***Chapter Four***

Nick saw the buggy approaching and stopped to wait on the porch. As Heath pulled the horses to a stop, Nick called out a welcome and went to swing his cousin from the buggy.

"Have a good morning?" Nick asked amiably.

Vanessa glanced over her shoulder to watch Heath move the buggy toward the barn. She turned back to Nick. "Productive, I think, but not pleasant."

"That boy holds things in too long." Nick's tone was concerned, not gruff.

"Some things hurt to bring out, Nicholas; some hurt a great deal. You, my boy, are not well acquainted with that fact."

Nick looked down at one of the few people that could safely refer to him as boy. "For which I am very grateful. I take it Mother has charged you with digging some of it out."

Vanessa bit her lip and nodded.

"Mother always has been good at assigning the right person to a job."

Vanessa smiled and patted Nick's cheek. "One day, Nickie, you may achieve the coveted spot as my favorite. Yes, indeed you may."

Nick's laughter rolled out of his lungs as he took Vanessa's arm and escorted her into the house.

###

Heath did not join the family for lunch. He still had not returned to the house when Silas called the family to dinner.

Audra looked at Heath's empty place and then at her mother.

"Heath needed some time to himself," Victoria intoned squelching any more inquiries.

Dinner conversation remained impersonal, and no one mentioned Heath or asked about Vanessa's morning.

After dinner, the ladies brought out a book of dress patterns to peruse. Jarrod and Nick tried to distract themselves with billiards.

When the clock chimed ten, Nick threw his cue down on the felt top. "I'm going to bed!' he announced loudly. If that little brother of mine thinks I'm going to stand here fretting about where he's gone off to, he's wrong.

Jarrod set his cue down more gently. "Good idea, Nick."

Nick started to stride out of the room, and then suddenly stopped. "You going to wait up for him, Pappy?" Nick's use of his nickname gave Jarrod the intended message.

"Unless Mother decides to do so," Jarrod replied.

"Fine." Nick took himself out of the room and up the stairs.

###

"Heath?"

Heath Barkley stopped and turned toward the library door. He had hoped everyone would be in bed, but apparently his eldest brother was not. He stiffened and walked over to the backlit figure. "It's late, Jarrod."

"That's what I could be saying to you, little brother."

Sometimes that appellation still made Heath smile. He raised his eyebrow. "That and what else, Pappy?"

"Are you ready to listen?" Jarrod's tone was totally serious.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Only as to time and place."

Heath shrugged and walked past Jarrod into the light of the library. He turned to face his brother. "I'm too old to get dressed down for staying out too late."

"I'd have left a dressing down to Mother." Jarrod stepped back into the room. "Do you want a drink?"

Heath shook his head and turned to stare at the book-lined shelves. "Was our father a reader?" he asked unexpectedly.

Jarrod stopped short and then went to stand next to his brother. "Not the way Mother and I are. He read more papers and periodicals than books, but he had his favorites."

"Rather like Nick?"

"Nick's like Father in many ways. More ways than Gene or I."

Heath heard the barest trace of bitterness in Jarrod's voice and turned his head to study his brother's profile. Everyone says how close they were. For the first time, he thought, I've never actually heard them say that about you and him. He opened his mouth to ask how close Jarrod had been to their father, but said instead, "More than me?"

Jarrod did not answer immediately or glibly, "The easy answer would be no, but it wouldn't be the exactly the truth."

"That's a lawyer's answer." Heath's voice had grown cold.

Jarrod shrugged. "I'm a lawyer." Then he turned to look Heath full in the eyes. "But it's your brother you need to talk to now, isn't it?"

Heath turned away from his gaze but answered softly, "When I was little, I just knew what my father must be like. Sometimes it was so real, it was like a memory. Then, well, I started to grow up. By the time I joined the army, well, I thought I knew what he must be like, only it wasn't the same pretty picture. When I came here, I…" Heath's voice faded away.

"You can say it, little brother. You can tell, Pappy."

"I hated him."

If Nick had been standing there or Eugene, Jarrod would have reached out and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, but he was afraid touching Heath would be pushing closed a door. "You had reason."

Heath spun around and stared at Jarrod.

Jarrod swallowed and then offered something more than a squeeze of a shoulder. "There were times when I was mad enough or hurt enough to hate him too."

Heath eyes widened. "B…but…"

"There were many more times when I loved him, but I stopped believing that Father was perfect by the time I was seven."

"Nick didn't."

"No, not completely, not until…"

"Not until I came through the door."

"Heath, some men see heroes more easily than others and hold to them longer. Nick and Father had their rows, but Father was Nick's hero, and when he died that hero became…"

"A plaster saint." The bitterness filled Heath's words again.

"Do you still hate him, Heath?"

Heath turned and started for the door. Then he stopped. "When other boys had things I knew I couldn't, I started telling myself I wouldn't like them anyway."

"If you can't reach the grapes, you make yourself believe they're sour. You told yourself all the reasons you had to hate the father that wasn't there?"

"It was easier than wanting him." The statement was delivered tonelessly, and then Heath darted out of the room and up the stairs.