Southern Sympathies

by Boeshaar, Andrea

  “Well now, dear, I won’t have you fretting over a bike. I’ll take care of everything. Lydia and I will have a talk later.”

  “Good.”

  Lydia exchanged a glance with her father-in-law, knowing he’d allow Tyler to keep the bike. Gerald denied the children and her nothing. In fact, Lydia didn’t know what she would have done if her father-in-law hadn’t stepped in after Michael died. She’d been so frightened, worried, and dazed—with Michael gone, Lydia had felt helpless.

  That was when Gerald efficiently took over, handling everything from funeral and burial arrangements to insurance policies and bank statements. Then he’d suggested she become his secretary at SPCC. He promised her flexible hours so Tyler and Brooke would never have to be in daycare. He said it would keep her mind off her grief and he’d been right. Moreover, he took on the role of her agent, paying her monthly bills and mortgage payment, drawing out of the funds from Michael’s life insurance policy, and Lydia felt indebted to Gerald Boswick for his unfailing care and protection.

  “How about some more coffee, dear?” he asked now with a winning smile that caused his dark eyes to dance.

  “Yes, of course. . .”

  She crossed the room, took his cup, then strode to the counter by the sink, where the pot of flavored brew sat warming in its automatic maker. As she reached for the carafe, she glanced out the window and spied Tyler watching Mr. Alec Corbett at work on the bicycle. She poured the coffee, eyeing her new neighbor speculatively. He’d removed his tie and navy suit jacket, revealing a white dress shirt tucked into dark blue pants. He is quite a handsome man, she admitted inwardly, taking another note of his full head of sandy-blond hair. He had an athletic look about him, and she guessed him to be an inch or two taller than her father-in-law, who stood over six feet. And such broad shoulders, muscular arms—

  “Lydia!”

  At Elberta’s shriek, Lydia stopped pouring the coffee, realizing she’d overfilled the cup and now the steaming liquid was spilling onto the counter.

  “Good heavens, what’s the matter with you?” Elberta asked, rag in hand ready to wipe up the mess.

  Lydia felt a blush warming her cheeks. “I was. . .um. . .just watching Tyler,” she fibbed. Then, silently, she had to ask herself the same question: What was the matter with her? She wasn’t one to gawk at strange men.

  Cleaning off the saucer, she turned to Gerald and handed him his coffee. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, feeling oddly nervous. “Forgive me.”

  He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “Quite all right, my dear. No harm done.”

  ❧

  Alec attended church that evening and, afterward, grabbed a quick hamburger with a couple of new friends. He got home near nine o’clock.

  Inside his house, he pulled off his tie, tossed his jacket onto the nearest chair, and gazed around the living room at the myriad of cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Why had he played around with a bike and an eight-year-old this afternoon instead of setting up housekeeping?

  He collapsed into his burgundy leather-upholstered couch, recalling the conversation he’d had with Tyler.

  “Do you think my mama is pretty?” the boy had asked, throwing Alec momentarily off guard.

  “Well,” he hedged, not wanting to lie, but careful to show his disinterest, “she is, as far as women go, I guess.”

  “She is. . .pretty?”

  “I guess.”

  Tyler had grinned broadly. “So, you think my mama is pretty, huh?”

  Alec straightened. “Get on that bike, kid,” he’d said gruffly, “and let me see if it fits you better.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lowered handlebars and seat seemed to make things easier for Tyler, and Alec had watched the boy ride down his driveway, into the street, and around to his own backyard.

  That was when Tyler’s grandfather emerged from the house.

  “Welcome to Woodruff,” the older man said, striding confidently to the fence.

  Alec met him, regarding his expensive, smartly tailored dark suit. They shook hands, and Alec introduced himself.

  “And I’m Gerald Boswick, the pastor at Southern Pride Community Church.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  The older man puffed out his chest and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “So, what line of work are you in, Alex?”

  “Alec,” he’d corrected, although he got the distinct impression Pastor Boswick had purposely mispronounced his name. “I’m a carpenter.”

  “You don’t say? Well, that’s interesting. . .hammering furniture together, eh? Prefab stuff, I imagine. Everything is prefab these days.”

  The pastor was wrong. Alec was a craftsman, but he held his tongue. He’d lived long enough to know some people really didn’t care what a guy did for a living. They were either just trying to start conversation or they liked to hear themselves talk. The latter, Alec guessed, was probably the case in this situation.

  “So, how’d you get into that line of work?”

  “Always liked woodworking in high school,” he’d replied with a shrug. “After I graduated, I attended a tech school and went on for my apprenticeship, and. . . ,” Alec shrugged once more, “here I am.”

  “And here you are,” Pastor Boswick drawled in repetition as his mouth curved upward in a wry grin. “Tyler tells me you’re from up north.”

  “Yep.” Alec smiled. “I’m a Yankee and proud of it.”

  “Well,” Pastor Boswick had replied with a curt, but amused chuckle, “I wouldn’t go advertising that fact, if I were you. There’re still folks here in Woodruff who haven’t quite gotten over their bad feelings for Northerners.”

  “A one hundred and forty year grudge, huh?”

  “Guess you could say that.”

  “And are you one of those ‘folks’ with a chip on your shoulder?” Alec had asked, unable to keep the challenge out of his voice.

  “Of course not. Everyone’s equal in the sight of God. But you’d be wise to heed my warning, son, just the same. . . .”

  His warning, Alec thought cynically, rising from the couch now. There was something about the good pastor that really bothered him. Perhaps it was his air of superiority. Nevertheless, Alec hadn’t encountered any trouble in town. So far he’d been well-received, despite the fact he was a Northerner.

  Walking down the beige-carpeted hallway of his single-story home, Alec entered his bedroom and changed clothes. Unable to help himself, he pulled on his favorite Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt, thinking, You can take the Yankee out of the North, but you can’t take the North out of the Yankee. . . . Just what am I doing in North Carolina anyway?

  Regardless of the momentary doubt, Alec knew the answer to that question. He’d moved here to start a new life, and so far, so good. New job, new house. . .

  The doorbell chimed and he peered out the front door’s half-moon-shaped window before answering it. “And a new neighbor,” he muttered, before greeting Lydia with a stiff smile.

  “Well, Mrs. Boswick, what a surprise,” Alec said, flicking on the porch light.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she stated sweetly. Alec wondered if her amiable demeanor was part of her act—her scheme to get a husband. “Our bathroom sink is clogged something awful and I wondered if you might have a pliers so I can take off the pipe.”

  “A pliers?” Alec tried not to snicker. “Personally, I’d use a wrench to take off a pipe.”

  “Oh. . .well, that’s what I meant. Excuse me.” Lydia smiled. “I’m not very familiar with tools. I usually call my father-in-law when I need help, but I can’t locate either of my in-laws right now. And my neighbors on the other side, Connie and Terrence Wilberson. . .well, they’re out of town, visiting one of Connie’s relatives, and—”

  “Look, I’ve got a wrench, and you can borrow it,” Alec interrupted, “but, um. . .” He raised a brow. “Are you sure you’d know what to do with it?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. I’m quite capable, thank
you.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get it for you. Want to come in?” He opened the screen door, bidding her entrance.

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that’d be proper. I’ll wait right here. Besides, I don’t like to leave my children unattended, and they’re both standing right up there in that window.” Turning slightly, she pointed toward her red brick home. “There they are. . .right where I can see them.”

  She waved and Alec stepped onto the porch so he could see if what she said was true. Sure enough, Tyler and Brooke stood at the window where the white mini blinds had been pulled up. When the children saw him, they smiled and waved vigorously.

  Alec grinned and glanced at Lydia. “Be right back with the wrench.”

  “Thank you,” she said demurely.

  As he walked through the living room, dining area, and into the kitchen where his tools lay already unpacked but awaiting their permanent place in his home, Alec felt a pang of obligation. He supposed he should help the lady, seeing as he knew a little something about plumbing while it didn’t sound like she was even sure how to use a wrench. Besides, if she really meant to work her female wiles on him, she’d have accepted his invitation and entered his house, yet she preferred to wait outside where the temperatures had plummeted into the forties—for propriety’s sake, she’d said. Somehow, her decision gave Alec pause. Maybe he’d been wrong about her, but he still wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Toolbox in hand, he strode back through the house, stepping out onto the porch. Lydia took one look at the large, red, metal container he carried and cast him a nervous smile.

  “You know, I was just thinking maybe I’d call one of those emergency plumbing places.”

  “On a Sunday? At this hour?” Alec shook his head. “They’ll charge you a fortune.”

  “But, I’m not sure if I can—”

  “Carry this heavy toolbox over to your place, much less use a wrench?” He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I figured. How ’bout I come over and see what I can do instead?”

  An expression of relief flittered across her delicate features, softly illuminated by the porch light. “That’s very kind of you. . .thanks.”

  Lydia led the way down the steps, over the lawn, and to her house. Alec had admired the structure from afar yesterday while he moved in, and it was every bit as impressive on the inside as he’d imagined—perhaps even more so.

  He gazed appreciatively at the mahogany woodwork in her living room, noting the built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace on the far wall. Next he marveled at the beautiful banister and railing as he walked up the polished wooden stairs.

  “This is some house you’ve got here.”

  “Why, thank you. I’m partial to it.” Lydia paused on the first landing. “When my husband, Michael, and I first looked at this house, he said it was haunted because of its poor condition. And I must say, it appeared that way, broken shutters outside banging against the house in the wind, peeling paint, rotting wood and spider webs galore inside! The kitchen was a ghastly sight, terribly outdated. The two bathrooms, one downstairs and this one up here, were equally as obsolete. But I managed to talk Michael into buying it anyway. I just imagined what this house would look like once it had been restored.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “I’m glad my husband had shared my vision. We had a lot of good times fixing up this old place.”

  Alec merely nodded, feeling fascinated. “Did you do the refurbishing yourself?”

  “Yes, most of it anyway.”

  She turned and he followed her the rest of the way upstairs, where the kids met them in the hallway. After a grand welcome, Lydia instructed Tyler and Brooke to go to their bedrooms and read until she and “Mr. Alec” finished up with the clogged sink.

  “So you can remodel a home, but can’t use a wrench, eh?” he asked half-teasingly.

  “I can paint and I can wallpaper, if that’s what you mean. But when it comes to nuts and bolts, I’m lost. And plumbing. . .? Forget it, although I was willing to give it a try tonight.”

  Assessing the situation, Alec concluded that the sink had overflowed, judging by the water still in its basin and the heap of wet towels in the bathtub.

  Lydia stepped back and watched him expertly take the pipes apart.

  “Would you mind stopping the drain so I don’t get soaked?”

  She did as he asked, having to step over his long, horizontal form in the process. Minutes later, Alec had disconnected the U-shaped pipe from the drain.

  “Got a wire hanger?”

  “Yes.” Lydia ran to fetch the object, and when she returned, he straightened it out and stuck it into the pipe, producing a glob of unsightly hair and unidentifiable muck. Then he poked and prodded and, much to Lydia’s surprise, a small, die-cast metal car fell into his outstretched palm.

  “I think this has been in here for a while,” he said amusedly, inspecting the rusty thing. “You might ask Ty about it.”

  Alec chuckled and tossed the slimy toy at her. Lydia grimaced, but caught it while he began replacing the piping. Once it was secure again, he stood and pulled the sink’s stopper. The water went down easily.

  “Thank you,” Lydia said gratefully.

  “No sweat. That was an easy one.”

  He washed his hands, dried them, picked up his tools, and then strode into the hallway, where Lydia was waiting. “G’night, you two,” he called toward Tyler and Brooke’s bedrooms.

  They rushed out to say good-bye and marveled at how fast he’d fixed the clogged drain. Lydia rolled her eyes, somewhat embarrassed that her children were treating the man like a superhero.

  “All right, back to bed,” she ordered. “I’m going to see Mr. Alec out and then I’ll be up to hear your prayers.”

  “You got some polite kids there, Mrs. Boswick, I’ll grant you that much.”

  “Why, thank you.” It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the compliment, and Lydia felt very proud of her children.

  “But let me say this,” Alec began, pivoting just before he reached the front door. “I was just being neighborly tonight. Doing the Christian thing, nothing else. Got it?”

  “You’re saying that because of what Tyler said this morning, aren’t you?” Lydia asked perceptively. “Well, to be honest, I’m not shopping for a daddy for my children, if that’s what you think.” Her voice was calm and steady. “I surely can’t blame you for being put off but, you see, children often speak their minds without thinking first. I am truly sorry if you were offended.”

  “Yeah, well, I—”

  “The truth is, I don’t want to remarry. I loved my husband so much and. . .well, I just don’t think I could ever feel that way about anyone ever again.”

  She yanked on the heavy, polished front door and it opened. Alec stepped out of the house and onto her two-story covered front porch.

  “Thank you for your help tonight.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Good night, Mr. Corbett.”

  “Alec,” he reminded her as the large front door closed in his face.

  Slowly, he made his way back to his house. When he arrived, he cast one last glance at the Boswick place across the way. Why did he suddenly feel as though that woman with her sweet, Southern manner was a challenge he’d like to accept?

  Forget her, you fool, he groused inwardly. She’s not looking for a romantic relationship and neither are you. So just forget her!

  Four

  Once his wife entered the bathroom and busied herself with her nightly routine, Gerald Boswick lifted the phone, dialing the number he’d come to know so well. With the receiver to his ear, he listened as it rang while he tapped the toe of his shoe impatiently. After a few moments, he seated himself on the wide bed covered with a pale blue satin comforter and allowed his gaze to take in the opulent splendor of the rest of the room. Elberta had hired just the right decorator—a darling little thing from Nashville. What was her name again?

  The phone suddenly stopped ring
ing. “It’s me,” he said, announcing himself.

  “What can I do for you on this late Sunday night?”

  “I think you’d better step up the romance,” Gerald advised.

  “I thought you told me to take it slow.”

  “Things have changed.”

  A pause. “What things?”

  “She’s got a new neighbor. I met him this afternoon and if we’re not careful, he could ruin everything.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I’ll make some arrangements; you just do your part. Woo and coo her as though your life depends on it.” Gerald paused for effect, the way he’d been taught back in seminary training. “Because it does.”

  ❧

  On Monday morning, Lydia deposited Tyler and Brooke in their respective classrooms at Southern Pride Christian School before making her way around the large building to where the church office suites were located. They consisted of three offices: her father-in-law’s, the assistant pastor’s, and the youth pastor’s. Lydia’s desk was centered between them, as she did some secretarial work for all three men. However, the majority of her time was spent answering calls and scheduling appointments for Gerald, as well as tending to minor bookkeeping responsibilities. Once inside her warm, violet-carpeted work space, she made a pot of coffee and set it in the reception area. As usual, her father-in-law had one appointment after another today.

  As she walked to her desk, adjacent to the small lobby, Lydia noticed the Do Not Disturb sign on Gerald’s office door and heard voices coming from within. A female’s—her father-in-law’s. She glanced at her wristwatch. Odd, she thought. It was only eight o’clock. Lydia did all the scheduling and she never penciled anything in before nine. But perhaps a crisis arose, so he’d created the slot himself.

  She sat down and momentarily glanced at the row of pictures on the back of her desktop. Tyler, Brooke, Michael, and herself. Her family, minus one, and in spite of what she’d told her neighbor last night, the loss of her husband had left a chasm in her heart that ached to be filled. Except she seriously doubted she’d ever love again, that she could find the kind of soul mate she’d found in Michael.