by Kim Pritekel
“Who’s that?” Ed asked, stepping away from the pile of destroyed belongings. He whipped his hat off his head and swiped the sweat from his forehead as the three watched the car approach.
Eleanor said nothing but felt her heart beat a bit faster as she recognized Lysette and Adalyn, who was carefully guiding the car around the larger ruts in the dirt road. She managed to keep the smile off her face, mostly because she was distracted when she saw a truck turn down their road a bit behind the car. From the distance, it looked as though the truck bed was loaded down with materials, and she saw a person sitting on the end of the bed, holding on to the side of the pickup.
“What the hell?” Ed muttered.
Eleanor made her way down the stairs to stand next to her mother. The two exchanged a look and small smile before looking back to their unexpected guests as the car pulled up in front of the farmhouse in a cloud of dust.
“Bonjour!” Adalyn exclaimed, climbing out of the car.
“Bonjour!” Emma replied, hurrying over to the driver’s side where the two women met in a fierce embrace.
Eleanor watched, surprised. She couldn’t remember her mother acting on anything with so much enthusiasm. She watched the interaction of the two mothers closely, noting a connection with Adalyn that she’d never seen her mother have with anyone else, outside of her own daughter. It was confusing but touching.
“The cavalry is here.”
She turned to see Lysette walking up to her and was surprised when she was taken in a tight hug, which she returned, more out of self-defense than welcome affection. However, the feel of Lysette’s soft body against her own and the enticing scent of her perfume drew her in.
“Are you okay?” Lysette murmured into the hug, her breath against Eleanor’s ear giving Eleanor a shiver.
“Yeah,” she said, giving her a small smile as they parted.
The two turned to watch the truck slow as it drew up beside the car. It was almost comical to see the poor man who’d been sitting in the truck bed hop down, covered in dust from head to toe.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed, sputtering with a chuckle. He used his own hat to slap at himself, the man nearly disappearing in a cloud of dust that flew into the air.
“I’m Ed Landry,” Eleanor’s father said, walking over to the newcomer, hand extended. “And you are?”
“Well, fella,” the man said with a grin, “believe it or not, my name ain’t Dusty. You can call me Gabby.”
Eleanor recognized the man’s accent as one she’d heard only once, and that man had been from Texas.
“Nice to meet you, Gabby. I’m Ed. I don’t think I know you.”
“Nope, you don’t,” Davis Landon said, pushing the driver’s side door of the truck closed as he and Samuel headed in the direction of the two men, the women standing off in a group. Eleanor watched, the pit of her stomach in knots. “This here fella is new in town and has been asking around for work, from what I’m told. He’s a carpenter.” He slapped the man on the back, chuckling as a fresh cloud of dust wafted into the afternoon, making him cough. “Seems like a good man for you to have around right now.”
Eleanor watched as her father ran a hand over his hair as he looked out over the seemingly endless blue sky, then back at their farmhouse. Nodding, he turned back to the two men, mostly ignoring Davis Landon.
“Yeah,” he said. “I could use the help. I can’t pay you right now, but if three squares and bunking in the out building over there will work for you, seems you’re the man for the job.”
“Great!” Again, Ed and Gabby shook hands. “Y’all don’t know how much I appreciate that.”
“Wonderful,” Davis said, placing a hand on each man’s shoulder, Ed visibly tensing at the touch. “Glad I could be of help. Today, you’ve got all of us, Ed,” he said, stepping back toward his truck. “We gathered all that I think we should need today. Got building materials, tools, plenty of nails.” He gave the gathered group a charming smile. “And my lovely wife and daughter brought us a hearty lunch, didn’t you, ladies?”
Eleanor stood shoulder to shoulder between her mother and Lysette as they dished out fried chicken, potato salad, and corn on the cob to the men who went through their makeshift line before loading up a plate for themselves.
“Come sit with me, Ellie,” Lysette said, taking Eleanor’s hand and, without waiting for a reply, tugging her behind her.
They found a tree that, literally overnight, had sprung to life, green exploding from the leaves that stretched to the heavens.
“Is this okay?” Lysette asked, dropping Eleanor’s hand.
As they got settled, Eleanor spared a glance at the young woman sitting across from her in the sparse shade. Her heart was racing, and her palms were sweating. Part of it was she was afraid she was doing something wrong under the watchful eye of her father, who sat alone on the upright log he used to chop wood on in the winter. He was watching her and her mother, who sat on the front porch with Adalyn.
Clearing her throat and her thoughts, she turned her focus to her companion. “Guess you got your lunch after all, huh?”
Lysette gave her an evil grin. “I usually get what I want, one way or another.”
Eleanor chuckled with a nod as she used her fork to scoop up some potato salad. “I believe that.”
“Did your dad do that to your mom’s face, too?” Lysette asked softly, picking a bit of meat off the bone of her chicken leg. She glanced up and met Eleanor’s gaze when there was only silence. “Like he did to your arm,” she added, almost as though she wanted Eleanor to know it was no secret and lying about it was unnecessary.
Ashamed, Eleanor nodded, looking down at her plate, which was balanced on the palm of her hand. “He gets…exuberant at times.”
“Interesting word for it, but I guess it’ll do, all things considered.”
They were quiet for a long moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Eleanor decided to voice hers. “It’s so strange to see how your parents act around each other. It’s almost like your father truly likes your mother.”
Lysette grinned as she gave her a side glance. “He does. My mother hangs the moon for him. He once told me that when he first saw her while on leave for an afternoon in Paris, he knew he was lost and he would never leave France unless she was with him.” She sighed wistfully. “They’ve been together since that day.” She met Eleanor’s gaze. “Can you imagine that? A love like that? A love that can last through anything, even war?” She shook her head as she sighed, tossing a bit of meat into her mouth.
Eleanor considered what she’d just heard and how otherworldly that sounded to her. “Not even the Bible talks about love like that.” She smirked. “Well, I guess other than for Jesus.”
Lysette’s eyebrows drew. “What does the Bible have to do with it?”
“Well,” Eleanor said with a shrug of uncertainty. “I’ve heard people say they’ve read love stuff in books. I’m only allowed to read the Bible.”
Lysette studied her for a long time before returning her attention to her lunch, not saying anything, though she looked as though she was having an entire dialogue in her head.
“What?” Eleanor asked, a bit uncomfortable.
Lysette smiled at her and shook her head. “Nothing, Ellie. I’m happy you’re coming back home with us tonight.”
Eleanor instantly lost her appetite, remembering the steep price her mother had paid for her perceived betrayal and disobedience. “No, Lysette,” she said quietly. “I’ll go with my parents.”
“And stay in that cramped jail cell? No way. My maman is as good at getting her way as I am.” She grinned. “Where else would I have learned it from?” she said sweetly.
****
“Come in.”
Lying in the twin bed, Eleanor was in the freshly washed and pressed nightgown she’d been wearing when she’d arrived the night before, about to say her prayers like a good girl before sleep.
The door opened, and a figure stood silhoue
tted in the doorway, backlit by a light on farther down the hallway. The unintended effect made her heart skip a beat as the beautiful young body beneath the sleeping gown was showed in perfect relief beneath the soft material.
She took a deep breath, shocked at how she was reacting to such a simple sight. That is, how her body was reacting to such a simple sight. She thought Lysette was absolutely beautiful, that she already knew. Beyond that, she’d not allowed her brain a full autopsy of the incoming visuals.
“Were you sleeping?” Lysette whispered, unaware of the state her sudden presence was putting Eleanor in.
Eleanor cleared her throat. “No. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Lysette softly closed the bedroom door behind her before moving in the dimness to the bed, perching on the side. “Here.”
When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Eleanor saw that a book was being extended toward her. She took it, the leather-bound tome cool to the touch. “What’s this?”
“I figured you could start with something simple. You can’t go too wrong with the Bronte sisters.” She smiled, resting her hand on her knee after Eleanor took the book, bringing it up a bit closer to her eyes to read in the tiny bit of moonlight coming in.
“Wuthering Heights,” Eleanor read aloud. She looked up and smiled at Lysette as she hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lysette replied, her gaze never wavering and Eleanor unable to tear hers away for a long moment. “You can just leave it in here,” she continued, her voice losing the soft, ethereal quality it had held a moment before. “Daddy said he figures it’ll take two weeks at least to get your house habitable, so…” She grinned. “You can stay here.”
“And read,” Eleanor added with a chuckle.
“And read.” Lysette leaned forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss to Eleanor’s cheek. “Good night, Ellie,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”
For the second time that night, Eleanor’s heart stopped. She swallowed, her heart racing nearly out of her chest as it began beating again. “Good night, Lysette,” she managed.
Chapter Eight
“How did this happen?” Lysette whispered, hands sliding off the steering wheel to her lap. “How the hell did this happen?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to hold back the emotion she felt building. Taking several deep breaths, she glanced over at the house, several windows lit. Everyone was home, as she figured they would be. Times had certainly changed since they were all waiting for Jim to get home to eat dinner or watch the evening’s television show.
She removed her key from the ignition, took a steadying breath, and gathered her purse before opening the driver’s side door and climbing out of the New Yorker. The October night was cold, the smell of snow in the air as her high heels clicked along the stone pathway to the front door of the house she shared with her husband, two children, and Aunt Josie, who had moved in a few years before to help with the children while Lysette was off doing her work. Having Josie there also gave the retired librarian a steady, stable home after the death of Gerry.
The front room was quiet, only a lamp on to light Lysette’s way, but she could hear the distant murmur of the television in the den, where no doubt Jim was lain out in socked feet on his recliner, tie undone and flung off into the bedroom somewhere for her to find and stow later.
Opting to head to the children’s bedrooms to check on them, she made her way to the stairs, heels getting lost in the thick carpeting installed as an anniversary gift when they’d moved into the house. In truth, it had been a bit of a bribe from Jim to get her to agree to move back to Colorado and to the small mountain town from where he was promised to be handed over a flourishing legal practice from an old family friend. Though that was true and indeed things were going well for them, she’d liked their life just fine in Dallas.
If only she’d known.
As she made her way toward her daughter’s bedroom, she had to laugh internally at the irony of it all. All that she’d spent so many years trying to escape had literally landed smack dab in the middle of her son’s academic career.
Dropping her purse on the floor outside the closed bedroom door, she lightly rapped on the wood. Given permission to enter, she turned the knob and pushed the door open, instantly in a purple wonderland. At the old house in Dallas, it had been pink. Now, for some odd reason, Bronte had turned her world into a grape.
“Hey, honey,” she said, an instant smile coming to her face at the first glance of the evening of her youngest. The twelve-year-old looked a lot like her, she was told, though she certainly had more of Jim’s personality—the quiet planner—whereas she’d seen more of her own spontaneous nature and openness to talk to anyone in their son.
“Hey, Mom,” Bronte said, looking up from the book she was reading.
“How’s my little bookworm?” Lysette sat on the side of the bed, reaching out a hand to brush soft strands of auburn hair out of Bronte’s lovely young face. She could see a lot of her mother in her daughter physically, which pleased her greatly. It had been four years since the stroke that ultimately took her mother far too young. It broke her heart that Bronte wouldn’t get to grow up with such a wonderful grandmother.
“I got the award for reading the most books last month!” Bronte exclaimed, setting her current book face down on her lap. Her smile was bright, and pride shone in her eyes.
“Shocking,” Lysette muttered with playful sarcasm, making Bronte giggle. She leaned in and placed a noisy kiss on the girl’s head. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”
“Daddy said as a reward I could go see a picture show with Lucy if you said it was okay…so, is it okay?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.
Lysette chuckled, leaning in until their noses touched, and she had an up-close and personal view of her child. “Yes,” she said in a silly voice. “It’s okay.”
Bronte squealed and wrapped her arms around her mother so enthusiastically that her book went flying off the bed.
The two broke into laughter as Lysette stretched her body over the bed to snatch it with the very tips of her fingers, sitting upright again as she handed it to Bronte. “I’ll talk to your father and see when is a good time for you girls to go, okay?”
“Thanks, Mommy.”
Lysette was amused, knowing she’d definitely done well. That was the only time she got Mommy or Mama anymore, unless Bronte was sick, then all bets for her twelve-years-going-on-thirty were off.
With I love yous and good nights, Lysette closed the bedroom door softly behind her as Bronte picked up her book again, trying to find the lost place from the flight to the floor.
“Hey, Bud,” Lysette said, making her way farther down the hall to her son, whose bedroom door stood open. He sat at his desk with his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he leaned over a paper he was furiously writing.
“Hey, Mom.” He held up a hand in acknowledgment as the tip of his pencil danced across the paper. “One sec…”
She walked in, mussing his hair affectionately as she passed behind him to take a seat on his bed. She rested her weight comfortably on her hand as she looked around. It was as neat as she could expect from her eldest, just enough to keep her from complaining.
She saw his basketball shoes tucked into a corner, the floppy high tops fallen over to the side next to his basketball.
“So,” Jimmy said, still working on his paper, back to her. “Guess Dad inherited my great taste in women.”
“What?” she asked, bemused.
He sent a grin over his shoulder at her. “He thought Miss Brannon was kind of a dolly, too.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” she asked, voice sounding slightly accusing, though they both knew she was playing with him. What he didn’t know was, she was fighting tears again.
He put his pencil down, fully turning in his chair to face her. “He said it went really well. I’m passing everything and all that jazz. But,” he said with an adorabl
e crooked grin that had gotten him out of more pickles than Lysette cared to admit. “Mr. Barnes got on me today.”
“Talking?” she asked, a delicately arched eyebrow raised.
“Talking.”
“Tsk tsk, son,” she said, eyeing him. It was a problem since he was little.
“I know. Miss Brannon is always telling me, Focus, Jimmy. FO-CUS!”
Lysette burst into laughter at both the fairly spot-on imitation of his teacher’s voice and the fact that she’d been told that more than once by the very same person.
“Well,” she said, pushing up from the bed and walking over to lean down to place a kiss to his forehead. “I’m proud of you for the good grades, and I know you’re a good boy.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Good night, son. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Lysette mussed his hair again before walking past him to the door before turning at her name. “Yeah?”
“You’re kind of a dolly, too, you know,” he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes and waved him off as she left the room, chuckling. Picking up her purse from just outside Bronte’s door, she headed to the bedroom she shared with her husband of sixteen years. She tossed the heavy bag to the padded bench that sat along the foot of the bed and found a comfortable spot to sit during shoe and nylons removal.
Letting out a tired breath, she shrugged out of her jacket and laid it across the bench, intending to take the purse and jacket downstairs in the morning to be properly put away in the coat closet, which she’d bypassed coming in earlier. She held on to the footboard of the bed to balance as she stepped out of first one high heel, then the other, groaning at the relief to her feet, legs, and back. Next went her nylons and finally her dress, leaving her in her satin slip to walk across the room to the attached bathroom.
