A Mother's Secret. Gabrielle Meyer

He found his father’s number and pressed Call.

      It rang several times and then his father answered. “Did you have any trouble getting in?”

      “Hi, Dad.” Chase could imagine his father sitting in his office in downtown Seattle, mist outside the large windows, and a view of the Space Needle not too far away.

      “What do you need, Chase?”

      Taking a deep breath, he rose from the swing, not able to stay still. “We have a problem.”

      There was a pause. “What kind of problem?”

      Chase didn’t want to tell his father that Joy was the one living in the house. If he knew who it was, he would probably call Chase home and send someone else to deal with the situation.

      “Apparently, Uncle Morgan had moved into the carriage house a couple years ago and was letting a woman live in the mansion. She’s a foster mom and has five kids. Mrs. Thompson is still living here, too, helping with the kids.”

      “What’s the problem?”

      Chase rubbed the tension in the back of his neck as he paced across the manicured lawn. “She told me that Uncle Morgan wanted her to stay here, even after his death.”

      “I’m sure she did.” Dad’s sarcastic words were flat and devoid of emotion. “Tell her she has a week to vacate the premises.”

      “I can’t do that.”

      Dead silence on the other end of the phone wasn’t a good sign.

      The boys ran out of the house, shouting and hollering in excitement as they disappeared around the corner of the mansion. Chase moved in that direction, drawn to their enthusiasm.

      “The mom has nowhere to go,” Chase continued. “Not to mention Mrs. Thompson. She’s lived here for at least thirty years. Where will she go?”

      “That’s not my problem. My grandfather built Bee Tree Hill and when he died, he left the estate to the corporation. We allowed Uncle Morgan to live there, because it was the only home he’d ever known. Now that he’s dead and there are no other Ashers living in Timber Falls, we can finally sell the estate. I won’t let a woman and her kids dictate what we do with the place.”

      Uncle Morgan had shared the history of the estate with Chase when he’d stayed with him four years ago. Chase’s great-great-grandfather was a lumber baron in Illinois who had sent each of his sons to a different location in the Western United States to build sawmills in the 1890s. He sent John, Chase’s great-grandfather, to Timber Falls, Minnesota, and that’s when John built Bee Tree Hill. Uncle Morgan was one of John’s sons. He was born and raised in the mansion, and had chosen to stay when the rest of the family moved to Seattle where the company was now headquartered. The property had been part of the family legacy for over a century and it seemed like a shame to sell it now, but it wasn’t up to Chase.

      “It’s going to take me at least a month to get the place ready to sell,” Chase said, trying to buy time for Joy and the kids. “I need to have an appraiser look at a hundred years’ worth of antiques and collectibles, not to mention all the work that needs to be done around here. It could take another month or so to find a buyer after that. Why can’t we let her stay until we sell the place? Timber Falls is a small town. It would look bad for the corporation if we kicked out a foster mom, her five kids and an old woman with little warning.”

      Dad hated looking bad. It was the reason he had stepped in when he heard Chase wanted to marry Joy. One of the first things he said to Chase was, “What would it look like if you married a woman who grew up in foster care?” He had different plans for Chase, which included marrying the daughter of one of his business partners. But Chase had messed that up, too. Tamara was tired of waiting for Chase to set a wedding date after being engaged for three years, so she left him just before he went to Italy. It wasn’t even two months since their breakup and she had already become engaged to someone else.

      “Fine.” Dad’s voice was louder than it needed to be. “She can stay, but only until the end of July. That should give her plenty of time to find a place to live.”

      Relief filled Chase. At least Joy had two months to figure out a different plan. He took the stone steps down the hill, toward the river and the sound of the boys playing. “What about Mrs. Thompson?”

      “I don’t care about the staff.” Dad was the president and CEO of the Asher Corporation and he’d earned his way to the top by being a hard-nosed businessman. His lack of empathy was famous in the Asher family, but very few people understood it as well as Chase. “She should have planned better,” Dad said. “Let her stay until the end of July, too, but not a day longer. And keep an eye on all of them. Once they know they’re being evicted, they’ll probably start selling off the antiques.”

      Chase had nothing but respect for Joy and Mrs. Thompson and he knew they would never stoop so low. “I will.”

      “Chase.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Don’t mess this up, too. It’s an easy job. That’s why I sent you to do it.” His father hung up without a goodbye.

      Chase lowered his phone and stared at the home screen for a second. His parents had divorced years ago, and his mother hardly spoke to his father anymore. Chase’s aunts, uncles and cousins also kept their distance. The only person who spoke to Malcolm, besides Chase, was his aunt Constance. She and Uncle Morgan had been siblings. She was the last family member from that generation to remain alive and she took it upon herself to remind Malcolm—and the rest of the family—where they came from.

      What would it be like to have a father he could lean on for support or a word of wisdom? Aunt Constance said Dad wasn’t always this way. His love of money and power had turned him into a ruthless man. He wanted Chase to take over the business one day, but if Chase followed in his steps, would he become like his dad?

      The day he had walked away from Joy, he suspected he had the ability to become ruthless. But how did he stop the trajectory of his life, when he wanted to please his father, despite all the pain and heartache his father had caused?

      Chase found the boys near a large basswood tree, a pile of old lumber sitting at the base, and another pile nailed to the tree in a dangerous, haphazard way. The oldest boy had a handful of nails and one of the smaller boys held a hammer.

      “What are you boys doing?” Chase asked, his hands in his pockets.

      “Building a tree fort,” the smallest one said. “Did you ever build a tree fort?”

      Chase hadn’t spent much time playing outside as a kid. In the summer, when most boys were building tree forts, he was inside with a tutor, hired to teach him French and trigonometry. His father wanted him to be the smartest student in his class, but all Chase wanted was freedom to play like a normal kid. “No, but I always wanted one.”

      “Do you like our fort?” The oldest pointed up into the tree.

      Chase tried to keep his face from showing his real thoughts about the mess in the tree. “That looks a little dangerous.”

      “It’s okay, if we’re careful.” The boy started to climb a makeshift ladder they had nailed into one of the trunks of the massive tree. The strip of wood spun and his foot slipped off.

      “I think you better not climb up there.” Chase was tall enough to push on one of the boards. It dislodged and fell between the trunks. “Does your mom know you’re building this?”

      The oldest boy shrugged.

      “Did you tell her?”

      “No.”

      “Will you help us?” the youngest asked, his blue eyes wide with hope.

      Chase had a hundred things he needed to do, but none of it sounded half as fun as building a tree fort. The boys had a couple months left at Bee Tree Hill, why not give them good memories while he could? “We can ask your mom if it’s okay