A Reluctant Belle

by Beth White

  Levi murmured something polite, but Schuyler had no desire to pin himself to a chair in the parlor. “No thanks, we ate on the train. The . . . body will arrive shortly, and there’s lots to do, to get ready for the service in the morning. Bron, where’s Jamie?”

  “At the shipping office. He’s there all the time now. Since your father took on the campaign for office, Jamie’s overwhelmed with the business.” She sighed. “For the last six months Pierce and I have hardly seen him, and now that he’s shouldered the entire thing . . .”

  It crossed Schuyler’s mind that Bronwyn seemed to rarely finish a sentence, but perhaps he was being too critical. “I’m sure he’s handling things the best he can. And I’m here to help.” He turned to Levi. “Would you like to walk downtown with me and see the offices of Beaumont Shipping?”

  Schuyler found his brother seated at his desk, head in hands. Jamie had just turned thirty, but he looked at least a decade older—brown hair graying at the temples, furrows of care between the thick brows, the skin around his blue eyes puffy. Even his beard, always his most swashbuckling feature, had collected a sprinkling of frost.

  Jamie looked up as Schuyler’s shadow fell across the desk, his expression instantly lightening. He leaped to his feet. “Little brother!”

  Suffocated in a bear hug, which he heartily returned, Schuyler realized that he had been missed. He’d always considered himself fairly expendable. “Hey, ouch, let go, you bully.” He laughed and pulled back. Another thing that suddenly dawned on him was how physically slight his older brother was, belying his strength. Jamie was actually looking up at Schuyler, who topped him by several inches.

  Huh. Guess I’ve grown.

  “What are you doing here? I was about to go home for the day.” Jamie might have looked a tad guilty.

  “I came to make sure you weren’t letting the business go to wrack and ruin,” Schuyler said easily. “And I brought a friend to meet you and see the place. This is Levi Riggins, Selah’s—”

  “Selah’s husband,” Jamie finished with him, grinning and shaking hands with Levi. “Glad to meet you, brother. Or I feel like you must be. Selah has always seemed a part of the family.”

  “And Joelle,” Schuyler blurted before he could stop himself. When Jamie gave him a funny look, he added, “And Aurora, of course.”

  “Of course.” Jamie gestured toward a couple of chairs against the wall. “Have a seat, gentlemen, while I wrap things up here, sign a couple of papers, then I’ll give Levi the grand tour.”

  Schuyler hadn’t been in the office in quite some time. It had been their father’s refuge, visits from the family discouraged, until a couple of years ago when Jamie began to be groomed to take over. Schuyler considered himself an outcast of sorts, mainly good for sales and free-ranging projects outside the state. He loved the water, loved machines and trains and engineering things, but sitting in an office held no appeal. He was happy to abdicate in Jamie’s favor.

  Levi sat in his usual relaxed manner, one ankle crossed over the other knee, taking in his surroundings. Jamie had done little to change the second-story office, though he had straightened the account books Pa had always kept in a towering pile on the credenza. The big picture window above the credenza was still curtainless, allowing an unobstructed view of the Alabama River sweeping by on the other side of the Water Street levee. Masts, sails, and steamboat smokestacks perforated the distant sky, with seagulls wheeling noisily in the foreground.

  It was all a normal part of a Gulf Coast afternoon, and Schuyler wondered if Levi found it somewhat alien—an Illinois native who’d spent most of his life on horseback or aboard a train, with little access to the exotic coastal parts of the country.

  As if he’d read Schuyler’s thoughts, Levi steepled his fingers and smiled. “I think I could enjoy living in a place like this. Seems like it’s got a little more culture than New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans is a steamy, alligator-infested swamp,” Jamie said. “No idea why Camilla and Gabriel insisted on staying there after he finished medical college.”

  “Just wait until the temperature starts getting upwards of a hundred in the summer,” Schuyler said. “You’ll be ready to head back to Illinois.”

  “It’s not much cooler here.” Jamie scrawled his signature one more time and shoved aside the stack of papers he’d been working on. “Come down to the dock and I’ll show you the improvements we’ve made to the warehouses.” They all trooped down the stairs to the ground floor, where a carpeted reception area and handsome meeting room took up most of the space. “We’re clearing up the storage areas here,” Jamie said. “Pa never could throw anything away.” He faced Schuyler, chin up. “How long are you going to stay?”

  “Long enough.” For once, Schuyler curated his words. “I’m surprised you’re not taking some time off. Bron seems to be taking this pretty hard.” He paused, glanced at Levi for support. “Jamie, our father just died.”

  “Yes, he did. Which leaves me with an unbelievable amount of work. You’re just like him, you know. Getting bored with the monotony of daily desk work—taking off for more exciting places and events, hobnobbing with important people.” A dry smile curved Jamie’s lips, but his voice was brittle. “Don’t misunderstand, I’m glad you’re able to sow your wild oats while you’re young and unmarried. It’s a big responsibility, having a family.”

  Schuyler felt his pulse rattle. Of course Jamie had responsibilities here, but was he blaming that on Schuyler?

  Feeling Levi quietly tap his elbow, he looked at his friend. Levi gave an imperceptible shake of his head.

  Right. Grow up, young man. Let the poor fellow blow off some steam, no skin off your nose.

  He deliberately relaxed his shoulders, uncurled his fists. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. Come on, let’s go down to the wharf and look around.”

  Whatever his emotions, Jamie’s manners were good enough that he wouldn’t engage in a brawl in front of a guest. With a shrug, he opened the front door and gestured for Schuyler and Levi to precede him out to the street.

  They spent the next hour wandering up and down the wharf, examining goods coming down the river on barges and steamboats, and sampling seafood from the bay, cooked right on the piers.

  As they poked through one of the Beaumont warehouses, Levi admired the orderliness of Jamie’s management. “So the business involves storage, movement of products and supplies, staffing, maintenance of ships and rail cars.” Levi whistled. “That’s a huge enterprise. What made your father turn his attention to political office?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Pa was never satisfied with ‘big’ if ‘gigantic’ was on the table. I think he saw ways to increase his reach into the upper parts of the state—shoot, all over the southeast. He’s always fostered relationships with people in government. The next step seemed to be sticking a leg over into it himself.”

  “It wasn’t just commercial greed, though,” Schuyler put in, alarmed at the way Jamie’s assessment sounded. “He saw this critical period after the war as a chance to give Southerners a voice in developing fair policy.”

  Levi nodded. “I’m trying to draw a bead on some ideas that might have made enemies. In a city this big, a port this busy, I assume there’s competition. Who would that be?”

  “There’s Lanier Maritime over on the eastern shore.” Jamie moved down an aisle of stacked crates, periodically pausing to straighten one. “They were based in Mobile until shortly before the war, then moved across the bay to Point Clear when a large chunk of property opened up.”

  “Any hard feelings there?” Levi put his hand to the pocket where his notebook rested but seemed to think better of pulling it out in this informal setting.

  Schuyler approved. His brother wouldn’t take kindly to being grilled for information.

  “Hard feelings?” Jamie grinned. “Not that I’m aware of. My wife is a Lanier descendent. If you want to know the truth, it was a little like a royal merger when we married. Also, Camilla’s
husband is some kind of wrong-side-of-the-blanket kin. In any event, the rail industry isn’t their milieu.”

  “All right, what about your father’s railroad activity? Schuyler mentioned a merger with the Mississippi Central. How would that work with the crossing of state lines?”

  Jamie looked at Schuyler. “That’s top secret information.”

  “No, it’s not.” Schuyler folded his arms. “It’s all over the state of Mississippi. Don’t you read the paper? People are agitated about the idea of the government sticking its nose into interstate commerce with federal funding of new rails. Pa was on board with it.” He looked at Levi. “It was one of the planks he was running on.”

  Levi put up a conciliatory hand. “All right. Could be enough of a bone of contention to upset somebody. What I don’t know, Jamie—and Schuyler says he doesn’t have information on either—is how far the negotiations have gone with regard to that merger. And how it would affect the extension of the M&O into Ohio. I’ve heard talk that’s a strong possibility.”

  “Pa was lobbying for that,” Jamie said carefully. “Our creditors are being patient, but who knows how long they’ll hold out? At the end of the war, the rails were in terrible condition—due to you Yanks tearing things up every chance you got—and the Confederacy owed us over five million dollars. That doesn’t even touch unpaid state bonds.” He sighed.

  “A new connection to Aberdeen will be finished this summer,” Schuyler put in, to deflect from his brother’s uncomfortable dig at Levi’s Union service. “And for the last six months I’ve been negotiating for lines to Starkville and Oxford. That may increase revenue.”

  Levi smiled, apparently unoffended. “Clearly your father had a finger in a lot of complicated pies. At least now I have some concrete leads to follow up on. I’ll write to Pinkerton tonight and see what he suggests.”

  “Good.” Jamie nodded. “Meanwhile . . . I suggest we collect some of that shrimp from the wharf and take it home for Bron to boil up with some grits for dinner. I swear I could eat a pound or two all by myself.”

  “Shrimp and grits?” Levi made a face.

  Schuyler laughed. “You have no idea what a South Alabama cook can do with those two ingredients, plus some cheese and Cajun sausage.” He swung toward the open doorway and tossed over his shoulder, “On the other hand, Yankee Jack, you can just pass your helping on to me. I’ll be happy to take care of it for you.”

  Why on earth did I think this was a good idea to come here? Joelle asked herself.

  By the time she and Selah stepped off the platform at the Mobile train station, Camilla and her family had also arrived from New Orleans. The reunion scene when everyone gathered in the Beaumonts’ parlor instantly made Joelle’s head pound. The baby cried, adults shouted to be heard above the children shrieking as they dashed up and down the stairs chasing the dog, the doorbell chimed with the arrival of the mortician asking where he was to deliver the body in the morning, and three different neighbors came by with food for the grieving family.

  In an effort not to get in the way, Joelle sat in a corner, fingers clenched in her lap. The headache was turning into a migraine.

  She had not seen Beaumont House since Lady passed away. Camilla, Jamie, and Schuyler’s grandmother had been, for all intents and purposes, their mother—the grande dame of the household, ruling her son-in-law with the same sort of velvet-gloved iron will wielded by Joelle’s own grandmother. That funeral had been a somber occasion indeed, the space left by the removal of Lady’s vital personality a palpable thing. Still, she had been elderly, frail, unavoidably approaching the end of her life. This violent wrenching of Mr. Zeke from the family fabric could only be described as tragic.

  She searched for Schuyler and found him sitting at the foot of the stairs, petting the hairy black-brown-and-gray mutt that charitable persons might call a dog. It lay across Schuyler’s feet, belly up and panting with the bliss of having its belly rubbed. Schuyler’s expression was uncharacteristically contemplative and sad. When she’d walked into the house behind Selah, he’d plucked Joelle out of the crowd, squashed her in a brief hug, then let her go. She’d lost track of him until now.

  Suddenly he looked up and met her gaze across the room. One finger crook and she was walking toward him, stepping over toys, children, and luggage. She sat down beside him, nudging the animal out of the way with her foot. It—she, apparently—gave her an injured look and flopped onto her stomach.

  “You are a cold, cruel woman,” Schuyler said, a welcome smile curling his mouth.

  Joelle bent to scratch the dog behind its large pointed, shaggy ears. “Sorry, beast. What’s your name?”

  “Schuyler.” He stuck out his hand. “I thought I’d introduced myself.”

  She laughed and took his hand, surprised when he didn’t let go. After a brief tug-of-war, she gave in and let him hold it. “The dog. What’s she called?”

  “Hilo. Somebody saw an atlas picture of Hawaii.” He snorted. “Does this dog look Hawaiian to you?”

  “Well.” She watched Hilo give Schuyler’s wrist an adoring lick. “Maybe if you squint.”

  They sat together for a minute or so, Schuyler absently playing with her fingers. He was so unlike himself that she squelched the fluttery sensation of guilt in her stomach. He needed a friend. He was just missing his father.

  Finally he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s a novel pastime. What brought that on?”

  “I’m serious.” He brought her hand to the top of his thigh and clasped it with both hands. “I’ve got a decision to make, and I need you to pray about it with me.”

  “A-all right.” She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. There was nothing romantic about praying. Was there? Though there was a certain amount of intimacy in the way he had said that. Then again, everybody always said she overthought things. “What exactly is the problem?”

  “It’s this. For the last two days, I’ve listened to Levi ask questions about my father. ‘Why did Ezekiel Beaumont do this? Why did he do that? Who were his friends and business associates? Where was he planning to go after the speech? Where had he been, the previous couple of weeks?’”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “Some.” His golden head was bent, and her gaze traced the familiar swirl toward the back of his head where some of his hair curled down, some went sideways, but none lay straight. He turned his face and looked up at her from beneath that messy, glorious lion’s mane. “But like I said, it made me think. You know, about the way he worked so hard to take care of all of us. And I’ve watched Jamie today, taking on everything my father used to do—except he’s so young, and this thing my father built is like a complicated machine that is going to take more than one man to run now. I’ve got to step up and do my part.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She had so little wisdom herself. So she nodded, letting him know she was listening.

  “The problem is,” Schuyler continued with a sigh, “I’m not sure what my part is. I don’t know much about the shipping and storage business. I understand rail transport a little better, but supervising a board of stockholders? Managing people?” He laughed. “I can barely manage myself!”

  “But Schuyler, you’re so smart! You finished at the top of your class at Ole Miss.”

  “Physics and geometry, Latin and Greek? Oh, yes, I’m quite the clever fellow. But practicalities like finding out why my father was murdered and who did it—” He blew out another disgusted breath. “I’m about as useless as this Hawaiian dust mop!”

  “Well. Well, I think you’re wrong. There are plenty of people who depend on you.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Hixon and Jefcoat, for two. They’d both be in jail by now if not for you. No, don’t laugh. It’s true. And Daughtry House wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  His eyes lit with laughter. “Y’all just needed my money. Selah and Levi have got that place under control.”

 
“You’ll be rich when it gets going. That’s an accomplishment.”

  “Rich. I used to believe that was what I wanted. Most people considered my father to be wealthy. But I don’t think that’s what made him get up in the morning, at least over the last few years. And I don’t want that to be what drives me—you know what I mean?” His eyes narrowed, intensely staring at her. “I’m tired of wasting time on things that don’t matter.”

  There was something exhilarating about being trusted with his thoughts. Something vaguely dangerous. Gil had never, ever talked to her this way. The thought of Gil brought her up short. She had been leaning in to Schuyler, their faces mere inches apart.

  She sat up and snatched her hand away, tucking it into the folds of her skirt. “You’ve changed in the last couple of days,” she said primly. “Have you noticed we haven’t argued about anything since I got here?”

  “That’s because you haven’t said anything ridiculous.” He grinned.

  “Just give me time.”

  “Why didn’t you bring your fiancé with you?”

  The non sequitur told her he’d noted her withdrawal. “He has to preach on Sunday and has other duties in between. Besides, he doesn’t really know your family.”

  Clearly he didn’t buy the explanation. “You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to, Jo. You and I both know that whole scene at the Peabody was about the two of us.”

  The words sat there between them, twisting with meaning. Schuyler, her lifelong enemy, her friend, the boy who had given her her first kiss, had somehow turned into this complicated, passionate, courageous man. And it was too late. “Yes, I was angry with you, Schuyler,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “That’s how it always goes with us. Gil doesn’t back me into corners.”