“Look, there must be a complete set of Thomas’s books around someplace. If you give me your address, I’d be happy to send them to you if I find them.”
“Abby, that’s very nice of you. But I’ll be traveling the next few months with this new job. But, say, I will be back in Durham at some point over the next few weeks to check on an order. Would it be okay if I stopped back?”
“It would be fine,” she assured him. “I’ll see what I can find for you between now and then.”
“Abby, this has been one of the happiest days…” He shook his head as if overcome by emotion.
“I understand. Believe me, I do,” Abby assured him, and she stepped back onto the curb so that he could pull away. “You take care,” she said as he pulled away.
“You, too,” he called through the open window. “And thanks again.”
Her smile faded into a grim line as she started back toward the house with a deliberate stride.
Belle had some explaining to do.
24
“Well, Miz Annabelle Lee Matthews of Primrose, North Carolina.” Abby stood in the doorway to the morning room, hands planted firmly on her hips. “I’d surely like to know what that was all about.”
“Whatever do you mean, Abigail?” Without glancing from the television screen and the afternoon soap of choice, Belle raised her chin, a movement of the slightest defiance against the interrogation she knew was about to commence.
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Belle continued to stare at the screen, calmly scratching the back of Meri Puppin’s head, but she did not offer a response.
“Belle, why were you so rude to Thomas’s grandson?”
“That boy is not Thomas’s grandson,” Belle pronounced matter-of-factly.
“Belle, why would he come here and say that he is if he isn’t?”
“Perhaps there’s something of value to be gained by the charade.”
“What? Belle, I am working my fanny off just to… to…” She paused, the words to get this house in shape to sell it catching in her throat. It was not time to have that discussion with Belle, and no amount of annoyance on her part was going to force a premature disclosure. “…to keep things going. There’s no money at stake here.” At least, Abby thought, not yet.
“Abigail, what he wants or what he is after is another matter entirely,” Belle explained with exaggerated patience. “The point is, that boy is no kin to Thomas Cassidy.” Belle crossed her thin arms over her chest and resumed her viewing of the daytime drama unfolding on the screen.
“I don’t understand your attitude at all. If it’s because you feel a certain loyalty to Aunt Leila’s memory, I can appreciate the sentiment. But on the other hand, I think we owe it to Thomas to welcome Drew, who has come here seeking his… his roots. It’s not his fault that his father was born on the wrong side of the sheets, Belle.” Perhaps, Abby thought, logic and reason could overcome Belle’s obvious emotional rejection of Drew. “Could you please try to put your own theories aside and be a little kinder next time?”
“Next time?”
“Yes. I invited him to come back.”
“Why?”
“Because he has every right to be here, Belle. His father’s family built this house. When you think about it, he has more of a right to this house than I…”
“Don’t ever say such a thing!” Belle cut her off sharply. “Leila preserved this house and everything in it for you, Abigail.”
“Leila’s family did not build this house, Belle.”
“And neither did Drew’s.”
Abby sighed. “We’re getting nowhere with this. Whether you like Drew or not, whether you accept that he’s Thomas’s grandson or not, he will be back, and I will welcome him. So let’s see a little of that gracious Southern hospitality that I know you are capable of, okay?”
With her jaw set solidly, Belle’s nose drifted a tad higher in the air. Damn, what a stubborn soul she was! Acknowledging that Belle was not going to agree to offer a personal welcome mat to Drew, Abby shrugged, throwing her hands up in resignation.
“Okay. Enough said. It’s time for tea. Would you like strawberry or elderberry jam with your scones today?”
“Elderberry, please.” Belle’s pert little nose was still in the air, as if sniffing at something unpleasant.
Shaking her head in frustration, Abby headed for the kitchen, Belle’s whispered insistence, “That boy is no kin to Thomas Cassidy,” hanging in the air between them.
In preparation of her assault upon the room—third bedroom to the right of the stairs, next to Abby’s own room but larger in size—Abby had removed the heavy drapes from the three tall arched windows that formed the deep bay overlooking the driveway side of the house. With the windows now bared to the late-afternoon sky, light flooded in, giving a whole new perspective to the room and its furnishings. Abby sat on the dressing-table stool and crossed her arms, one foot tapping unconsciously as she debated her color options for the decor. The two three- quarter-sized beds stood along one wall, an oval marble-topped washstand between them, its mirror caked with years of dust. A tall bonnet chest rose along the short wall near the door, a massive armoire along the wall near the closet. All of the furniture was of darkest mahogany, the bedspreads were white chenille yellowed with age, and the walls were papered with a sallow peach print on a grayed background. Overall, the room was inhospitable and depressing. Abby rubbed her wrists, anticipating yet another week of scraping. Her arms almost ached at the very thought of it.
“So, there you are.” Naomi’s head peeked around the door frame. “Wow, I hadn’t seen this room before. What great light.” Naomi drifted into the room and gravitated toward the windows.
“I took those down this morning.” Abby nodded to the heap of dark green velvet piled on the floor next to one of the beds. “Just letting in some light makes a big difference in the way the room feels.”
“It’s wonderful.” Naomi nodded. “And those beds with the high carved posts are beautiful.”
“Aren’t they? I was just trying to decide what to do in here. The peach and dark green really don’t do much for the room.”
“Ummm.” Naomi’s eyes darted around the large room. “I’d do this room in a really soft ivory—the walls and ceiling—with ivory lace curtains at the windows. White would be too stark with all this light, and too much color on the walls would detract from the dark natural woodwork and the dark furniture. But ivory would soften the afternoon sun. And then you could use quilts on the beds for color.”
“Naomi, I’ve used quilts on the beds in every room so far.”
“Well, you can’t have too much of a good thing, especially since you’re trying to create the kind of homey warmth that will attract a good buyer. In a house this size, you need all those little touches that make a house seem more welcoming and less formidable.” Naomi leaned back against the deep sill of the center bay window. “And, besides, you’re lucky to have so many of them. I’d kill to have antique quilts on every bed in my house.”
“Well, there are two large trunks filled with them in the attic,” Abby told her. “You are welcome to help yourself.”
“You have to be out of your mind.” Naomi laughed. “Old quilts like these are worth a lot of money. You should actually be thinking about selling them, not giving them away.”
“Selling them seems so… final. Giving them to you is more like passing them on,” Abby said thoughtfully. “Belle said that Aunt Leila doted on Meredy and Sam. I think she would have liked for them to have something of hers.”
“Well, I’d think you’d want to keep some for your own children.”
“Don’t know that I’ll ever have any.” Abby shrugged. “And I can’t see hoarding things for children who may never be born.”
“Don’t you want a husband, some young ones, someday?” Naomi seemed to choose her words with care.
“Naomi, every woman doesn’t have to marry and have a family to live a su
ccessful life.” Abby seemed to bristle slightly. “The right career can be very fulfilling. Very rewarding.”
“I’ve no doubt of that. I was asking about what you wanted.”
“Why, I want what I have always wanted.” Abby’s answer was too quick, Naomi thought. Too clipped. “I want to be successful… though maybe in my own business this time.”
“Owning a business does not preclude having a family, Abby. Millions of women do it. And many do it very successfully, I might add. Surely you know that.”
“I don’t know that I could do both. I tend to put too much energy into my job. I don’t know what I’d have left to offer anyone else.”
“The right man, the right job…” Naomi began.
“There’s not necessarily a ‘right man’ for everyone, Naomi. Some of us are just better off going it alone.”
“You really believe that?”
“It’s worked for me for the past ten years.”
“Guess that carves it in stone.”
Pointedly ignoring Naomi’s last remark, Abby began to remove the spread from the bed closest to her. Naomi crossed the room to help fold the wide chenille square. “Well, then, what about Alex?” Naomi asked bluntly.
“What about him?”
“Abigail, are you going to stand there and try to tell me that you do not break into a sweat every time that man looks at you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Abby grimaced.
“Well, you do get the most becoming glow…”
“Ouch! Stop!” Abby cringed. “Do you think he’s noticed?”
“I think he notices every little thing you do.” Naomi grinned.
“Not likely.” Abby sat down on the side of the bed. “I’m just his old best buddy, Naomi. His old best buddy who so conveniently is around to take care of his grandmother while he plays big-time lawyer and romances the boss’s daughter.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m certain.” Abby nodded firmly.
“Then where’s she been?”
“What do you mean?”
“The last few weekends he’s been here, he’s been here alone. Where has Melissa been, if they’re so cozy?”
“Her sister is getting married soon, so they’ve had a few bridal showers, that sort of thing.”
“I’m not convinced.” Naomi shook her head. “He didn’t impress me as a man in love when I saw him at Christmas. He didn’t have that look when he looked at her.”
“Naomi, you are the most hopeless romantic I ever met Maybe he’s not head over heels in love with her, but maybe the thought of marrying the senior partner’s daughter is enough to make his heart go pitty-pat. I can’t see any man who wants to get ahead turning his back on the kind of doors someone like Melissa could open for him.”
“Then what was he doing here this afternoon?”
“Alex wasn’t here this afternoon.”
“I thought I saw him walking up the drive.”
“Oh, that wasn’t Alex. That was Drew. I almost forgot.” Abby drew her legs up under her and twisted slightly to face Naomi, who was perched on the other bed, one arm wrapped around the high post of the footboard. “Wait till I tell you. Thomas Cassidy’s grandson was here!”
“What? I had no idea that he and Miz Cassidy had a child!”
“They didn’t. Thomas and another woman—to whom he was not legally wed—had a son. Can you believe it?”
“What a very proper little scandal for Primrose.” Naomi chuckled.
“More of a scandal than Belle can cope with, I’m afraid. She refuses to entertain the thought that there could have been such an indiscretion in Thomas’s past. Belle was absolutely rude to poor Drew, who had come here with the intention of just looking at the house. He was as surprised to find family still living here as I was to have him show up. But he was charming and so grateful for the opportunity to actually tour the house…”
“You gave him a tour of the house?”
“Just the downstairs. The upstairs is, for the most part, off limits to visitors, since it’s so torn apart. Why?”
“Do you think that was a good idea? Opening your house to a stranger?”
“He didn’t feel like a stranger, Naomi. There was something that almost seemed… familiar about him. And, besides, he’s almost like family. You would have done the same thing. I know you, and I know you would have felt the same way.”
“Probably.” She shrugged. “Why did he come here?”
“To see his grandfather’s house.”
“Why do you suppose he waited till now? Why not years ago? Why not when Leila was still alive?”
“Drew works for a sporting goods manufacturer. He’s been assigned to this area.” Abby toyed with the fringe on the bottom of the bedspread, unconsciously braiding several strands together. “Well, I, for one, thought it was an interesting twist. And being pretty much alone myself for so long, I was happy to be able to offer a little bit of family connection—however tenuous—to Drew. Next time, you’ll meet him, and you’ll see for yourself. I invited him to come back. I hope Belle will be a bit more gracious.”
“It’s so unlike Belle to be less than charming to a stranger.”
“The best I can figure, she’s just being protective of both Thomas and Leila. After all, back in their day, illegitimate children were the object of scandal. I’m certain she would do anything to protect the memories of her dearest friends from any such taint.”
“Maybe so.” Naomi glanced at her watch and rose to leave. “I need to get back across the street. I’m sure the young ones have Colin in a frenzy by now. Sam was really wound up—the storyteller at the library had selected Where the Wild Things Are as today’s book. Every time Sam hears that story, he becomes a wild thing himself.” Naomi chuckled. “Funny, though, you know, when I glanced over, I thought it was Alex standing there,” Naomi said over her shoulder as she started down the steps.
“Drew looks nothing like Alex.” Abby frowned. “Nothing at all. Though I admit I thought so at first. There’s something similar in the way they walk, that’s all.”
Abby followed Naomi down the steps and unlocked the front door, agreeing to share a coffee break with her friend the next morning. Relocking the door, Abby tried to bring Drew’s face into view in her mind’s eye to mentally compare it with Alex’s. True, they both had brown hair that parted naturally to the right. And they both had brown eyes. Lots of people have brown hair and brown eyes. Alex was taller, Drew was stockier. Alex was more muscular, Drew was older.
And, she mused, her senses suddenly ambushed by the memory of Alex’s long, lean body stretched out along the dock, as charming as her surprise visitor had been, he had none of Alex’s appeal, none of his casual sexiness.
Still, there had been something…
Abby paused at the bottom of the steps, trying to put her finger on it, wrestling with some errant fleeting image that had seemed to skip across her inner field of vision.
Perhaps, as she had noted earlier, it was just the walk and nothing more.
25
“…so I guess the best thing for me to do is to drive down to the hardware store and see if they have a longer ladder.” Alex leaned back in his chair after a hearty Saturday lunch, both arms resting along the arms of the kitchen chair. “Abby… Abby?” He leaned slightly to the left, as if to invade her field of vision.
“What?” Embarrassed at having been caught daydreaming, Abby blushed. At least, she thought gratefully, he can't read my mind.
“I said, the ladder is too short to reach the top of the windows on the second floor. I’m going to Phelps’s to see if they have a longer one.” He was clearly amused by her discomfiture.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I was… ah… just thinking,” she stammered. I was just thinking of how adorable you look with all those little curls of paint in your hair. “About dinner.”
“Do you need anything from downtown?” he asked as he began to clear the table of their lunch dishes.
&nb
sp; “I don’t know. That is, I don’t know what to have for dinner.” That was a stupid thing to say, she chided herself. You’ve had the dinner menu planned all week.
“Oh? Looked like beef Stroganoff, last time I looked in the refrigerator. Beef. Mushrooms. Sour cream.” He winked as he went through the door into the kitchen.
Get a grip, she commanded. You are acting like a lovesick adolescent. Find a way to get over it. Or at least function normally when he’s around.
“You’re right.” She laughed self-consciously. “I had planned on Stroganoff for tonight. I don’t know what I was thinking of.”
“Probably all that old dust you’re stirring up has gone to your head. It’s a beautiful afternoon, Ab. Let’s walk downtown.”
“If you walk, how will you get the ladder back here? Assuming that they have one. And wouldn’t it be easier to call and ask what size ladders they have?”
“Yes, of course. Okay, I admit, I’m only looking for an excuse to take a walk with you. Come on, Ab. You’ve been cooped up all week, breathing in dust and dirt and who knows what else. Take thirty minutes and get some fresh air.”
Just a short thirty-minute walk, she told herself. I do need the fresh air. As if to convince herself, she coughed a dry cough. Alex’s right. Too much dust and old plaster, too much dried old wallpaper glue.
He slowed his pace to match hers as they followed the uneven sidewalk toward the end of Cove Road, toward the center of Primrose.
“Remember old Mrs. Lawrence, Ab?” he asked as they walked past the home of the woman, now surely deceased, who had been a regular guest at Aunt Leila’s Sunday teas.
“I certainly do. She was tall and angular and smelled of cloves.”
“And she had that dog that used to bark like a demon when we rode past on our bikes.”
“A boxer, it was. I remember how she was so proud that she was the only person in Primrose to have a boxer.”
Carolina Mist Page 20
