Chapter 7
After she put in an order for groceries that would be delivered to the Barrington home later that day, and after she'd put up the advertisement for a new housekeeper/cook on the grocery store's giant cork message board listing her new TracFone number, it was time to head back to the pickup.
With a few bags of items she'd purchased, she walked toward the spot where Jacob Barrington had parked the pickup. She was relieved she hadn't bumped into him all that time, but now she was a little worried that he might've left without her.
As she strolled along the over-decked walk, she saw that his giant pickup was right where he left it. Good. He was probably busy with some business that was taking longer than he'd expected. Then again, they hadn't been in town more than a half hour.
Satisfied that he hadn't left her behind, she set her bags down and took a seat, crossing a leg over the other with lady-like poise, on a public bench near the truck. From her position, she wouldn't miss him when he returned. In the meantime she could kill some time by having a look in that big orange envelope.
She opened her bag and took it out and briefly weighed it in her hand. It felt very packed. There was clearly more than one letter. She slipped a slender thumb under the flap and carefully opened the lip of the orange envelope before she reached in and pulled out a few stamped envelopes, and then a letter from Gordon Shaw which explained from whom those letters were.
She was happy to find a postal money order with a nice amount from him, as well. Among the few stamped envelopes that Gordon had included, there was a letter from her brother, Reginald, among them.
"Of course he'd know I'd have contact with Gordon," she whispered.
A bit concerned, she opened her brother's letter and discovered that it had been written some six months ago. She felt her fingers tremble as she carefully unfolded his letter that was written on their company letterhead paper.
"Dear Isabella,
I don't know if this letter will ever reach you, but I'll hope and pray it will. I must say, it's not been a simple task convincing your devoted and loyal friend, Gordon Shaw, to forward this letter to wherever you now may be. I hope all is well with you, for that is not the case with us.
Father and the family are rife with worry about you. Your immature decision to up and leave without so much as a good bye over six months ago has placed undue and unnecessary stress on us all.
We are all worried sick about you. We feel that you've not shown the maturity and dignity becoming of a Boucher, and are still puzzled why you felt you needed to do this. It's been a disappointment to the entire family, as I'm sure you know.
However, this letter is not to rehash what's been done.
The sole purpose in writing this letter is to inform you the man you have accused of harassment is set to marry this July, on the 25
th
. If he is the reason for your fleeing your home and your family, then you can be rest assured you no longer have to continue this senseless wandering. On behalf of the family and Father, I am asking you to return home and end the suffering you have put upon us all, but most specifically, Father.
I beseech you, return posthaste.
Enclosed is a sizable amount in the form of a postal money order. You can cash it at any United States Post Office or bank. If you are in need of more funds, call me on my private cell phone. You know my number. Call any time, day or night. I will instruct my assistant to wire more funds to you.
Finally, I also want you to know that Father's health is ailing, and we all believe that it's due to his endless worrying about you. For him, if for no one else, do the only right thing and come home.
Godspeed.
Your brother always,
Reginald A. Boucher"
She reread the letter again and again. Each time she did, she grew increasingly concerned. Although Reg had written as many accusations and words of spite he could possibly fit in those few paragraphs, he at least found enough space to mention the state of their father's health although it seriously and annoyingly lacked in details.
Although she knew that their father would suffer in worry when she had made the decision to leave their home, she never guessed for a single moment that it would affect him physically.
Her father, Andrew Reginald Boucher, was known for his strong constitution, but the sudden death of his wife had to have affected that very constitution dearly. It had nearly brought him to his knees. Apparently, though, and if Reginald is to be believed, her leaving without a word only exacerbated an already compromised immune system.
She sighed. She felt incredibly guilty...again.
"Well, Reg, you've succeeded in getting the reaction out of me you wanted," she whispered as she quietly folded up the letter and slipped it back into its envelope and then back that into the orange envelope as she fought an inner battle.
She was torn inside. She really didn't want to return to Louisiana in the event that Charles DeVille decided against marrying whoever it was he was able to fool to become his wife. And although the thought that he was getting married in about two weeks should lift her spirits and remove the pressure from her now—because he appears to have moved on—she still felt that old fear and terror just thinking about being anywhere near him where he had easy access to her.
Then there was the added fear that Reg had written one of his low-key letters, downplaying the seriousness of their father's ailing health. It could very well be far graver than he was letting on. She was certain it wasn't the common cold!
She knew she should call to find out the true status of her father's health. She really wasn't sure she wanted to, though, because although Reg claimed that his cell phone was safe and secure,
she
knew out of past experience that Charles was a clever man. She was afraid that he'd somehow find a way to wire-tap Reg's cell phone since her brother didn't have the healthy distrust for Charles that he should. She didn't want to risk to have Charles find out where she was.
In the past, her brother had always taken Charles' side against her and her mother. Of course, Reg didn't know what Charles had done to her, and since the two have been best friends ever since they were boys, she doubted he'd believe her if she told him that his best friend had a very dark side. She was certain that had Charles slipped up just once, her brother would have a change of mind, but Charles could be absolutely charming if he so chose and he was in such control of his emotions—like a sociopath—that she knew there was no way he'd make a mistake and unmask the true him. He even had his own parents fooled so how difficult could it be for him to fool a friend?
Reg's letter did something else, too. It reminded her that she was still very much homesick. The pain and sorrow she had suffered in the past year since she'd been on the run had suppressed her homesickness, but every now and then it would rear its ugly head—as it did now.
She hated Charles so deeply, more than she ever thought she could hate another human being on this Earth. He made her do this. He chased her away from the only home she's ever known, making her flee across the country, struggling to survive, to finally end up here, in Bellville, Texas, as a domestic at a cattle ranch. He forced her to have to hide her true identity. For nearly a year, she'd been forced to live a lie.
A teardrop splattered on the orange envelope, making the ink run. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her fingertips as the pain she thought she had under control, trickled through her carefully built wall. It tore her up inside. She was now more than ever tired of running. She missed her old life, her home, her mother's house where she could find her in each and every piece of furniture, her mother's oil paintings and hand-sewn drapes. She missed her mother's gardens. She missed her father.
"Lord save me, but I hate you, Charles DeVille. I hate you..." she whispered through her tears before she tried to finger the stream away as her tears came with a little more vigor. Passersby were quietly looking at her now, feeling her sorrow. She smiled uncomfortably as she tried to finger away her tears and dry her eyes, hoping to get herself under control before Jacob Barrington returned.
But it was too late.
