Findings

by Mary Anna Evans

  The sheriff finally sat, taking the paper from her hand and adjusting the glasses on his nose. “Where is this swamp where you and Joe went wading?”

  “Out of your jurisdiction. Wakulla County. And I don’t think Herbie and his bunch are breaking any laws, beyond selling beer without a liquor license. But you might want to let your counterpart there know what’s going on.”

  “Do you tell everybody their business, Faye?”

  “Yes,” Joe said. “She does.”

  A smile was flirting with the corner of Ross’ mouth. He took her hand and squeezed it.

  She liked him a lot. Because he liked her the way she was.

  “Well. That’s enough business for today, I think. Faye, you stay out of trouble. You hear me? And Joe. How’d you like to spend some time with your goddaughter?” Sheriff Mike pointed to this week’s photo of Rachel, displayed prominently on his desktop next to three others. “She and my wife are bothering Miss Emma this afternoon. And Ross tells me that he wants to take a boat ride.”

  “Wanna show me Joyeuse?” Ross asked. “You’ve told me so much about it that I don’t really need to see it for myself. But I want to.”

  So there it was. The political maneuver that had brought Ross here. A few minutes of hunting talk with the sheriff had camouflaged the larger topic—replacing Joe as her bodyguard, for an afternoon or, if Ross had his way, forever.

  Faye considered whether she should be offended. She thought about refusing to cooperate with this clumsy effort to take care of her, when she didn’t really need it. She decided, instead, to go with the flow. Joe’s face was alight with the thought of spending the afternoon on his hands and knees, following Rachel as she crawled all over Emma’s satiny wood floors. The sheriff looked satisfied with his efforts to keep Faye safe from harm. And an afternoon in her island paradise with Ross, alone, sounded irresistible…once she’d set him straight on a thing or two.

  “You want to see Joyeuse? Then let’s do it. I’ve got a boat at Liz’s, so we won’t have to take Joe’s and leave him stranded. But we’ll need to stop at Miss Emma’s and get you a bathing suit.”

  “I stashed one in the car. Just in case I wangled an invitation.”

  Faye had to give the man credit. He made a plan. He implemented that plan. And he forgot not the first detail.

  ***

  Liz was giving Ross the same all-over scrutiny that she habitually gave Joe. Joe usually didn’t notice, but Ross did. Faye felt for him.

  Liz leaned over the bar and said, “I need to talk to you, Faye,” in a hoarse whisper. Ross gratefully excused himself and escaped into the men’s room.

  “Good God, girl,” the red-headed restaurateur said in a voice that boomed off the back wall and echoed back. “Where do you find these men? You never come in here without some kinda arm candy.”

  “I wonder how Sheriff Mike would feel if he knew you called him ‘arm candy.’”

  “Wasn’t talking about the sheriff. And you know it.”

  “Magda thinks he’s cute.”

  “You’re not gonna tell me where you find them, are you? You’re gonna pretend they just drop out of the sky.” Liz turned around, flipped a half-dozen burgers, then turned back to Faye. “Anyway. I wanted to tell you that Chip was back at school.”

  “That’s great!” Faye started to say more but stopped, confused. “But it’s the end of the semester. He can’t be back at school until the summer term, at the earliest.”

  Liz waved the question away with a grease-smeared spatula. “I didn’t say he was back in school. I said he was back at school. One of my customers saw him on campus yesterday, and she called me on the spot. Everybody around this place knows how much I want to see that boy back in college where he belongs.”

  “Have you talked to Chip about it?”

  Liz snorted. “Are you nuts? He’s twenty-two, and those three-and-a-half years of college make him a whole world smarter than his old mother. At least, he thinks so. If I told him the sky was blue, he’d say it was green. Also, he’d shake his head because I was ‘clinging to outmoded tropes to form my world view.’ Or something like that. But I don’t care if he thinks I’m ignorant or outmoded or just stupid. I want him to go back to Tallahassee long enough to get that last semester done. You can’t know how valuable a flimsy scrap of diploma paper is until you try to get by without one.”

  “You still don’t know why he dropped out in the first place?”

  Liz leaned forward with a gossip’s smile. “It was woman trouble, for sure. My customer saw him walking around campus, following some girl like a lost puppy. So here’s what I think. He had a girlfriend. She dumped him and he came home to lick his wounds. Now she’s taking him back. That’ll make him happy. He’ll go back to school, just to be with her, and that’ll make me happy. End of story.”

  Ross stepped out of the bathroom, so Liz lowered her voice. “My customer says the woman was a little skinny and plain, compared to how good-looking Chip is. But she walked tall, like somebody who knew where she was going. My boy needs somebody to keep him straight, because I can’t do it forever. She sounds like marriage material to me.”

  Faye didn’t respond. She just grinned and took Ross’ arm, saying “Let’s take a boat ride.”

  But she was thinking, Marriage material? You don’t even know her. She hoped for Liz’s sake that Chip’s girlfriend stayed with him long enough to see him through school. After that, they could marry or not, but he’d have that all-important bachelor’s degree. Like Liz, Faye had spent a lot of years trying to do without one of those.

  Faye couldn’t resist forming a mental picture of Chip bringing a woman home to meet his mom. Any ordinary woman would be intimidated by her tough demeanor. Maybe Liz would make some kind of effort to be less scary. It was a good thing Chip had chosen somebody who walked tall.

  The thought of Liz dressed like somebody’s mother—demure dress, sensible shoes, and all—made Faye laugh out loud.

  ***

  Faye enjoyed watching Ross sit back and surrender control. He didn’t look like he was enjoying it much, but he was doing it.

  It seemed only fair that she should be in control of the boat. On land, he was a confident driver who owned a high-powered driving machine. So he should drive, if he wanted to. On water, she had a lifetime of experience. Also, she owned two boats which, though battered and ugly, purred like kittens and moved like barracudas. So she should be the boat pilot, if she wanted to. And she did.

  Ross sat beside her, looking like a man who didn’t know what to do with his hands. Since he was noticeably off-balance and since he had no way to walk away, this was as good a time as any to pick a fight.

  “So. You went behind my back and talked to Sheriff Mike about Joe. What have you got against Joe?”

  He had the good grace to look sheepish. “I don’t have anything against Joe. He seems like a good guy. I’m just worried about you. Some terrible things have happened and—”

  “You don’t think Joe can protect me from the bad guys? He’s done it before. And I take care of myself pretty well, too. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I noticed.”

  She could tell he was trying not to smile. Faye was pretty sure he wasn’t taking her complaint seriously, so she pressed harder. “I also hear tell that you think Joe’s too dumb to be trusted with my safety.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Sheriff Mike says you did.” That would teach Ross to try to manipulate her friends and presume that they wouldn’t tell her.

  “I didn’t use the word ‘dumb.’ I wouldn’t do that. But, yes, I did ask Sheriff Mike if he didn’t want someone looking after you who…um…could think quicker.”

  Faye cut the motor. They were as far from land as they were going to get. The mainland was a dark band reflecting in the water behind them. They were just close enough to Joyeuse Island to see individual live oak trees reaching their gnarled branches ou
t into the air. If Ross didn’t want to hear what she had to say, then he was going to have to jump out of the boat. And it was a powerful long swim to dry land in either direction.

  “You don’t believe Joe thinks quickly? Go hunting with him sometime. He thinks quicker than a dove can fly. I know, because I’ve eaten the doves. And you don’t think he can protect me? Once, a man was trying to kill me. He almost got the job done, too, but Joe put a stone spear point right through his throat. Another time, a woman was about to shoot me at point-blank range, and Joe took her out with one shot. Could you do those things?”

  Rather than answer her question, Ross said, “My point is that maybe Joe shouldn’t let you get into those situations. Maybe I could think of a way to avoid them altogether, if I were the one looking after you.” A withering glance from Faye prompted him to amend his statement. “Maybe you and I together could figure out a way to stay safe.”

  Faye snorted to acknowledge that this suggestion was a step in the right direction. “I don’t think you like Joe, and I can’t figure out why. Do you require all your friends to have advanced degrees?”

  “Faye. He’s young. He’s good-looking. He lives with you. I’m human enough to be jealous. So sue me.”

  “Here’s how things are. Joe’s lived on my island for three or four years. Most of that time, he didn’t even live in the house. He sort of…camped. During that time, he’s had girlfriends. I’ve dated several men, including you. Joe and I are friends. Roommates. Um, I guess ‘housemates’ is a better word. And when you see my house you’ll know that you can be housemates and live about a quarter-mile apart.” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face when she thought of showing Joyeuse off to Ross. “If Joe and I were going at it like rabbits, I wouldn’t be driving all the way to Atlanta to see you. So give it a rest, okay?”

  She started the motor. “Besides, you and I don’t get much of a chance to be alone lately. Let’s quit wasting time.”

  ***

  If Ross had ever wondered why Faye was always short on cash, his question began to be answered as soon as she tied the boat to her nearly new dock. He supposed it had been built since the big hurricane, because Category 5 storms don’t tend to spare puny things like boat docks. Hefting a bag packed with his bathing suit and towel, he followed Faye up a dirt path leading through a dense thicket of bushes and undergrowth. Huge trees lay toppled in all directions, their thirsty roots reaching for the clouds.

  “The hurricane wrecked the tree canopy on this side of the island,” she said, pointing at the trees’ carcasses. “These vines and brushy plants had never had much sunlight before, but they’re really growing now. It’s interesting to watch the plant life change from month to month, just because we had a big storm. Joe cut up some of the downed trees for firewood, but I think we’ll leave most of them for wildlife habitat.”

  Ross had hoped that they’d exhausted the topic of Joe. Apparently not.

  The path curved to the left and Faye plunged on, pushing the over-eager vines out of their way. The verdant leaves blocked his view, so that Faye’s home revealed itself suddenly. One minute, he was pushing his way through a wild and unkempt piece of nature. The next minute, he was standing at the edge of a neatly mown clearing with a monumental edifice gleaming against the grass like a white jewel.

  The house was encircled with slender white columns and delicate balustrades. A broad staircase swept upward to a finely detailed double door. Palladian windows ornamented the dormers that brought light to the top floor, and a proud cupola rose over the whole confection. If ever a woman was house-poor, it was Faye.

  The roof was obviously new. The paint job was fresh. Faye had told him about her fruitless struggle to find someone able to reconstruct the exterior staircases using the original methods. In the end, she and Joe had taught themselves how to do it.

  He hoped she’d taken advantage of every source of historical preservation funding available—hurricane recovery funds, too. He didn’t know anything about 19th-century carpentry techniques, though he was willing to learn, but he knew quite a lot about how to navigate governmental mazes. He could help Faye get money for her quixotic project. And he had a good bit of money of his own that he was willing to spend. He was willing to do pretty much anything to make Faye happy.

  She’d struggled so hard. Losing her mother and grandmother when she was hardly out of high school. Flipping burgers to pay for college, until the money just wouldn’t stretch far enough to make school possible. Digging for bits of her ancestors’ past, then selling them to artifact collectors, just to raise the money to pay the taxes on Joyeuse and keep it standing. And now she was back in school, working for Douglass’ museum, doing her doctoral research, and continuing the work on Joyeuse.

  He knew she would always continue restoring this old house. It was the legacy passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother, all the way back to a freed slave named Cally. Faye had told him Cally’s story, and she’d made it her story. Any man who hoped to make a life with Faye would be making a life with Joyeuse, as well.

  She was slapping a hand on the smooth masonry wall of the bottom floor. “This above-ground basement was built sometime shortly after 1798, according to a family journal. It was probably just a modest building built out of tabby, a kind of cement people made with the ingredients at hand—sand, shells, stuff like that. Sometime before 1829, my great-great-great-grandfather turned that little cement building into a rich man’s dream.”

  She led him into the ground floor basement, where the thick, dense walls had kept the air cool all day long. “There’s a bathroom to your left. Do you still want to go for a swim?”

  He nodded silently, still occupied by the sight of the wrought iron hinges and the irregular shapes of the tiles under his feet and all the other obvious signs that he was standing in a structure built completely by hand.

  “I’ll go put on my suit. See you in a few minutes.” Faye stepped into a closet-sized room where a cramped staircase was hidden. Her erect carriage emphasized the shapely figure beneath the baggy clothes. He wondered whether bathing suits were strictly necessary, this far from civilization.

  ***

  As a true island dweller, Faye owned more bathing suits than dresses. She had a dresser drawer packed full of them. Unfortunately, as the owner of two aging boats, most of her bathing suits sported grease stains in strategic places. They were all bikinis, so she pawed through the pieces, hoping to find a clean-ish top and a clean-ish bottom in coordinating colors. Maybe she should just take a heavily stained suit and dip it in motor oil, rendering it all one color—a nasty color, to be true, but still one color.

  A glint of fuchsia in the bottom of her drawer spoke to her, and she answered it.

  “Come to Mama.”

  She’d bought the fuchsia suit for a long-ago date with a long-ago fiancé, and it had been way too cute to do engine work in. It had flirty white polka-dots, a flirtily low-cut top, and flirty knots on the hips. It was perfect. An old memory stirred, and she dug around in the back of the drawer. With a triumphant yank, she pulled out the matching sarong. A few minutes later, Faye sauntered down the sneak staircase, looking like a woman who had no idea how to keep a boat engine humming.

  The sand on Faye’s little tiny beach was fine-grained and perfectly white. The water was still a bit cool for her Florida-girl tastes, but she couldn’t resist its transparent turquoise. Ross surprised her by shedding his oh-so-cultured lawyer persona. He tossed his towel on the sand and ran headlong into the water with a whoop.

  “You look so…dry,” he said, shaking water out of his tight curls.

  She responded by running almost as fast as he had and whooping just as loud. The water closed over her head and she knew that, in a minute or two, it wouldn’t feel quite so cold.

  Ross’ hands closed on her waist. He pulled her to him and, as her face broke the water, he kissed her. Then he dunked her back beneath the waves. Clearly, he was unaware ho
w dangerous it was for a city boy to declare water war on an island woman.

  Yes, he was taller and sometimes he reached out a long arm and grabbed whatever he could reach, tossing her into the air. And, yes, he was stronger, so he could sometimes fend off her submarine attacks. Often enough, though, he was toppled when she dove down and grabbed one of his big feet.

  Faye had known for a long time that a small person could splash as well as a large one, so she used her watery ammunition well. Ross might have declared water war on her, but she was proud of fighting him to a draw. They were still laughing when they waded onto the beach.

  She was shaking the sand out of her towel when she felt something come between her skin and the chilly spring breeze. Ross had wrapped one end of his towel around her and, because a big man requires an oversized towel, it was long enough for him to wrap the other end around himself. Faye had to admit that this was a most attractive way to warm up after a swim.

  He leaned close and said, “I like your beach, and your basement is very nice. Why don’t you show me the rest of your house?”

  ***

  A historian’s fantasy. Or, to be more accurate, an archaeologist’s fantasy. Ross could think of no better way to describe Faye’s cherished home. She’d escorted him through the above-ground basement’s open-centered passageway, pointing out the rooms that had once been the plantation office, the dispensary, the wine cellar, and all the other service rooms used to run a large household and a tremendous agricultural business.

  Upon opening the doors to those service rooms, he found that Faye had converted them into comfortable living quarters. A modern sofa and easy chair adorned the old office, and groaning bookshelves lined its walls. A quick glance at the books’ titles gave him a glimpse of the woman. Her library included tomes like Make Your Restored House a Home, the collected works of Shakespeare and Austen, The Martian Chronicles, and The Complete Tightwad Gazette.

  She had already moved on into the old infirmary, where she had installed a sleek and functional kitchen. “I love my gas-powered refrigerator. I can’t tell you how long I lived out of ice chests. It seemed like forever.”