Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Taking off her glasses and setting them on the desk, she rubbed her temples. She wasn’t one of those women who worried about what every man thought of her. She did her job and took pride in her work. Spending five minutes on a two line e-mail made no sense at all.

  A knock at the door made her jump. “Come in,” she called out.

  The door swung open and Gideon stood there. He looked the same as he had a week ago, bearded and nicely dressed, but this time he carried an old leather satchel.

  Henry felt her mouth drop open and she glanced at her e-mail, up at him, then back to the screen.

  “I brought what you needed from the archives,” he said.

  “Oh, I never intended you to bring it all the way here,” Henry said. She ran a hand over her hair, wishing she could check her lipstick, then was irritated with herself for thinking about it.

  He came closer, glancing at the rows of books on her shelves, the framed prints of battles, the miniatures of Civil War soldiers she’d found at a flea market. “If you’d like to look through them, you can make copies of what you need and I can take the rest back home. To the archives, I mean.”

  She smiled a little at his slip. “I really didn’t mean for you to do all this work.”

  “You mentioned you didn’t like to go out much so…”

  He thought she was agoraphobic. “It’s not quite like that. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I―” She shook her head. “Thank you. I do appreciate it. Please sit down.”

  Setting a straight-backed wooden chair closer to the desk, he opened the satchel. “I brought any letters that mention the former slaves’ quarters or homes of the free Creole farmers and any pictures we had of those outbuildings. You mentioned subsurface work?”

  “Right, our archeology students arrived last week. It’s all very exciting.” She leaned forward to look at the documents he was setting on the desk. The delicate paper was protected by velum sheets and she gently unfolded the notes attached. “Are you in a hurry? This might take me a few minutes to sort through.”

  “Not at all. Take your time.”

  Truth.

  She scanned the letters as quickly as she could, sorting them into piles. Some of the writing was faded but each letter had a small sheet attached with a typed explanation of the contents. “The notes make this a lot easier. Some of these handwritten letters are a real pain to puzzle out.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “I want to leave the archives in better shape than I found it. I typed all the letters, and keep updated, identical files. My main goal is to scan, document and codify everything in one large searchable database.”

  “That would be incredible. It would change the way we study Cane River history.”

  “Right. And there’s so much more than what’s catalogued right now. There’s a basement full of old letters and diaries and pictures over on Trudeau Street. It was started by Ellison Finnamore and continued by his son, Arthur. After Arthur died, he passed it on to me. I go over as often as I can, a few evenings a week.”

  “A basement? How much is a basement?” Henry leaned forward. Trudeau Street was only a few blocks from her apartment in the Cane River Historic District.

  “Ninety eight boxes.” He nodded at her gasp of surprise. “I’ve worked through forty seven of them in the last few years.”

  “And you’re trying to sort through and catalogue them all by yourself? You haven’t asked anyone to help you?” Of course he preferred to work alone. It was the kind of project that could make a historian famous. Or more famous, in his case.

  “There aren’t many people who know enough Cane River history to be able to sort the letters and pictures, let alone catalogue them. Our storage is at a premium at the archives so I haven’t bothered to move the boxes, even though the house in unoccupied. I have a scanner and a copier down there and just upload to an external hard drive while I’m working. If the estate ever sells it, we’ll have to find another storage place. But I doubt they’ll manage to sell the house any time soon. It’s got wiring issues.”

  He glanced down at the desk for a moment. “I was wondering if you’d like to be part of the project.”

  Henry sat up straight. It was an unofficial, unpaid position that promised a lot of dusty hours alone.

  It was a dream come true.

  “Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you for offering.”

  Something in her tone must have struck him as funny because a slow smile started around the edges of his lips. “I’ll have to make a copy of the key for you and I’ll show you what area I’m working on so you can choose your boxes, but I’d be very glad of the help. And of course, you would be credited when the catalogue goes online.”

  “Wonderful.” Her heart was pounding. She could almost see her name in bibliographical footnotes, already.

  “I’ll let you get back to reading.” He motioned toward the letter she was holding and she swallowed back her excitement. First things first.

  He sat quietly, hands folded in his lap. He wasn’t one of those people that needed to fidget or chatter and she appreciated that. Maybe some people found his stillness intimidating. Barney Sandoz’s words about gangs and cocaine and tattoos rattled around in her head but she refused to give in to the temptation to look at his wrists, to see if anything was showing under the cuffs of his shirt, or at his neck.

  After a few minutes, he leaned forward and she looked up to see him staring at her glasses where they rested on a Louisiana history magazine. She knew what he was seeing before he reached out: the view of the glossy cover wasn’t distorted through the glass at all. He held the frames up for a moment and then gently placed them back on the desk without comment.

  She felt her face go hot. “They make me look smart,” she said.

  “But you are smart.” His brows drew together. “I understand the need to put forward a certain persona. I know some women struggle to be taken seriously in higher academia and research, especially if they’re beautiful.”

  Her mind snagged on his words. She didn’t want to be known as a beautiful woman. “I guess I don’t want people to make a snap judgment about me.”

  “Actually, you do,” he said, smiling. “But you want it to be one that you control.”

  “And your beard? Do you think it makes you look wise?”

  “I’m not sure I was thinking of anything except that I don’t like to shave.”

  “Really? You have to admit that a beard gives a man a certain gravitas. Add in the hint of General Sherman and you make quite an impression.”

  His eyes widened. “Impersonating General Sherman doesn’t sound like a good way to make friends here.”

  “Maybe you’re not really interested in making friends.”

  “Neither of us are, it seems.” The corners of his lips had turned up again.

  After a few seconds, she realized she was simply holding the letter and smiling back at him. She cleared her throat and refocused on the notes. He said nothing more and soon the piles were sorted.

  “I’ll go make copies of these. And I’m sorry I didn’t offer you any coffee. Let me put on a fresh pot. We had a group come through earlier and there might not be much left.”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, then.” She stood and walked to the door. “Would you like to look around? Or you can stay here and wait for me.” It felt awkward to just leave him sitting alone.

  “You don’t have to entertain me, Henry.”

  Truth.

  “Good to know. I’ll file that away.” She walked through the door and was all the way to the copier before she realized she was still grinning. It was odd, really. When she talked to strangers or spent time with someone new, the anxiety was crippling. It was a curse to able to hear a lie in someone’s voice or see it in their eyes. Growing up, she’d prayed that God would take it away, make her like everyone else. She’d finally come to accept the fact that she’d never be really normal, never marry, neve
r have a family of her own. She couldn’t get through a first date without accidentally knowing something she really wished she hadn’t.

  She arranged a series of photos on the glass and closed the machine again. She hated lies the way a fireman hated fire, with a combination of fear and awe at the total destruction it could bring. But at the same time, she knew it was just a fact of life.

  She pulled the copies from the tray and gently gathered all the archived letters and photos. She’d always been a logical person, trusting historical facts and textbooks more than people. She would be as wary and as careful as she always had been. Nothing would change that.

  ***

  “Cora, I don’t think this is a good match.” Gideon glanced back into the crowded waiting room. It was uncharacteristically busy for a Tuesday morning at the Juvenile Justice Center.

  “Sit down for a moment, Gideon,” she said. Cora Jeunesse had a soothing, pleasant personality. Nothing much bothered the sixty something woman. Maybe raising eight kids of her own and mothering countless foster children had something to do with her unflappable attitude. “This is Marlowe Edison’s grandson. She’s been taking care of his son while he was in prison. They’ve got a long road ahead, trying to learn how to be a family again.”

  “Exactly. I’m not a parent. I don’t know anything about what he’s going through.”

  “But you know how it is to get out of prison and find that the rest of the world has moved on without you. Reggie was convicted for driving the car in an armed robbery and the sweet little baby he left is now an angry nine year old,” Cora said. “He’s fighting to get back on his feet but aside from his grandma Marlowe, his family doesn’t want to own him. They’re waiting until he proves himself. And we know that proving yourself can take a really long time.”

  He ran a hand over his beard. When he’d decided to take a man’s life, he had thought he didn’t have anything to lose. He’d been wrong. He’d had everything to lose. Now, most days he didn’t care if he lived or died. On good days, he wondered why he’d survived and his sister hadn’t. On bad days, he begged God to let him go back in time and switch places with her. “Mentoring convicted felons means helping connect them with jobs and prepare for interviews and find apartments. I don’t have anything to do with getting their families back.”

  Cora cocked her head. “You don’t like the fact he has a child?”

  An unreasonable amount of anger rose up in Gideon’s chest and he took a long breath, trying to sort out why he’d rather walk over hot coals than get involved. The truth was that he may know what was going through the ex-con’s head, but he definitely understood what that eight year old was feeling. Betrayal, fury, a deep need for revenge. And there was no way he knew how to diffuse that bomb. “I just work better with adults.”

  She laced her fingers together and propped her chin on her hands. “You’re definitely the best mentor we’ve ever had. But I also think you’d be great at keeping Reggie on the level while he transitions back into society… and being a dad.”

  “I’m not a parent.”

  “I know that. But you had to come back and build relationships that were damaged.”

  He sighed. “Cora, I don’t know how you got the impression I have a family of any kind, but I don’t.”

  “Father Tom is a close friend of yours, isn’t he? Weren’t you foster kids together? He’s like a brother to you.”

  “Yes, but that has more to do with him, than with me. He wrote me every month while I was in prison.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t write him back for seven years.”

  Her dark eyes widened. “And somehow you made your peace with each other and maintain a relationship today. I still think you can apply your experience here. Reggie looks young, but he knows what he’s lost, and what it will take to get it back. Nine years in a federal prison isn’t a vacation, you know.”

  “Everybody knows that.”

  She dropped her hands to the desk and leaned forward. “No, Gideon, they don’t. They see free health care, three hot meals, a recreation room and vocational training. They don’t see how every minute of your day is scheduled, how you eat what they give you to eat and sleep when they tell you to sleep. They don’t see the struggle to survive in a group of the most dangerous men in the state.” Her voice got softer. “You know what it’s like to be that young and live that long in those conditions, then be released and try to understand what the real world is like, how real people interact. The dynamics are night and day.”

  He stared at his feet. “I just can’t help him if he asks me what to do about his kid. That’s all.”

  “Are you afraid you’re going to give him bad advice? Or are you afraid you’re going to get sucked into some family drama?”

  “It’s just not an area I’m comfortable with,” he said.

  “So, is this a yes? The kids we have come through here are usually finishing a few years’ term, at most. You’re the only one I know who can show him that a serious crime with serious time doesn’t mean he can’t be a productive member of society.”

  He looked back toward the waiting room, toward the tall, skinny kid with the baggy clothes and the wary eyes. Without the continued education offered in Angola, he never would have finished high school. Without being encouraged by the prison librarian, he wouldn’t have known he could request history books from other libraries around the state. Without the volunteer English tutor pushing the idea, he wouldn’t have applied for a scholarship through a private Southern university. Without the head of the department at Emory giving him a chance, he wouldn’t have made it into their program. And then when he was released, he wouldn’t have had anywhere to stay without Tom’s help. He vouched for him to the board of the archives and they took a chance on a convicted felon.

  Dozens of people stood in the gap and gave him a chance when he didn’t deserve one.

  “Okay.” He stood up. “I’ll go introduce myself.”

  Cora sat back with a satisfied smile. “I can always count on you, Gideon.” She handed him a folder.

  He walked into the waiting room and paused at the first row of chairs. He waited until the young man looked up and made eye contact. In prison you learned a certain way to approach someone, depending on your intention. You also learned when to prepare for the worst. If you saw someone striding across the room in your direction, you’d better prepare for a fight. Gideon wasn’t there for a fight.

  After a few seconds, the young man nodded and Gideon came closer. He held out his hand and introduced himself. “Cora tells me you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve put in a lot of applications but nothing yet. There’s not much work here.” For guys like me was the unspoken ending of his sentence.

  Gideon sat down beside him. “I was hired on the recommendation of a friend. You got family who can help?”

  Reggie shook his head. “The ones who’re still speakin’ to me aren’t in any position to put in a good word. A lot of places have rules.” About hiring felons.

  “You’re right. Most companies have blanket policies but there are a few spots that will make an exception if you’ve got someone to vouch for you.”

  “I’m tellin’ you. I don’t got anybody like that.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t know how much Cora told you, but that’s something I might be able to help you with.”

  His face lit up. “Really? You can make them give me an interview?”

  “Nope. I can’t make anybody do anything. And before we get into what I will do, I want to make it real clear what I won’t do. I won’t lie for you. I won’t cover for you if you mess up. I won’t say you’re a good worker if I think you’re not.”

  Reggie nodded.

  “I won’t be working all the companies in town, trying to get you an interview. You have to follow any leads Cora gives you, even if it means a dirty job nobody wants. You stay clean, stay out of trouble, and show them you’re serious about making a life outside of pris
on. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you get a shot.”

  “I can handle that.” He looked around the room and then dropped his voice. “And I can make it worth your while.”

  “I volunteer. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You were up in Angola, right? Me, too. Big tourist trap. We were just performing for all the visitors who came to see the farming and the cows. We know what really goes on in there, what you gotta do to survive. I don’t see no gang tats on you but maybe you didn’t need none, as big as you are.”

  If he’d been imprisoned before the prison was reformed in the nineties, he’d have been enslaved within minutes of arrival. As it was, he’d looked like such an easy target that he was kept in isolation. When he finally joined the general population, Gideon had already spent years lifting weights. He could defend himself.

  “I was part of some big things there,” Reggie said.

  He had a sinking feeling but Gideon played dumb. “What, the radio station? Or the Angolite? I wanted to work on that paper but I could never get a place. I was in the rodeo once. Almost broke my arm. But I liked being in the Range Herd and working with the cattle.”

  “Naw, none of that. I was in the Dog Pen, but Big Manny and Flat Foot are good friends of mine. And Nightmare Jones owes me a favor from when I arranged things to get him transferred to a block with AC. He’s got lots of connections. You help me, and I’ll make sure that favor goes to you.”

  Gideon looked him in the eye and for a few moments said nothing at all. Owes me a favor. Arranged things. Sometimes working with felons brought it all back, every horrible, lonely day of his sentence. Gideon knew those names and he knew what kind of person would claim the men as friends.

  He was tempted to go back into Cora’s office and tell her he’d changed his mind. But Reggie had survived in prison the best way he’d known how, and just like Gideon, wanted to live as a free man.

  “I told you I don’t want any favors,” he said. “I don’t want to hear those names. I don’t want you to speak my name to those people. And if I hear you’re running around with the same type of people that got you into prison, we’re done. Do you understand?”