Chapter Six

Supper that evening around the huge kitchen table of the farmhouse proved a jolly occasion to be sure. With everyone laughing and talking and trying to get a word in edgewise, there was hardly time to eat, although Felix did his best to put away a large share of the food.

Afterward, Alec and Janet thought they were never going to get Hetty out the door. But, eventually, even Hetty had to go home, accompanied by Olivia and Sara. When the King children were finally in bed, Alec, Janet and Roger had the kitchen to themselves and remained there until late, chatting comfortably. Eventually, however, Roger began to look restless and preoccupied.

“All I need is a quiet corner to finish this report,” he was saying, as he polished off what was, he fervently hoped, his final cup of tea of the day.

Janet, standing behind him, cleared away the cup and a plate now empty of her home-baked oatmeal cookies. Roger always had been a bear for work, she remembered.

“Oh, well, what about the parlor, Alec?”

“Certainly. No one will bother you there,” Alec said agreeably, beckoning to Roger. “Come on.”

Leaving Janet behind to clear up, the two men rose from the table and left the kitchen. Alec grinned as they stepped through the wide doors to the parlor—the best room of the house, reserved for important occasions and formal tea with visitors.

“Remember the time you threw your book at me and broke that window?”

“Father was so mad, he almost twisted both our ears off!” Roger chuckled slowly. “This room sure brings back a lot of memories.”

He stood a moment, looking around at the familiar flowered wallpaper, the polished sideboard, the portraits of King ancestors in their heavy wooden frames.

“I must have spent half my childhood in here studying,” Roger said, a strange, unreadable note in his voice

“It certainly paid off,” Alec returned affably, thinking of how important his brother had become.

Roger wasn’t listening. He went over to the window and stared pensively into the night, holding the lace curtain back with one hand. Now that he was a man, he guessed how unnatural it had been for a boy on a farm to spend so much of his time at a shiny parlor table poring over books.

“Sometimes I’d put away the books and come over here just to watch you and the others play hockey down at the pond.”

Now Alec looked uneasy, glancing at his brother’s lame leg.

“Aw! You’d have just frozen your feet, like the rest of us.”

Roger looked as though he would have been very glad to freeze his feet with the rest of them, if only he had been able. The corner of his mouth twisted down.

“At least I would have had a choice.. .if it hadn’t been for my bad leg.”

Roger let the curtain drop again, as upon his own childhood, and turned to the table. Urgent business awaited and he must get straight to it.

He crossed to the table and opened a leather case, from which he removed a sheaf of papers. He was unaware that Andrew, dressed in a plaid dressing gown and carrying a lamp, had slipped down the stairs and was waiting at the door.

Andrew hadn’t seen his father for so long, he could barely stand to spend a minute away from him, much less be expected to spend the whole night in a bedroom asleep. He had waited up for just this moment, when he might speak to his father alone. As soon as he felt sure that he wouldn’t be interrupting, he padded in, the lamp in one hand and the ever-present fishing basket in the other.

When Alec saw the hungry way the boy eyed his father, he smiled a little to himself and turned back towards the parlor door.

“Ah, Andrew! I’m sure you and your father have lots to talk about. I’ll just leave you to it.”

Alec understood a lot about boys, perhaps much more than Roger.

As Alec went out, Roger sat down and started leafing through his pile of papers. This wasn’t exactly the greeting Andrew had expected. Quickly, he came closer, hefting the fishing basket.

“I was hoping you could take a look at my rock collection.”

Roger lifted his head from the papers spread out around him and glanced up at Andrew.

“Just let me finish unpacking my papers, son.”

“Aunt Hetty told me about the collection you had when you were my age,” Andrew said eagerly. “She’s saved all sorts of things of yours, and I—”

“Oh, now that reminds me.” Roger reached to the bottom of his briefcase and came up with something wrapped in soft cloth. “I brought this for you, son.”

As Andrew unfolded the cloth, a piece of rock, glinting richly in the lamplight, was revealed. Andrew gazed at it, much impressed.

“Thanks,” he breathed, delighted with such a dazzling gift.

“It’s ore, laced with gold.”

“Gold!” Andrew declared. “You sure don’t find that around here.”

Roger, who should have been sharing his son’s pleasure, was paying more attention to his briefcase.

“Ah,” he muttered, distracted, “here it is.” He pulled a fat folder from the case and started to arrange it on the table beside the rest of the papers. “The company’s still having trouble with that smelter I developed for them.”

Doubt, suspicion and just a touch of alarm crept into Andrew’s eyes.

“I thought that.. .well, your contract is finished with them, isn’t it?”

Roger stroked his chin thoughtfully before answering.

“Well, technically, yes. Perhaps these changes I’m preparing will alleviate some of their troubles.”

In an effort to make his presence truly felt, Andrew lifted up the fishing basket and set it on top of his father’s papers.

“Well, could you just take a look at—?”

Roger put a restraining hand on the basket handle, preventing Andrew from opening the lid.

“Now, look, Andrew...I really must get started on this analysis,” he said quickly.

“I cut short my tour so that I could respond to this immediately. Perhaps we could look at your collection later.”

Disappointment spread over Andrew’s face even though he strove manfully to hide it.

“I understand. If you’re that busy, then...”

“We’ll look at it in the morning,” Roger promised, flipping the folder open. “Good night, now, son. It’s awfully good to see you again.”

Andrew looked as though he were beginning to have his doubts about this last statement. He could see his father already had his mind on finishing the report.

“All right,” he murmured hesitantly. “Good night.”

Roger patted Andrew’s shoulder absently and turned to organize his work. Crestfallen, Andrew trudged slowly out of the parlor, toting his rock collection and the lighted lamp he had brought down with him.

Andrew was about to head up the stairs just as his Uncle Alec was coming down. Seeing the boy, Alec paused in surprise. He had expected the private father-son reunion to go on merrily far into the night.

“Off to bed so soon?”

Andrew dropped his head.

“Father’s got a lot of urgent work to attend to.”

Ah, so that was the way the wind blew. Alec nodded, doing his best to look comforting and wise.

“Well, when the pressure’s off, he’ll...he’ll have more time to spend with you.”

“I guess,” Andrew mumbled.

“Things’ll get back to normal.”

Without answering, Andrew plodded on up the stairs, hauling the old fishing basket. “Bunch of dumb rocks,” he muttered as he reached the landing. Alec turned at the foot of the stairs and watched with concern as the dejected boy disappeared down the dark hallway and into his room.