A Path Toward Love Page 3

  “If you change your mind, I’d be glad to help you find a buyer for your groves. I have plenty of contacts in Florida.”

  “Thank you, Papa. But no. I love my independence and the satisfaction of working hard every day.”

  He nodded grudgingly. Papa understood, though she knew he wouldn’t change his position or give up his quest of taking her back north. He tried again. “Maybe you could direct your energy toward society.”

  Katherine chuckled. “I hardly think presiding over tea and gossip would fulfill me. It suits Mama, but society life never interested me. You know that.”

  “I understand.” He smiled. “Nevertheless, working such long hours isn’t good for you. You look exhausted.”

  Katherine shrugged. She couldn’t disagree with the truth.

  “Couldn’t you at least consider coming home for a spell, before fall harvest? Perhaps Mr. Herne could manage things on his own. Or maybe you could hire someone else. Then you’d be free to visit Camp Birchwood for the summer and decide if you’d like to stay on.”

  A summer vacation at the family camp deep in the mountains did indeed tempt her after such a long stint of ceaseless work. “I’m afraid Mr. Herne couldn’t help out,” she hedged. “And I don’t know of anyone else who’d manage the groves short-term.” Papa’s crestfallen face saddened her. “Well, I would love to see Camp Birchwood again . . . But it’s highly unlikely a competent manager will just come along.”

  Papa heaved himself from the wicker chair with a quiet groan. “Thank you, Katherine. Would you like me to make some inquiries?”

  She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I can see to it.”

  He said good night, kissed her on the forehead, and sauntered into Buena Vista, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Katherine gently rocked back and forth on the swing, inhaling the fragrance of nearby roses mixed with the earthy smell of approaching nightfall. A grand summer on the shores of Raquette Lake appealed to her far more than remaining here in the blazing heat of summer. But what if her formidable mother pressured her to move home permanently and ruined the season with incessant nagging? Mama could be incredibly irritating.

  Her mind skipped from Mama to Andrew, a much more pleasant subject. She imagined him settling into the guest room beside Papa’s. She still wasn’t sure why Papa had brought Andrew to Florida unless it was for companionship, or . . . maybe her parents expected she’d be willing to sell the citrus groves and return home without a fuss. Perhaps Andrew accompanied her father in order to do all the necessary legal work concerning the sale of the property.

  Regardless of the reason for his visit, a frisson of happiness raced through her. Andrew and Papa were here at her home, the only friends and family who’d come to visit in eight years. A little of the loneliness that clung to her like a second skin fell away.

  After breakfast the next morning, Katherine led Andrew and Mr. Wainwright through the orange groves. Andrew heard the pride in her voice as they strolled down the rows of bushy trees with tiny, green oranges clinging to the branches. They were planted on a rise, the best location.

  “During February and March the orange blossoms cover the trees and smell heavenly. You must come back this winter to see for yourselves,” she said. “It’s quite lovely. And I’ll even give you some fresh squeezed orange juice from our Valencias.”

  Andrew bit the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning at Katherine’s enthusiasm and constant chatter, despite her apparent fatigue. Was she trying to prove to her father—and possibly to herself—that she could manage these groves with little assistance?

  Two years of work and instruction by her foreman had undoubtedly given her a burst of confidence in her own management skills, but was this enough training for her to succeed?

  “These are the trees Charles’s father replanted after the frost wiped out the groves. It takes years for trees to grow to full size.” She gestured toward the rows. “But they’re producing good fruit, and that’s the most important thing.”

  Andrew glanced around and noted empty acreage. He pointed to the fallow hillside. “Are you going to plant more over there?”

  She nodded. “Just as soon as I get more money to buy the plantings. Charles left me enough land to eventually make this one of the largest citrus groves in Florida.”

  That she could forge ahead with optimism impressed him. If her breadth of knowledge also impressed her father, he’d never admit it. Mr. Wainwright was bound and determined to take Katherine back to New York and her mother.

  “Our navel oranges are seedless and delicious to eat,” she went on, “but not very good for juice.”

  Andrew couldn’t pull his gaze from her smile. She almost glowed beneath the sunshine and clear blue sky. She deserved to spend the rest of her life living on her land, regardless of what her parents thought about women working, without a husband or father’s supervision. Anyone with her dedication ought to be allowed to live where she was most happy.

  But did he dare share his opinion with Mr. Wainwright? Judging from his frown, he didn’t understand—or wish to understand— the extent of his daughter’s love and commitment.

  They turned around and started strolling back toward the white clapboard house.

  “I must admit you’re doing a remarkable job. I could never imagine you’d take to business so well,” her father said, his smile brimming with pride. “But running orange groves is just too massive an undertaking for a woman without a partner to share the burden.”

  She halted and turned toward her father, her expression serious. “No, Papa. I can handle it by myself.”

  He shook his head, unconvinced. “By the way, I haven’t seen your Mr. Herne. I’d like to speak to him, if he’s available.”

  Katherine blanched and then flicked a tight smile. “I’m afraid he’s taken a job up north. He’s packing his things, so I imagine he’ll be too busy to talk to you today.” She spun around and hurried toward Buena Vista.

  Mr. Wainwright narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a replacement for him?” he called after her.

  Katherine shook her head and increased her pace. “No, he only gave me the news yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to look for anyone else.”

  Her father murmured, “I see.” He hastened to catch up with her and asked, “Can I help you with the business in some way? I like to keep busy, even on vacation.”

  “No, Papa, but thank you all the same. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my office. I’ll see you at luncheon. Enjoy the morning.” With that, Katherine hurried off for her office, while Andrew and her father stood in her dust.

  Mr. Wainwright stared after her and then shook his head. “My daughter worries me, Andrew. She won’t admit she’s fighting a losing battle. Anyone can see she needs a lot of money to make improvements. I’m afraid the gossip I heard about the groves is all true. They’re going under.”

  He looked genuinely distressed and sorry for Katherine’s plight. But Andrew knew enough not to suggest Mr. Wainwright loan her money or just give her the funds as a gift. Her father loved her, but he didn’t intend to prolong a dying dream.

  He reached up and touched a thick limb of the nearest tree, laden with fruit, then turned back to the lady of the orchard, hurrying away from them. Katherine Wainwright Osborne wasn’t the same girl Andrew remembered. And yet she was more intriguing than ever.

  As the sun started its slow descent toward dusk, Katherine strolled through the orange groves to escape the pressures weighing her down. Her father’s obvious disapproval and the ever-present worry over cash for operating expenses rattled through her mind like loose marbles. But wandering through the groves brought tranquility she sorely needed. The peace of approaching nightfall washed through her and strengthened her resolve.

  She hoped she could live through her father’s visit with grace and optimism. Like Mama, he meant well. He wanted what he believed was best for her. But he didn’t understand how keeping occupied with the grove
s helped her to forget Charles and her wretched, lost years.

  At the sound of footsteps, Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Andrew was striding toward her, smiling. Her heart fluttered, as it hadn’t in years.

  “I thought I’d find you out here,” he called.

  She turned and waited for him to catch up. “It’s a grand place to think. There aren’t many interruptions.”

  Andrew laughed. “Except for me.” A sheepish grin spread across his uncommonly handsome face. Her eyes lingered there, adjusting to the man she’d left when he was twenty, hardly older than a boy. He had a strong, square jaw with a small cleft in his chin, a straight nose, and eyes the blue-green color of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “You’re not an interruption. More like a distraction, but a welcome one.”

  “Thank you. I came to tell you that Stuart Osborne is in the drawing room waiting to see you.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh dear. I completely forgot he asked to stop by this evening. Stuart is Charles’s younger brother. He bought the citrus groves next to mine a few months ago. He’s been living out west for the last ten years, but just moved back.”

  With her father prodding her to sell, this was a most inopportune time for Stuart to visit. Katherine’s stomach twisted as she slowly headed toward Buena Vista. If she were fortunate, maybe Papa would be in his bedroom or the library. If the two met and started talking about the adjoining groves, his visit could turn into a disaster for her.

  “What’s wrong, Katherine?” Andrew glanced at her sideways, frowning. “You look grim.”

  She hesitated to explain. Andrew was still the best friend she’d ever had. She trusted him, but they hadn’t talked in so long, and to complicate matters, he now worked for Papa. If she confided in him, would he tell her father? She didn’t know where his loyalty lay, but certainly he must feel torn between the two of them and their opposing goals.

  “Stuart and I have our disagreements.” Katherine squared her shoulders and increased her pace, anxious to get the meeting over and done with as soon as possible. Dear Lord, help me to be gracious, or at least civil, to Stuart. And please, Lord, don’t let him stay more than a few minutes. Together, they climbed the front stairs to the veranda.

  “Would you like me to attend your meeting?” Andrew asked, a tentative note in his voice.

  She shook her head and bit back a smile at his kind offer. “No need, but thank you all the same. This is something I have to settle on my own. I’m used to relying on myself. And the Lord, of course.”

  Andrew nodded, paused at the closed drawing room door, and lightly touched her sleeve. “If you want anyone to talk to later, remember I’m here.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember.” She breathed deeply and entered the parlor. Closing the pocket doors she smiled cordially, she hoped, at the large, lumpy man waiting by the mantel, his lip curled in annoyance. He relaxed his scowl as soon as he saw it was she. “It’s nice to see you again, Katherine.”

  “Good evening, Stuart. It’s lovely outside, so I took a long walk. I lost track of the time, I’m afraid. Did I keep you waiting long?”

  “It’s all right.” But his right eye twitched.

  They settled across from each other on stiff wing chairs upholstered in cream brocade. “May I offer you something to eat or drink?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay long. But I’m hoping you’ve changed your mind about selling me your citrus groves.”

  She braced herself. “I’m sorry, Stuart, but they’re too important to me to sell. If I ever change my mind, and I’m certain I won’t, I’ll speak to you first. I quite understand why you’d like them back in your family, but remember I’m an Osborne too, at least by marriage.”

  The muscles in his pasty face tightened. “I made you a reasonable offer two weeks ago. I’m now prepared to raise my offer by ten thousand dollars.”

  Suppressing a gasp, she hid her surprise behind a mild smile. “That’s very generous of you. But I still won’t sell.”

  He quirked a thick, dark brow. “Are you sure it’s not a matter of money? If you’re holding out for more, then I’m afraid you’ve overplayed your cards. I’ve offered more than the groves are worth because it’s my family business, and I want it back.”

  She tried not to bristle at his menacing tone and forced herself to be calm. “No, it’s not a matter of money. I enjoy what I’m doing, and I intend to stay put.”

  “My brother should’ve left them to me, not you, Katherine. By all rights they should be mine.”

  Taken aback, she didn’t know how to respond to her brother-in-law without insulting him and starting a quarrel. He’d never been so overt in his claim. She steadied her heartbeat by taking a series of shallow, rhythmic breaths. “Perhaps you’re right, but Charles willed them to me. I’m building the business, slowly but surely.”

  He snorted. “You don’t know the first thing about managing Osborne Citrus Groves. You’ve only made insignificant gains since Charles’s death. And now with Herne leaving . . .” He paused, seemed to gather himself, and leaned forward. “Katherine, I’m much better prepared to make a go of it, and I have the funds to do it. My groves in California are turning in cash crops. Given my resources, I’ll turn the company around within a matter of months. It’ll take years for you to see any real improvements.” His eyes bore into hers, but she returned his glare with a direct gaze. “You need extra cash to bring in the harvest this fall. Do you have it?”

  “Truly, that is no business of yours.”

  He studied her. “Katherine, just give in to the inevitable. You’ll struggle year after year . . . Aren’t you weary of it by now?”

  She fought to stay calm as her chest constricted. Angry words rose in her throat, but she swallowed them down. “You’re wrong, Stuart. I’ll find my way.”

  He stood up, towering over her. “You’ll be bankrupt within a year and the company will go under. The next time I make an offer it won’t be for nearly as much as I’m ready to give you now. If you were a shrewd businessman instead of a stubborn woman, you’d gratefully accept my offer. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  She rose on shaky legs. With a soft, calm voice, she answered him, “No one knows the future, Stuart, but I do hope your prediction doesn’t come true. I’ve worked hard, and I know with the Lord’s blessing these groves will flourish, and I’ll find a way to bring in the harvest.” If she were given more time and enough funds for the harvest and a few key improvements, she stood a good chance of success. But without time and money, she reluctantly acknowledged that Stuart was right. But she wouldn’t let discouragement rob her of hope.

  She led Stuart to the closed door, relieved that his harangue had ended. She hoped he’d never come to her home again. He paused at the door and attempted a smile. It emerged as a pained grimace, but Katherine gave him the benefit of the doubt. He looked toward the high ceiling, as if searching for a few final words. The taut lines of his face smoothed and his voice softened. “Look, Katherine, if you’re doing this for Charles—”

  “I’m doing it for your father. He was a good man, a man who loved me from the start. I want to see his dream realized.”

  Stuart studied her. “If you really want to honor Dad’s dream, you’ll sell to me. Let me bring it to fruition. We’re after the same thing.”

  Flinching, she lowered her gaze for a moment. “I can’t quite explain it, Stuart. Only that I know I’m to stay here. To see it through.”

  With an exasperated groan, Stuart pushed open the parlor door. “Let me know when you change your mind.”

  Katherine followed him out to the front hallway, her throat dry with the dust of unspoken words. She shouldn’t lose her temper and spout off at Stuart, even if he deserved it. She heard a creak and glanced toward the staircase. Her father stood on the bottom step, his mouth agape, his eyes staring in distress at her and Stuart. And right behind him was Andrew.

  Chapter Three

  Katherine introduced ever
yone briefly in an awkward attempt at proper etiquette.

  Accepting his fedora from the maid, Stuart bowed slightly. “I’ve made Katherine an excellent offer for the Osborne groves, but as you might have heard, she refused. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her, Mr. Wainwright.”

  Papa nodded. “I shall try.”

  “If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” Stuart took his hat in hand and left.

  When the front door closed and the maid disappeared, Katherine spun toward her father and Andrew. She was in no mood to rehash the unpleasantness, but couldn’t find a way to change the subject.

  Her father cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Why don’t you sell to him? Wouldn’t you like the company to stay in the Osborne family?”

  “It’s difficult, Papa. Complicated.” She didn’t like Stuart. He’d come home after his father died, furious that the old gentleman had willed nearly everything to Charles. And then there was the letter he’d sent to her right after Charles’s passing, reinforcing her opinion. Incensed his brother had left the family business to her, Stuart badgered her to sell to him, and even threatened to contest the will if she didn’t. He’d never followed through, but he’d caused her to worry for several months.

  The neglected groves were all Charles had to leave her. He’d gambled away his own inheritance, and then the funds she’d received from her grandfather. This was her one and only chance to earn her own living and maintain her independence from her family, especially her mother. How could she explain to her father that she dreaded returning to Mama’s tight control? If she went back to New York, neither of her parents would allow her the freedom to live in her own home and lead her own life. That just wasn’t done in their social circles.

  Katherine breathed deeply and averted her glower from Papa. Tears stung her eyes, but if she let them fall, he’d consider her weak and incapable of handling the pressures of the business world. Determination gripped her. “It might be logical to accept his offer, but I’m not going to. My life is here. There’s no need to speak of this again. Good night to both of you. Sleep well.”