature rosebuds Kathryn had ordered, he knew there would be hell to
pay. Tension built behind his eyes.

Mary
Alice reached up and kissed his cheek. His mother had always been there for
him, especially during the times when his father was too wrapped up in the law
to have time for a little boy. His father had showered him with
everything—everything except father-and-son quality time.

“Tripp?”

“Yes,
Mother?”

“Do
you think the baby will be born before my mind fades completely into oblivion?
I do desperately want to cradle a grandchild in my arms.”

Tripp
groaned inwardly. “There is no baby, Mother.”

Their
eyes met and she smiled. “I’m not so addle-patted, yet, that I don’t recognize
that special glow a woman wears when she’s with child. Kathryn is glowing.”

“Mother,
there is no—”

As
if turning a key in a lock, she lifted her fingers to her lips. “Tick-a-lock
and throw away the key. It’ll be our secret.”

How
could he resist? He hugged her. “She’s eight weeks, Mother. Can you hang on for
seven months?”

“As
my great-granddaddy, Willard Calhoun, used to say when he’d imbibed a little
too much of the corn whiskey, ‘I’ll do my damndest.’” She sighed heavily as she
placed her hand on his chest. “Tripp, whatever happened to that young woman?”

“I’m
not sure who you mean, Mother.”

“Yes,
you do. Her parents were the sharecroppers from Tennessee. I think she made you
happy.”

If
he didn’t know better, he’d think she was aware of his inner turmoil and the risk
he was taking with his heart. “Her name was Honey Belle, and she went away.”

“Be
happy, son.”

“I
love you, Mother.”

“And
I you.”

Be
happy?

With
his marriage a few hours away, seven months from becoming a new father, ready
to begin his career as a junior attorney, being happy was a tall order. Could
anything good come from a muddled beginning?

****

All
was quiet. Tripp had contacted the florist, who assured him no one, not even
Kathryn, would notice how he had blended Mary Alice’s flowers with those Kathryn
had chosen to decorate the church.

Tripp
was running late. He still had time to dress and make it to the church on time.
He checked his watch. It wouldn’t do to keep the bride waiting. That would
amount to a monumental mistake, and he’d made too many of those already.

He
checked his watch again and took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, his
father grinned up at him.

“Let’s
get a move on. Don’t want to be late for your own wedding.” His father offered
a wink as if approving of Tripp’s long-tailed white tuxedo.

“Where’s
Mother?”

“She’s
in the limo with Pearlie Mae.”

They
drove to the historic church where generations of Calhouns and Hartwells had
attended since before the Civil War. Tripp felt weak in the knees as he tried
to picture Kathryn in her feminine glory.

At
the church, ushers assisted Mary Alice and Pearlie Mae from the car and into
the church.

Tripp
swallowed hard. His great Uncle Carson Calhoun extended his hand. “Where’s that
little kid who used to follow me through the woods hunting arrowheads?”

Tripp
lifted a brow. “Right now, he wishes he was still a little boy.”

Carson
Calhoun straightened his nephew’s ascot. “Tripp’s got the jitters bad, hasn’t
he, Harlan?”

Judge
Hartwell agreed as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small box
and removed a pendant. “This is my father’s coat of arms from Scotland. He gave
it to me the day I married your mother. Now I’m passing it on to you.”

Tripp
was more touched than he cared to admit when his father pinned the crest on the
tuxedo’s lapel. And he knew someday he would do the same for his son.

With
a nod, Tripp murmured, “We should go in.”

The
three men followed the sidewalk to the east side of the church and entered
through a door that led to the front of the church, where Tripp took his place
before the altar, with his father as best man and his uncle as groomsman. As
the pianist played the wedding march, Tripp struggled to quell the battle of
emotions raging inside of him while everyone turned expectantly, all eyes on
the bride as her father escorted her down the aisle. He placed her hand in
Tripp’s.

Moments
later the reverend said, “Do you take this woman as your wife?”

The
words shook Tripp. He stared at the bouquet of baby pink rosebuds tied with a
deeper pink bow. He felt utterly indifferent at binding himself to this woman.

“Yes,”
he whispered, irrationally fighting down all his doubts, hoping he’d find a way
to love this woman. Yes, maybe he and Kathryn could build a happy life
together—for the sake of the child.

They
exchanged traditional vows. He felt a moment of guilt over the words “love,
honor, and cherish.” Did he really mean to keep this promise? He would do what
was expected. Theirs was a marriage of necessity, of convenience, the joining
of two aristocratic families. The building of a political empire.

With
a few brief words, he was tied to Kathryn.

The
ritual went on.

They
exchanged wedding bands—the physical ties that bound a man and woman together
through sickness and sorrow, through hard times and good times. Or should. Tripp
wasn’t sure of anything. Not even his bride’s loyalty. This was a marriage of
convenience. Did the words “till death do us part” carry any weight, or were
they meaningless, to be whisked away like dewdrops dying in the morning sun?

Tripp
couldn’t remember what they’d rehearsed. After he’d slipped the ring on her
finger, he held her hand until the end, a small and delicately boned hand that
had probably never washed a dish or pulled weeds from a flower garden.

It
was time to kiss his bride. He had to admit she looked beautiful. Like an
apparition he had conjured up, calm and filled with resolve, but he could feel
the slight tremble in her icy hands. His eyes held hers for a long moment
before dropping to her lips.

At
that point, she lifted her face, parted her lips. She closed her eyes. She was
a vision of beauty in her diamond tiara and white lace veil. He lifted the
filmy material and gently took her mouth. There was hunger, as well. He felt it
in her tremble.

Unsure
of what to do next, he frowned as he released her. Though he and Kathryn had
shared many intimate moments, he wasn’t prepared for the effect she had on him.
His mother’s words of wisdom curled around his brain like a smoky whisper.
Marriage
should start with friendship. Love will follow.

The
truth of the matter remained—were they really friends, or simply in lust? Only
time would provide the answer.

His
eyes strayed to Kathryn’s still-flat stomach. Until she’d shown him the picture
of the sonogram, he’d thought she was pulling another of her not-so-funny
jokes. Part of him felt possessive and protective. He was married. An admission
he found difficult to accept.

When
he’d kissed her, he wanted the earth to move under his feet. It didn’t.

They
turned, as one, to meet their wedding guests.

Tomorrow
would take care of itself.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Tripp
lifted the crystal picture frame from his desk. He pressed deep into the black
leather chair and swiveled it toward the window as he looked at the image of
himself and Kathryn standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Odd,
he thought, how the adverse effects a simple gift could have on a man’s life.
Many changes had happened since Christmas, and not all of them happy.

For
a moment he concentrated on the hustle and bustle of daily life taking place outside
his office window. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Paris
in the springtime had been a romantic adventure—

His
graduation gift to Kathryn. Looking back on it, he was certain he knew when
Kathryn had conceived. It was the day they’d explored the Louvre, lunched
inside the Eiffel Tower’s cafe, consumed wine on a riverboat ride down the
Seine, and then more wine in their hotel suite—and still more wine—until they
were both deliriously drunk and totally uninhibited. No thoughts of birth
control. Just wild drunken abandonment with no cares for the consequences.

The
reality of those consequences came in May, the week before graduation with
Kathryn’s tearful announcement that she was pregnant.

As
a wedding gift, the Hartwells had offered to buy a house in Charleston for
Tripp and Kathryn. Not to be outdone, her parents wrote a check for a generous
amount to furnish the two-story antebellum from stem to stern. With Paris still
fresh in their minds, and a photo album filled with pictures to serve as a reminder
of their holiday, much to Tripp’s relief Kathryn had agreed to forfeit a
honeymoon.

Six
weeks later she no longer purred like a kitten when he came home from the
office. Each day she grew more sullen and indifferent. He chalked her mood
swings up to impending motherhood.

****

Tonight
Tripp sat at his end of the dining table. A bottle of wine stood on the table,
nearly finished.

“Tripp,
we need to talk.”

He
looked at her. “Yes?”

“I
hate South Carolina. I hate the heat and the bugs. I sit all day long and twiddle
my thumbs. I have no friends, you work all the time, we never go out
anymore...” She threw her napkin across the table. “Honestly, I don’t know why
I’m still here.”

He
drew a long breath, not trying to hide the weariness in his voice. “Because
you’re pregnant and because you are my wife.”

To
underscore his equanimity, he used his knife to cut another slice of meat.

She
pushed back her chair. “Marriage was a mistake. Getting pregnant was a bigger
mistake.” Her pacing reminded him of a caged lioness, and then she pounced.

“You
work for your uncles. Make them clear your schedule. Let’s fly to Paris like we
did in March.”

Mentally
Tripp was already leafing through his work calendar. “I’m second chair on the
Bradshaw murder case. This is an opportunity to prove myself.” He spread his
hands wide. “With the trial only weeks away... I’m sorry, Kathryn. Now isn’t a
good time.”

She
snatched the bottle of wine and lifted it to her lips. Tripp pushed from his
seat and grabbed her wrist. “The doctor said moderate alcohol. You’ve had your
one glass.”

“To
hell with the doctor. To hell with you.” Her breath huffed out as if she’d been
running.

By
the way she avoided his gaze he suspected she had something else to say but had
decided against it. A moment later, he sat alone at the dining table. The steak
on his plate had lost its appeal.

Willing
to negotiate, he rose from the chair and with hands shoved into his pockets,
climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

“Kathryn.”
He spoke to her back.

“What?”

“We
have enough evidence to put Everett Bradshaw away forever. I don’t expect the
trial to last more than a few weeks, at the most. When it’s over, we’ll
celebrate the victory with a trip to wherever you choose.”

Kathryn
remained facing the window. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tried to
hug her against his chest.

“Don’t.”

Tripp
dropped his arms as she twisted around to face him. He’d heard that pregnancy
caused some women to become temperamental. His uncle had advised him to agree
with everything and with nothing at all.

Her
arms hung at her sides. “I’m going home—to Illinois.”

“For
how long?”

“I
was thinking of asking Daddy to find you a position as an aide on one of his
committees. All your life you’ve lived in Podunk USA. You have no idea what
it’s like on Capitol Hill. I want that, Tripp, and I want it now.”

He
braced his legs apart with a direct challenge. “Kathryn, we’ve discussed this.
No favors. Everything in politics comes back to haunt you. I’ll make my own
way. When and if I decide to run for office, I don’t want snarky reporters
broadcasting it all over the news that my father-in-law paid the bill.”

“Things
aren’t working out, Tripp. I’ve already bought my plane ticket.”

“Just
like that?” His gaze held hers, with no room for evasion.

“Why
not?”

He
conceded. “Perhaps a couple of weeks with your mother, some shopping trips,
lunch with friends at the country club is exactly what you need. When you
return home you’ll feel better.”

She
looked at him as if weighing her reply. “I-I’m...not coming back.”

His
shoulders tensed. “For the baby’s sake, don’t you think our marriage deserves a
chance?”

With
a guttural sound that reminded Tripp of an animal’s growl, Kathryn placed her
hands on his chest and shoved with the force of a locomotive. The move caught
him off guard and sent him sprawling. When the side of his head connected with
the bed’s footboard, he thought this must be how it felt to have a bomb go off
inside your brain. He lay on the floor, black spots dancing before his eyes.
Pain riveted down his neck.

Shaking
away the dizziness, he was on his knees when Kathryn screamed. He stumbled from
the bedroom.

The
maid shrieked, “Mister Tripp, hurry! The Missus done had an accident.”

Ignoring
the violent throbbing and the goose-egg rising over his temple, Tripp rushed to
Kathryn’s crumpled body at the foot of the stairs. He placed fingers to the
side of her neck, checking for a pulse. “Stay with her, Martha, while I call
for an ambulance.”

The
maid wrung her hands as she fretted. “Lawsy me, Mister Tripp, Miz Kathryn come
barreling down dem stairs like a nest of yellowjackets was after her. She was ’most
to the bottom when she missed a step and flung her poor self to the floor. Oh,
lawsy, she ain’t gonna die, is she?”

His
lips were tight. “If she rouses, keep her quiet and don’t let her move.” He
prayed the fall hadn’t hurt the baby.

****

Tripp
accepted the cup of coffee his father handed him. The Judge said, “I spoke with
Mrs. Sutterfield. The Senator is tied up in special session, but she’s leaving
on the first flight out.”

For
the umpteenth time, Tripp checked his watch. “Why hasn’t the doctor come to
speak to us?”

The
Judge patted his son on the shoulder. “Try not to worry, son.”

For
two hours Tripp paced, sat, drank more coffee, and prayed. He’d finally settled
in a chair, resting his throbbing head between his hands, when the doctor’s
voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Mr.
Hartwell?”

Blood
pounded inside Tripp’s ears as he stood. “Yes?”

“Your
wife is resting.”

“The
baby?”

“I’m
sorry,” the doctor said, and a heavy sadness filled Tripp’s chest and his eyes
closed, tears managing to slip between his lashes.