The Red Door by Charles Todd Page B

choice of words,” Rutledge put in.
    Mary said, “I’ve always believed in the importance of mission work. I think a great deal of good can be done by setting an example. And the Alcock Society has been especially fortunate in the people they’ve sent into the field. But Walter was a missionary by default. Because his father gave him to the church, and because he was unsuited to parish work. I know,” she said, turning to Leticia, “that this is hard for you to hear. But if Walter comes through his present crisis alive and whole, it would be a travesty to send him back to Africa. Or China. You must see that.”
    Leticia replied, “I believe this is Walter’s decision to make.”
    “And he’s made it. By falling ill, he’s made it. What other reason can there be for him to vanish as he’s done? I tried to explain this to Jenny when I was in London. She doesn’t want him to go abroad again, of course she doesn’t, but I think she has this rather naïve belief that he’s a saint and she mustn’t stand in his way. He isn’t a saint. He’s bitter.”
    “I don’t think his calling has anything to do with his illness.” Leticia was adamant.
    “Then how else would you explain it? Coming on the heels of his letter from the Society?” Mary regarded her with exasperation.
    Rutledge, listening, could see that the two women had very little in common. Their relationship by marriage was their only connection. And even that was tenuous.
    Interrupting again, he said, “Do either of you have any idea where he may be?”
    But they didn’t. And he could see that both women were far more worried than either of them was willing to admit to the other.
    “I just want to see Jenny happy,” Mary said, as if she’d read his thoughts. “She tries hard and she loves Walter without question. And that could lead her to heartbreak.”
    Leticia said grudgingly, “I must admit you’re right, there. Walter is not like his brothers. He lost something out there in Africa and China. Part of himself.”
    “He lost it when he failed in his first living. It was the wrong church for him to be sent to, and the congregation was not prepared for an intellectual priest. They wanted someone more like themselves. A local man who understood them.”
    Leticia said, “You didn’t even know him then. How can you judge that?”
    Mary turned to Rutledge. “I met Walter when he spoke at a meeting I was attending. About his work in China. In fact, it was I who introduced him to Jenny.”
    The tension between the two women was interesting. Rutledge thought perhaps the root cause of it was familial. Mary was bound to protect her sister, and Leticia’s loyalty was to her brother.
    He said, interjecting a new question before hard feelings arose on either side, “Have you heard Mr. Teller mention anyone by the name of Charlie Hood?”
    They stared at him, the question completely unexpected. It was clear that the name meant nothing at all to either of the women.
    And possibly he had made too much of it as well. But there had been something in the man’s face that he couldn’t identify, something he felt he ought to recognize.
    Harry came racing back, gleefully informing his aunts that there had indeed been lemonade.
    Rutledge, watching him, could see in him the boy that Ian Trevor would be at the same age. It was an unexpected insight, and it touched him.
    He took his leave, refusing Miss Teller’s lukewarm invitation to stay for tea. He thought it had been in a way a suggestion that Mary Brittingham should also refuse it in her turn. That she had also out-stayed her welcome.
    Miss Teller walked with him through the hedge and around to where he’d left his motorcar, saying as they went, “Will he come back, do you think?”
    “Your brother? When he’s ready to be found. If whatever reason he left the clinic is resolved for him, in a fashion he can live with. The problem is, how lucid is he? Is he thinking clearly or still in the throes of his