Hearts in Hiding

by Patty Smith Hall

  For her own sake, as well.

  Chapter Nine

  No matter how slow Beau drove, Merrilee’s old Ford rocked and swayed with the rain-induced craters in the old dirt road. A pine limb for an overhanging tree slapped the windshield with a soft thump.

  “Oh!”

  Beau glanced over at Edie and smiled at the look of shocked amusement on her face. “Are you enjoying this?”

  “I’m sorry.” Her soft laugher echoed through the cab of the truck when the next bump jolted her into the air slightly. “Just reminds me of riding a roller coaster.”

  “I’ve never been on one.” But he’d heard of them. Like flinging yourself over the top of a cliff, one of his buddies had told him. Kind of how he felt every time he was with Edie.

  He’d half expected her to throw his proposition—her expertise with his father’s house in exchange for getting Gertie a phone—right back in his face. But she hadn’t. Maybe the woman had listened to him and realized she might just need his help.

  “Well, this is as close as I’ve been to one since Dad took Mom and me to this amusement park right outside of Chicago when I was ten.” She grabbed the seat cushion, gripping as much of the tight fabric as she could in her fingers, her lips turned up, revealing even white teeth. “Dad was big on vacations. I think he always felt guilty over all the time he had to spend at the office, so he’d pick some place for us to go where he could give us his undivided attention.”

  That’s how John had been, taking Beau fishing in a little pond he’d found or teaching him how to drive. James may have given him life, but John was the man whom he thought of as his father. “Sounds like you guys had fun.”

  “We did.” Her voice held a hint of melancholy. “A long time ago.”

  He itched to reach for her hand, just to let her know everything would be okay. Instead, he glanced over at her and gave her a smile. “Once this war is over, you’ll get to be with your family again.”

  But the brief gaze that met his held hurt, a bleakness, almost as if the sunlight shining from her face moments ago had never existed. What had caused this shift in

  Edie’s relationship with her parents? She leaned her head against the side window, turning her attention back to the makeshift road.

  Beau focused on the road again, too. “You know, I remember when my mom and dad bought this place. Dad sent me and my brothers to pick up rocks out in the fields.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight? Nine?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her watching him. “That’s hard work for such a little boy.”

  Maybe, but he hadn’t known any other way. “We made a game of it. There’s a pond on the back end of the property. We liked to skip stones across.” He chuckled. “We’d spend all day looking for that perfect rock. You know, one that’s smooth and flat that would skim across the water. Whoever got their rock to go the farthest won the game.”

  “I bet you won quite a bit,” she said with a hint of a smile in her voice.

  “Sometimes,” Beau replied, not quite understanding this feeling drifting through his veins, warm and satisfying. “But usually, my brother Joe would win. He could make a rock skip across the surface of the water forever.”

  The truck lurched sideways on another bump, bouncing her against him. Instinctively, he put his arm around her, his hand clamped around her shoulder, bringing her flush against his side. Beau inclined his head just an inch or so, but it was enough to catch a whiff of her scent. Vanilla. She must touch the spice against the soft skin behind her ears, like the finest French perfume.

  Edie pressed her hand to his chest and pushed away. “You may need to think about getting someone to level out this road before you rent out the house.”

  Had her hand trembled as she drew away? Or was that simply wishful thinking on his part? “We’ll need to make a list.”

  She nodded, crowding the door on the far side of the seat. “How did you think our meeting with Mr. Cantrell went this morning?”

  “All right.” Beau gripped the steering wheel. They had caught Ben Cantrell heading out of his office this morning, and handed him a check to extend telephone service into the Negro community. But beneath Cantrell’s graciousness, Beau had read the immovable truth. The man had no intention of giving authorization to string phone lines to Gertie’s neighborhood, not any time soon.

  “Cantrell’s a hard sell, but I think that check may get him moving on the project.”

  Poor woman, she didn’t know Ben Cantrell. But it didn’t matter. Beau had made a deal with her, and he would see it through, even if it meant a private meeting with Ben to convince him.

  He glanced out the window. Spring had come early. The water oaks, usually bare this time of the year, already bore buds of deep green, their skeletal limbs dressing in Easter finest. Pink and white flowers blossomed along the crooked branches of the dogwoods. Even the crepe myrtles were getting in on the act, the tiny buds seeming ready to burst with color. If he rolled down the window, he bet he could almost smell their heady floral scent.

  “I’d forgotten how pretty it is out here.”

  “Wonder why your dad wanted Merrilee’s house so much that he’d give up on this place?”

  “Pride.” Beau slowed the truck as they came up on the driveway. “Dad just always thought Grandpa owed him the house.”

  “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “Have you met my father? He figures everything in the Daniels family is his until someone tells him differently. Then he gets angry.”

  Edie chuckled. “You think that’s why your grandfather didn’t tell James he’d sold the house to John Davenport? He was afraid to?”

  “Let’s just say Dad came by his pride honestly,” Beau answered, steering the truck onto a patch of gravel and dirt. “Grandpa couldn’t tell anyone he’d run into money problems and had to sell the house. The only way he could save face was to leave it to Merrilee in his will.”

  “You think if he’d told your dad ahead of time, this mess would still have happened?”

  “No doubt about it. Dad’s always been mixed up in something—moonshine, gambling.” Well, Beau could only hope this most recent mess would give his father a chance to make things right with the Lord.

  The trees along the drive suddenly thinned out, revealing a small patch of barren land, save one or two scrawny azaleas his mother had planted before leaving. Beau brought the truck to a stop and looked out over the windshield. From the road, it hadn’t looked so bad, but up close, the damage was evident. Paint peeled back from the outside walls, exposing gray unfinished boards to the elements. The front porch leaned to one side, and a mix of mortar, broken boards and rusty nails crumbled beneath it, leaving one narrow step that Beau would wager couldn’t support a fly, much less a person. The shutters hung at odd angles, and the roof needed new shingles.

  Beau fell back into his seat. Momma had been so proud of this place. It would have killed her to see how Dad had let this place go. But she’d left—everybody had except Dad. God, how am I going to fix this place up? It’s a dump.

  “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” Edie’s words pierced through his thoughts.

  Was she serious? “Are you looking at the same mess I am?”

  “What is it Merrilee is always saying? Expect the worst, hope for the best and you’ll usually get something in between.” Her hand gently rested on his forearm, sending a shaft of warmth up his arm that burrowed into his chest. “So far, everything I see can be fixed with a little paint and some two-penny nails.”

  Was she right? Was this one mess his father had made that could be fixed? He pointed to the glove compartment. “There’s some paper and a pencil in there. Could you please get them?”

  Beau got out of the car, then after taking one more glance toward the house, stepped around to help Edie out. Even with their visit to the phone company on the agenda, she’d shown up for breakfast this morning decked out
in a pair of pale blue coveralls that gave just a hint at her feminine curves, the elastic gathers around her trim ankles offering the only evidence of her shapely legs. She’d pulled her chestnut hair back in a protective scarf, but on the trip here, a dark strand had come loose, curling around one flushed cheek.

  Beau grimaced. He shouldn’t have brought Edie here, to this place where the very walls spoke of mistreatment and neglect. Would she guess that his father took no better care of him and his brothers than he did this house?

  She pocketed the paper and pencil. “Are you ready to go inside?”

  No use putting off the inevitable, not that he thought Edie would let him. Beau nodded. “It might be easier to go in through the kitchen.”

  * * *

  The back of the house looked as bleak and run-down as the front. Pulling a key out of his pocket, Beau jiggled it in the lock, his mouth a line of stubborn determination that Edie could handle, unlike the flicker of painful vulnerability that dulled his green eyes when they’d first driven up. No, the hurt she’d seen lodged deep in her chest, plunging through her like a penny nail in thick oak. Well, it wasn’t Beau’s fault his father acted like a cretin.

  A soft click announced the lock slipping from the bolt. Beau pushed the door open. A thick wave of heat and stale air bore down on them, sucking the air right out of Edie’s lungs.

  “I’ll get the windows.”

  She glanced over the room, mentally trying to map out a trail through the jungle of boxes, old newspapers and broken furniture. “We need to get a cross breeze going through here.”

  He gave her a stiff nod, then hurried across the floor, jumping over piles of scattered newspapers and old magazines. Beau pushed against the window frame, the metal hinges and glass panes crying out in protest against his brute strength. The heavy blanket of heat eased just a bit, the faded curtains lifting at the light breeze flowing through the house.

  Beau drew in a shallow breath and coughed. “Sorry about that. Never thought to check this place out before now.”

  Was that because he’d never thought of this place as his home? “Well, it’s pretty obvious your dad hasn’t been here in a while.”

  “It’s a shame, too. This house used to be a showcase.” Beau glanced around, his gaze perusing the rectangular room, as if making a schematic of where each chair, each pot and pan belonged. Piles of old clothes, cushions and other trash grazed the dingy ceiling, rounded out the room’s corners. “Momma would die if she saw what Dad did to this place.”

  Edie glanced around, noting the handmade cabinets and engraved trim work that ran along the edge of pine hardwoods throughout the room. A little soap and water would turn the dirty walls back to a buttery yellow that would give the kitchen a homey feel any woman would want to come home to after a day at the bomber plant. A thick coat of dust covered the only exposed furniture top, a round kitchen table in the center of the room. Nothing that a little polish and elbow grease couldn’t fix.

  She flashed him an uncertain smile. “Have you found him a lawyer yet?”

  “Everyone I’ve interviewed doesn’t want to take his case.” Beau grabbed an errant box and put it back in a short stack. “I guess they’re afraid of losing the case, not that I blame them. Dad’s been a loose cannon most of my life. I’m just surprised it took Mack this long to catch him at something.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Edie walked over to the dining room table, surveying the mountain of what looked like unopened mail. “Everyone wants to believe the best about their parents.”

  He laughed. “Unless those parents give you a reason not to trust them. Then you’re either stupid or incredibly naive to think like that.”

  Edie should come back with something, some nonsense about believing the best in people, or mumbo jumbo like that. That’s what he’d expect. But she couldn’t, not when what he’d said was true. Instead she separated envelopes, shuffling them into distinct stacks.

  Yes, she had problems, but whatever troubled Beau ran deeper, more painful than the embarrassment of a troublesome father. And for the life of her, she couldn’t shake the need to know what troubled him. What could she do to help, to bring him comfort?

  The name and address on the envelope brought her thoughts into focus. James Daniels couldn’t be that cruel. “Beau?”

  “What is it?”

  Edie handed him an envelope yellowed with age. “You need to look at this.”

  Beau glanced over the letter, his brows furrowing into a stern line. One look at him told Edie she hadn’t mistaken the familiar handwriting of her landlady, or the name of the addressee.

  John Davenport.

  “What would Merrilee be writing John Davenport?” Edie picked up another letter and studied it. “I thought she didn’t even know where he was.”

  “She doesn’t. The address she used is from more than ten years ago.” Beau threw a letter on the table and grabbed another one. “My guess is that they’ve been here this whole time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re too nice for that.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  Edie nodded. At least he had the decency to apologize, but that was who she’d begun to realize he was, a stand-up kind of man. “Then tell me how did your dad get Merrilee’s letters?”

  “I don’t know. More than likely promised to mail them, then brought them here.” Beau started digging through the mess on the table, pushing paper off, letting them fall to the floor like heavy raindrops scattering across parched soil. “And if I were a gambling man, I’d bet the farm John’s letters to her are somewhere in this mess, too.”

  “But what does that mean?”

  “It means Dad’s been jockeying for the homestead for more than ten years.” Beau’s fingers tightened around the letter in his hand. “And that he was willing to break up Merrilee’s marriage to do it.”

  What James had done to Merrilee was much more than that! “He wanted her house that badly?” Her voice caught on her words, her throat thickening with tears. “Didn’t he realize he wasn’t just hurting Merrilee and John, but Claire, too?”

  He glanced over at Edie before focusing his attention back on the growing pile of letters. “Dad’s only concern is for himself.”

  Edie stared at him, a sharp ache settling in her chest at the tight pull of his lips and the lines that suddenly flared around the corners of his eyes. James might not care about his sister, but Beau did. He was hurting for Merrilee and John, and now for Claire. Without thinking, she laid her hand on his arm. “This isn’t your fault.”

  He combed a hand through his hair, the thick auburn strands, an unruly mess that she found boyishly appealing. “Maybe if I’d stuck around, he wouldn’t have had the chance to pull something like this.”

  “James would have found a way to keep them apart. You know that.” Hard muscles bunched beneath her palm, causing a pleasant warmth to travel up her arm and pool in her chest. Edie swallowed past the sudden knot in her throat. “And he might have killed you, too.”

  “Death would be too permanent.” Pressing his hands flat against the table, he dropped his chin to his chest. Beau shook his head. “He’s only interested in the pain he can inflict.”

  Resisting the urge to touch him, Edie curled her fingers into a tight ball, her head beginning to ache, though from the thick layer of dust covering every piece of furniture or the confusion she felt, she wasn’t sure. If being beat to within an inch of his life hadn’t forced Beau into running, why had he left home? “What drove him to keep these letters from Merrilee?”

  Beau shrugged one very broad shoulder. “Who knows? Could have been a fight over the house. Or maybe this was Dad’s way of punishing her for getting married in the first place.” His eyes met hers, the pale green darkening to a deep emerald that sparked with anger. “Dad always felt Merrilee married beneath her. He thought she’d shamed the family, settling with a sharecropper instead of marrying the so
n of one of Granddaddy’s wealthy cronies.”

  “That’s an antiquated way of thinking.”

  Beau looked at her, frowning. “Most of these people are still fighting the Civil War, and some, like my father, continue to live by the old traditions.”

  “But life changes.”

  He shook his head. “Not for some people.”

  Edie glared at the envelopes scattered across the table. Beau was right. His father was set in his ways, but surely her father could change, couldn’t he? She focused on the address gracing the middle of the page. “These letters look old.”

  Beau nodded beside her. “Knowing Dad, he probably started stealing them after John bought the house.”

  Was he saying what she thought he was saying? “John Davenport might not know about Claire.” Edie gave him a slight nod, regret clogging her throat. She’d just jumped to the conclusion that John Davenport had abandoned his daughter like her father had, but instead the man had possibly never known her. How sad! For John, for Merrilee who had welcomed everyone into her home as if they were members of the family. And most of all, for Claire. Someone needed to tell Claire the truth before the little girl uncovered it. “What are you going to do.”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged, picking up the remaining envelopes, fanning them out in his hands to study them. “What would you do?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.” He glanced up from the letters. “You’ve been friends with Merrilee for over a year now. What do you think I should do with the letters?”

  Edie thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Me, neither.” Beau bundled the envelopes together and tied them together with a rubber band he’d found on the table. “We’ll just have to pray on it and see what God wants to do.”

  Edie blinked. Did he say “pray”?

  “Yes, even us reformed reprobates pray.” He shot her a teasing grin that would have coaxed a laugh out of her if she hadn’t felt like such a ninny. “Found it particularly came in handy when I was crouched down in a foxhole with the Germans bearing down on me.”