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Mr. Jones coughed discreetly behind his hand, hiding his thoughts behind a large white handkerchief.
“And after this research you feel you have an idea of what you want?”
“I know exactly what I want in the mother of my son, Mr. Jones.” He enumerated the qualities for the lawyer. “Calm, rational, levelheaded, to name a few traits. Unemotional. A woman who won’t expect to be involved in my life other than in matters to do with my child in the first few months of his life.”
There was a gleam in the older man’s eyes that was extremely disconcerting.
“This hypothetical woman, then. You believe she will just calmly hand over her child and disappear? That the two of you would live happily ever after?”
Jefferson nodded.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want from the contract. A calm, rational agreement between two adults.” He barely heard the mumbled aside.
“Seems to me a woman would have to be very calm to agree to such a thing. Dead, in fact.” Mr. Jones shook his head slowly.
“I would make it worth her while,” Jefferson rushed in and then stopped, appalled at how the words sounded when you said them out loud.
His face flushed a deep red at the intensity of Jones’s scrutiny. Jefferson had always known he came from a family of wealth and prestige; tact and diplomacy were the rule. Never once had he been tempted to misuse his assets. But suddenly he wished he could spend a portion of his father’s overblown bank account to buy back those words, unsay them.
Lawyer Jones evidently felt the same way for he frowned, his wise blue eyes accusing in their scrutiny.
“But what about this woman? How long will you need her? What happens to her once the first few months of the baby’s life have passed and you no longer need her? Do you expect she will have no feelings for the child.that she’ll just disappear with cash in hand?”
When stated in those terms, Jefferson’s plan sounded arrogant; even slightly odious.
The older man snorted in disbelief.
“And.what if the child is a girl?”
Jefferson hadn’t thought about that.
“And what do you tell the child about his mother in ten or fifteen years?” the old man asked in a no-nonsense voice.
It was too much information overload, especially on a day when everything seemed out of sync.
“I don’t know. But I’m confident that I can handle whatever needs to be done.” Even now, Jefferson’s mind whirled with plans.
He had chosen a name for the boy. Breaking with eons of family tradition, Jefferson had decided his son would be named Robert, Bobby for short. It was all planned out, everything was in place. His lawyers had the financial details organized into a formal agreement.
“Mr. Jones, I merely require the right woman for my purpose. It will mean that my business plans for expansion will have to be shelved for the moment, but I feel it’s worth it.” Jefferson hoped the man understood that he would not be swayed by these trivial problems.
Willard T. Jones sat polishing his round spectacles, staring at them for a long solemn moment. When he finally glanced up, Jefferson caught a sparkle of amusement in the old man’s eyes.
“Well, Mr. Haddon. I’m sure you’ve thought about this long and hard. If I may, I’d like to offer a suggestion.”
Jefferson nodded.
“My advice is this. Put everything on hold. The issue of Miss McNaughton’s estate has yet to be settled and if you recall-” he smiled dryly “-your marital status may well change.”
“Oh, I don’t.”
“In six months’ time, the entire picture will look very different. I suggest you take the time necessary to think everything through. You might start with the estate.” Jones tipped back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling while speaking. “Judith Evelyn McNaughton was a cagey, stubborn old woman who went to the grave with a last-ditch effort to manipulate you into marriage. She specially chose Cassie Newton.”
Privately, Jefferson thought Judith’s latest bid for control of his future made all her other matchmaking attempts picayune by comparison.
“She knew how hard you’ve worked to make a success of your company. Just last month she was telling me of your need to expand your business. And of your need for more cash.”
Jefferson was startled by the words.
“I didn’t realize she had kept such close track of me while I’ve been out of the country,” he murmured, staring at his hands.
“She wanted you to have the means to expand.”
Jefferson grinned. “But only if I got it on her terms. Good old Judith.”
“The way I see it,” the older man continued, “she gave you two months’ grace. Think long and hard before you decide, my boy. Make very sure you won’t regret giving up the very things Judith wanted you to have.”
As he walked down the street, Jefferson Haddon shook his head at the ridiculous situation he found himself in. Memories, sharp and clear, tumbled around in his mind. He could still visualize Judith’s thin, severe face with that prim mouth pressed into a firm line as she bawled him out.
“One must always consider the other person, Jefferson. For in one way or another, whatever you do will affect him.”
That had been the time Freddie Hancock has socked Jefferson in the nose for saying Freddie’s mother was fat. Well, Jefferson grinned fondly, it was true. All the Hancocks had been fat. But Mrs. Hancock was enormous and when her arms wrapped around him in a hug, his eightyear-old body had been suffocated against her overflowing abundance.
He’d also been embarrassed. Aunt Judith had remonstrated with him on the social niceties before patting his hand gently.
“That’s the way many people show their affection for you, dear,” she had said. Her golden eyes had been sad. “I wish you would open up more. Most people just want to be friends. If you give them a chance, you will enjoy them.”
Needless to say, that had not been Jefferson’s experience. There were few opportunities for boyhood friends in the austere home his father maintained and very little free time to pursue such interests. There were even fewer people in Jefferson’s young life who had ever hugged him.
Aunt Judith had understood that. She had also been one of the few to whom he had granted that particular privilege. And as she gathered his gangly body against her thin, frail frame, he’d felt warm and cared for inside.
His mouth curved in remembrance.
Of course, Melisande Gustendorf had tried to hug him a number of times in those days. Usually when he was with the guys. Mel would sneak up behind them and wrap her arms around him. She was weird that way. And at twelve, what boy wants to be hugged in public by a girl?
Jefferson smiled fondly as he remembered the lesson about birds and bees that Aunt Judith had related when she heard about Melisande. Aunt Judith had never married; never had children. Explaining the details must have been embarrassing, but she had persevered until Jefferson’s every question had been answered. And then he had made darned good and sure Melisande never got within six feet of him!
His memories of Aunt Judith made him chuckle as he drove back to his penthouse apartment on the waterfront. Most of the time he was satisfied with the place. But today he felt hemmed in, constricted by his aloof tower.
“Dinky little rooms stuck way up in the sky,” Judith had scolded him constantly about his chosen lifestyle. “You live out of reach of people. Why, you can’t even touch God’s wonderful creation, the earth, without driving for twenty minutes.”
In a way, Judith was right. From his panoramic living room windows, he could see the city clothed in her glorious fall colors. By late October the leaves had all turned to vibrant oranges, brilliant reds and sunny yellows. Many had fallen, but there were still enough to create a picturesque view.
But it would take a while to drive to one of the reserves, park his car, and walk among the beauty.
“You should be out in the fresh air, chop a few logs when the weather gets crisp. A fire feels good in that stone fireplace when winter sets in.”
“But Aunt Judith, I have to be near my work.”
She had glared at him then and his eyes had dropped first.
“You know blessed well that your work could be conducted from anywhere. Why, these days some folks use a computer for everything. Don’t have to leave home to talk to people, shop or even go to the library.”
She had tapped her walking stick against the bricks of the patio, almost knocking over one of the pots of rusty orange chrysanthemums she always set out in the fall.
“Don’t hold with it myself. People need people. A body should have a time to work and a time to play. Too many folks taking their work wherever they go. And those danged cell phones.”
Jefferson grinned in remembrance.
“The blamed things always ring at the wrong time.” She had glared at him angrily as his own pealed out. “A body can’t have a decent conversation nowadays.”
At Judith’s estate, Jefferson knew there would be crunchy crisp leaves underfoot when you first stepped out the door. They would float down on the fall breeze, covering the vast expanse of lawns. A few pumpkins and some of the hardier vegetables would sit outside in the garden, and he could almost taste the ripe red crab apples weighing down slender trees in the orchard.
The decision was made without thinking and moments later, Jefferson found himself ensconced in his luxury sedan, hurrying toward Judith’s huge estate, aptly named Oak Bluff. Suddenly, he had a longing to see the old, sturdy brick house with its huge oak and maple trees standing guard around the circular driveway; to walk in the naturally wild terrain at the back of the grounds and feel the fresh air wash over him.
It was exactly as he remembered. Stately majestic and yet welcoming. The house stood firm against the elements, its pottery red brick and spotless white trim gleaming in the bright fall sunshine. Bennet had cleaned the debris off the walkway and the front lawns, but Jefferson knew there would be a thick carpet of crackling, wrinkled red and gold leaves just outside the back door.
He let himself into the house with the key Lawyer Jones had given him and dropped his overcoat on a hall table before glancing around. Richly polished oak paneling led the way into the library, his favorite room in the entire house.
Aunt Judith had a vast number of books, both old and new, crowded onto the shelves, carefully catalogued and indexed by subject, then author. Nestled into a nook on the far side, Jefferson knew there was a computer, printer and fax machine that Judith had frequently used. In one corner, under a window, stood the old desk her father had given as a birthday gift many years before. Its rolltop cover was closed now that the owner was gone. He brushed his hand over it fondly.
“Hello? Anyone home? Bennet?”
There was no answer. He wandered through to the patio.
The deck was littered here and there with golden yellow poplar leaves that whirled and wafted down on the delicate breeze. The redwood patio furniture was still out and since the afternoon was warm, Jefferson decided to sit outside until Mrs. Bennet returned. In his mind he could hear Judith’s voice as she fondly reminisced.
“No one can ever deny the power a home has on a family. It’s like an old friend. It wraps its arms around you and shields you from life’s problems while it draws people closer together.”
This was exactly like coming home, he thought, staring at the beauty around him. And it was nothing like the house he’d grown up in. This house was made for laughing children, a family, love. Suddenly, Jefferson wished he might raise his son here. When he had one, he reminded himself.
Obviously, Aunt Judith had wanted him to have that experience. But at what a price-married to someone he didn’t even know!
Voices from the garden area penetrated his musings and he got up to investigate. Down past the patio, a shortcut through the maze and Jefferson was almost across the lawns when he identified the happy laughing shouts of children.
“Chicken! I let you roll me.”
“No, you didn’t. I made you.”
“Ow! David! He pulled my braid.”
What were they doing here, he wondered? The estate was fenced but there were no nearby neighbours with children. At least none that he could recall. From the sounds quite a few people were present now. And they were having a riot on his aunt’s property.
“Can’t catch me.”
When he finally rounded what Judith had called the summerhouse, Jefferson Haddon III stopped dead in his tracks. There were at least ten of them, he decided. The oldest was no more than fifteen or sixteen. They were carrying the cornstalks from the side of the garden to the center, forming a huge cornstalk teepee while one person stood at the edge, arms outstretched to the sky.
“Autumn leeeves begin to faaall.”
At least the shrill voice had good volume, he decided, wincing at the wobbling pitch.
They all had jeans on, from the toddler holding another child’s hand, to the eldest who seemed intent on adding a few more stalks to the already monstrous heap. All except for one boy, the tallest of the group. He wore tight black pants that looked painted on, and a red checked shirt that hung way down his lean body.
Startled, Jefferson watched as the skinny one lit the teepee. In seconds there was a huge crackling bonfire in the center of his great aunt’s garden, and a pack of kids were dancing round and round, laughing happily.
“Ring around the rosy!”
Disgust and anger coursed through his veins as Jefferson watched the scene unfold They had no right to intrude, he fumed. No right at all. This was private property. For some reason the Bennets were not here, so these children were trespassing. They certainly didn’t have permission to light a fire.
Breaking into a run, Jefferson jogged across the lawn and through the black tilled soil of the garden to grab what he thought was the ringleader by his jacket.
“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded through clenched teeth and then sucked in a lungful of air as shimmering green eyes glittered out from a tousled mop of black hair.
“Having a wiener roast, Mr. Haddon. Want to join us?”
Cassie Newton stood grinning up at him as the children ran circles around them happily. She looked like a child herself in the bulky old coat and decrepit jeans. Her face was smudged with dirt and her blunt fingernails were filthy.
“Who are all these children?” he asked, ignoring the grin. “And what are they doing here?”
“They’re mine,” Cassie told him proudly. “And I already told you. We are going to roast wieners.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she hissed a warning up at him, green eyes flashing. “For the short time they have left here, this is their home and their party. And you will not spoil it, do you hear me?”
Sensing the tension surrounding them, most of the children had stopped their wild play and stood staring at the two adults facing each other.
Jefferson watched as the tall, skinny boy sporting the tight pants moved forward to stand protectively next to Cas sie. He topped her by a good ten inches and it was clear from his stance that he would take on anyone who challenged her.
Jefferson was flabbergasted.
“All of these children are yours?” His voice squeaked with surprise and he heard one of the kids snicker. He strove for control. His eyes moved over her assessingly. “How old are you, anyway?”
But she ignored him.
“David,” she addressed the young soldier at her side. “Would you please tell Mrs. Bennet that we’re ready. Then you could help her carry out the hot dogs and the hot chocolate.”
A sweet smile accompanied her words and Jefferson was surprised to see the sour-faced lad grin back good-naturedly before loping off to do her bidding.
She directed the rest of the children to arranging a picnic table that stood off under the trees, and finding wiener sticks. Satisfied that everyone was occupied, Cassie turned back to face him.
“I’m a foster mother,” she told him matter-of-factly. “The kids stay with me until the agency is able to find them families.” Her green eyes glimmered with mirth as she spied his Gucci shoes filling rapidly with rich black garden soil.
“You’re not really dressed for this,” she observed, eyeing his pure wool slacks, black vest and once pristine white shirt. “Perhaps you should wait inside until I am finished if you wish to speak to me.”
Jefferson seethed at the dismissing tone of this-this interloper. So she thought she could reject him so easily? He grabbed her arm as she turned away. His eyes opened wide as she turned on him like a fiery virago, ramrod stiff in the filthy garments.
“Mr. Haddon, you will let go of me. You will not create a scene to spoil our day. You will return to the house and wait there.”
Her voice was as crisp as a fresh fall apple and he found himself turning to obey her militarylike orders before he realized what he was doing and turned back.
“Just a minute here,” he protested, angry that she had him dancing to her tune. He pointed to the fire.
